peopleall that well,” I admit, feeling my cheeks heat.
“Well, okay then. Come eat.” She backs up and waves me into her apartment. From where I’m
standing, it appears to be a mirror image of mine. Big living, dining, and kitchen with two bedrooms
off a small hall. The air is scented with garlic and beef, and my stomach lets out a growl.
I let out a littlemeepwhen another blonde appears next to me. They’re multiplying.
Cara introduces us through her laughter. At least she finds me entertaining. “Maya, this is my
sister Bree. She lives here too.”
I can’t figure out if having dinner with two other people is going to be easier or not. Is it too late
to bail? I’ve used the cramps excuse before, but that’s usually more effective on men. At work, I know
the protocol, but in social situations, I tend to struggle.
I end up sticking my hand out to Bree. Then instead of shaking her hand, I slap it in the world’s
most pathetic low-five.
Bree tilts her head, bemused, but a slow-growing smile covers her face. “You’re going to do just
fine with this group. Come eat.”
“YOU’RE FUCKING WITH ME. YOU HAVE TO BE.” BREE’S EYES ARE POPPING OUT OF HER HEAD.
“No. It’s true.”
“How can that be possible? Did you grow up in a commune or something? How have you never
been on a plane?”
I take another bite of my garlic toast and scowl at her as I chew. She just laughs, which I secretly
love. I’ve never done this before. Sat and had a meal with other women, and just been able to be me,
metaphorical warts and all.
“I’ve been on a plane. I flew here.” And I only hyperventilated twice on the flight. Better than I
expected, truthfully.
“But didn’t you go on family vacations? Or a spring break trip with your friends in college?”
I place the last of my bread carefully on the side of my plate. “No, I really didn’t.”
“How,” Cara asks quietly, “does that happen?”
Picking up a tiny crumb from my legging, I roll it between my fingers.
“I’m trying to decide if I want to answer your question or not,” I admit, scowling down at the
floor.
“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to, Maya. But we are curious about you.
