I chew, thoughtfully. “What’d you do?”
The last time Willow started a conversation like this, she admitted to trashing my mailbox, having run over it with her car.I still don’t know if it was intentional. She replaced it with an ugly bronze box, same as the one I replaced when my dad gave me the house.
“Nothing. It’s not about whatIdid.” A corner of her mouth ticks up, then she bites her bottom lip. “You have no idea, do you?”
I drop my pizza onto the box’s lid and lick sauce from my thumb. A smug Willow is never a good Willow.
“Out with it.”
I can see how hard she’s trying not to grin. She’s positively shaking with knowledge that I don’t yet have. Her blue eyes glisten, rounded cheekbones strain at the force of the devious smile she finally lets through.
“That guy you’ve been hanging around with? The one the whole town’s gossiping about?” she says with a giggle. “He went to prison, Addie.”
“What’re you talking about?”
But even as I ask it, I can hear Simon’s voice in my brain. I hadn’t so much as thought of his comments all afternoon. Until now.
“Jail. Locked up. The slammer.”
“Yeah, I got it. You don’t have to throw synonyms at me.”
“Honestly, Addie, you’re all into history and research, but you can’t do it here? I literally just looked the guy up.”
I wrinkle my nose. The dig shouldn’t sting, but it does. I do pride myself on my research capabilities. Yet all I did with Zander was scroll through his sparsely populated Instagram. I saw his books and events; saw comments from readers praising his writing and his looks. Nothing raised a giant red flag for me. Maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe his prison stint was some sort of misunderstanding.
Or maybe I’m seeing what I want and not what really exists.
“Okay,” I say while trying to get my thoughts straight.
I look down at my half-eaten slice of pizza. My appetite is gone, but I raise it to my lips anyway. I need something to do. The mix of dough and cheese feels heavy in my mouth and I nearly gag.
“Don’t you want to know what he did?”
“No,” I say automatically. Force it out around a swallow even though I’m not sure I want to stay in blissful ignorance. “No. I don’t.”
She scoffs. “Don’t be so naïve.”
“I’m not naïve. I just don’t want to take your word for a story that isn’t yours.”
“Isn’t that what you do for a living?”
I drop my crust into the box, pick it up, and stuff it in the fridge. We’re not doing this. I’m not hearing this story while Willow takes some strange glee in it, and I’m not getting insulted in my own home. I reach into a phantom pocket of my dress, aiming for my phone, but all I get is the ridges of my own crochet. Because of course I didn’t put pockets in this dress.
So instead, I leave the kitchen and head back the way I came. Willow’s footsteps fall evenly behind mine. I want to scream. I debate the ever-present idea of kicking her out, but I’m not letting her win by knowing this topic bugs me. I care for Zander and I don’t want to admit that to her.
I yank my tote bag off the bench I made under the stairs. The light pink top complements the forest green of the wooden banisters, brought together by the floral wallpaper I painstakingly tacked up in this little alcove. Willow stops dead behind me, nearly tripping. She rights herself by grabbing hold of the angled ceiling, flipping her dyed-red hair from her face. I don’t let myself linger on her hair often, but I’m already annoyed enough. The fact that she took my photo to her out-of-town hairstylist and asked for the exact same shade is such a piss off.
She wants to be me. And I know how that sounds. I know it makes me seem extremely self-centred, but it’s been the truth since we were kids. It just took me about twenty years, her moving in with me, and several attempts at ruining my life to see it.
“What?” I ask, shouldering the tote.
“I don’t know why you’re walking away. This is about your own well-being.”
“Really? It’s not just some weird, sick game you’re playing?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not playing any game. I’m just saying he is not a good guy and you shouldn’t be with him. Believe it or not, I actually think you’re better than him.”
“Well, thank you. I’ll keep that in mind the next time I see him.”
