“No,” she says firmly. “No stopping. Whatareyou two, Elena?”
“Nothing,” I insist.
Too fast.
Too defensive.
She blinks slowly, unimpressed.
“Right. Totally. That explains the face you’re making right now. And the fact that you haven’t touched your drink. And the way you said his name like he shot you with a tranquilizer dart. Maybe that’s why you didn’t want to tell me? Because it would make it too real?”
I rub my temples.
“It was supposed to be casual. I wanted fun. I mean, IsaidI wanted fun.”
Harper snorts.
“Yeah, well, casual doesn’t usually involve walking around like your soul is playing the sad trombone.”
I shoot her a look, and she softens.
“Elena…you like him. Like, youlikelike him.”
I shake my head. “No. No I don’t.”
“Youdo.” She taps my hand. “And that’s okay.”
I stare out the window.
Snow is starting to fall—tiny flakes swirling around the streetlights.
My phone sits beside my drink, silent.
“He’s younger,” I whisper. “Way younger.”
As if that explains everything.
“So?” Harper says.
“He’s…he’s twenty-seven. I’m going to Cabo with people who have 401ks and houseplants they keep alive. He shouldn’t have to play boyfriend for a woman who’s pushing forty.”
“Okay, one, rude to yourself. Two, you are not some elder stateswoman. And three, I can already tell from this that he literally worships you.”
I swallow hard.
Do I want him to?
Do I want something more?
Do I want…I don’t know.
All I know is:
He didn’t text me back.
And for the first time since this thing started, I feel the hollow space where he should be.
Harper watches me quietly.
