“Call who?” I ask.
“Chris, obviously,” Hal says. “Don’t tell me that you don’t think Tara and I have caught on to what’s going on.”
Tara appears cautiously in the doorway of our room, facing out into the living room. “Don’t bring me into this,” she says.
I scowl. “Nothing’s going on between Chris and me.”
“But youwantsomething to be going on,” Hal says. “Just break your New Year’s resolution and text him. Who cares?”
“I’ve broken mine already,” Tara says, and it’s true because we’ve been at the House of Yes as much as ever.
“That’s not the point,” I say. “The point is that Chris isn’t worthy of my friendship. He hasn’t even made any kind of effort to stay in touch after I took care of Arnie all summer. It’s just human indecency, that’s what it is.” The thought gets me very agitated, so I take a guzzle of wine straight from the bottle to wash it away.
“Have you thought that maybe it’s because he has a girlfriend?” Hal poses. “And he might be trying to be respectful to her?”
“You can’t fault someone for being loyal,” Tara adds. “Someone like that is what you deserve.”
“I deserve way more than Chris,” I say, and there’s a sense that I need to hear the words aloud before I can believe them. But even when they’re lingering in the Inn, there’s a concavity to them, a hollowness. “He’s not confident enough in himself to go after what he actually wants,” I ramble on, eager to fill the space with something, even if it’s only my own voice. “He’s probably scared that being friends with me would disrupt his calm, boring life. It’s not my problem.”
“I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to be friends with him,” Tara says. She joins me on the couch, nuzzling up next to me because she knows I need it. I let myself soften into her. “But maybe seeing him again could help give you closure.”
“I don’t need closure,” I insist. “Nothing was ever open between us, so there’s nothing to shut.”
“Just remember it’s okay if you change your mind,” Tara says, gently tucking my hair behind my ear, one strand at a time. “You don’t always have to clench your principles so tightly.”
“Of course I do,” I say. “If I hold on weakly, everything crumbles. Take Jenni, for example.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Hal says. “Nothing could’ve saved her.”
“I didn’t spot the warning signs early enough,” I reply, and I realize how much I’ve been beating myself up over this. “Or at least I didn’t act on them. I was too wrapped up in other things.”
Other thingsmeaning Chris. Tara and Hal understand but don’t make me say it, which I appreciate more than I let on.
Hal piles on top of us in a big bear hug, and that’s when I know she’s actually worried about me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Hal says again. “You have to let go of that.”
But right here in this moment, I don’t want to let go of anything. I just want to hold on to everything. It’s one of those moments when my heart feels like it’s trying to break out of its cast, shatter the encasement to smithereens, but it can’t quite push through the plaster.
“And maybe you could consider reaching out to Chris again,” Tara suggests. “It might be good for you.”
“Not a chance,” I say, terrified that any other answer will result in my picking up the phone and calling him right this moment, right this minute. “You two are all I need.”
“Don’t forget about Maryjane,” Hal adds playfully.
“Right.” My smile emerges from the cloud coverage, and I hope Hal and Tara can tell how grateful I am for both of them and the way they see me even when I have a hard time seeing myself. “Can’t forget about her.”
Chapter 13
A few weeks later, I’m in the middle of designing an artistic swirl on top of a cappuccino for a customer when Chris’s name flashes up on my phone.
It’s an incoming call.
My mood lurches forward and upward and in new, undiscovered directions too. It’s just the smug satisfaction of winning my New Year’s resolution. I knew my willpower was rock solid. I don’t pick up. No need for him to think I’m awaiting his call. He doesn’t leave a voicemail, but then he texts asking how I’m doing. It’s basically a booty call by his standards.
Maybe he and Olivia broke up. I doubt it but I like keeping it as a possibility, so I don’t text back. I just squirt the rest of the whipped cream straight in my mouth and swallow. Things are instantly brighter. There’s this gloriously petty yet empowering feeling about keeping him waiting on my text, picturing him checking his phone every two minutes to see if I’ve replied. Games like that rile me up in the best way because I’m in control of whether I win them, and I always do.
