Something in my chest twisted. “Yeah.”
“Do you think he still loves her? Catalina?”
Whatever twisted in my chest pulled taut. I rubbed at my solar plexus, blinking furiously. “Oh. Uh, I don’t know.”
“I mean, would he go through all this if he didn’t?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“I wonder if she’s single. I wonder if she was as broken as he was.”
“It seemed like a pretty intense breakup, so,” I muttered. I felt her look over, but I rolled onto my back and stared hard at the ceiling.
“Have you thought about dating again?” she asked, startling a laugh out of me.
“What? No.” I twisted around, taking in the innocent curiosity in her expression. I didn’t trust it. “Why would you ask me that?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s been a while, is all.”
“You don’t know that. Arden tries to set me up all the time.”
“Tries.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, lying back and folding my arms over my chest. “I have other things to worry about. Dating isn’t a priority.”
“Right.” Bitterness dug into Phoebe’s tone. “Whatever.”
She grabbed the remote off the nightstand between our beds and turned on the TV, filling the room with the laughter of a studio audience. I listened to her flip through the channels, biting back a complaint because that’s what she wanted. I’d annoyed her. I didn’t even knowhow. She opened up a crack and Isaid the wrong thing; it was so exhausting, the consistent failure. I was almost tempted to try out Dex’s apathy since that seemed to work wonders on her.
Three things:A bed to sleep in, shirtless Dex fantasies.
The fantasies counted as two things because they were so fucking good.
Phoebe paused the channel surfing on Bill Murray’s voice. I recognized the movie in less than a heartbeat. I snapped upright, eyes filling.
“Caddyshack,” she murmured, lowering the remote to her lap. I swallowed hard, blinking to clear my blurry vision.
“God. He watched this, what? Twice a year?” I said.
“Atleast.”
“He wanted to name you Spackler.”
“I’ve never known a more annoying man.”
I laughed and swiped at my eyes quickly, hoping she wouldn’t notice. In my periphery, I noticed her do the same, and my heart squeezed tight. I asked, “Remember when he lost a bet and almost got Bill Murray’s face tattooed on his ass?”
“Yes.” She glanced at me, her smile lighting up the room. “I don’t think there was a bet. I think he just wanted that tattoo.”
“You might be onto something.”
Her smile faded and she turned her attention to the screen, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Do you think…” She paused, curling her hands into tight fists. “Do you think he’d be mad at me?”
“What?” My ears buzzed, almost like she’d shouted the words through a megaphone. “Why would he be mad?”
“For everything I did,” she said softly. “Since he died.”
“No,” I said and got to my feet. “Out of everyone in the world, he would get it. He gets it. Phoebe, there’s nothing either of us could do that would change how he felt about us.” I approachedher bedside and brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. My blood seemed to warm when she didn’t flinch away. “And that goes for me, too. Hate to break it to you, but there’s nothing you can do that will make me love you less. You break an asshole’s nose and I love you even harder.”
