“What were you doing before you got here?” I asked in an attempt to focus on anything other than the fact that I’d hidden from Brittney all day.
“Finished packing, got some drinks, then rideshared my ass here.”
“Drinks with who?”
“That’s not important.”
Daya had her secrets. I knew she would tell me in due time.
I pressed the key fob to the door lock and entered. It was way too bright, too loud, and smelled like heaven.
An ear-piercing shriek sounded from the couch.
“Holy shit!” Brittney popped up from the couch, her loose curls flopped around her face while the television blasted a verbal argument between two women.
“Lee, relax!” I yelled as I tried to get a lay of the downstairs space. The lights were on in the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, and the bathroom.
“Shit, I forgot you live here too.” Brittney had her hands pressed over her sports bra-clad chest. Her chest heaved, hypnotizing me. I willed myself to find another spot to look at.
“Why is every light on in this place?” I wondered, walking to the farthest corners to turn the switches off.
“Well, I ate at the dining room table, then I was stocking the kitchen, then I plopped over here to watch some housewives and…” She looked around the room as if it’d help her remember something. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“And you needed every light on for each room?”
“I guess I’m bad at turning the lights off.” She turned her back to pause the housewives’ argument“It’s not like I owe you an explanation.”
“You kind of do.” Daya interjected. “As roommates and, you know, people getting paid to playwitheach other.”
“Sure, whatever.” Brittney relented easily. Which was literally the opposite of how I’d thought this would go. Brittney started to turn back to the television, Daya and my presence be damned, then whipped her head back around. “Wait, no offense, but like, why are you here?”
Daya walked into the kitchen and opened every cabinet before finding a glass, inspecting it for cleanliness, and getting water from the tap. For every movement she made, Brittney eyed her with suspicion. My best friend was the definition of a shit stirrer. She liked to make people sweat; had perfected it Dayathrivedin uncomfortable silence.
For every second that passed, Brittney’s fingers drummed on the couch, the movement accentuating the tendons in her hand and the light pink polish on her nails. I forfeited my place in this standoff—Daya and Brittney could go at it all they wanted as long as they kept me out of it. Unlike Daya, I was the one who had to sleep here.
“Daya, please.”
Daya took an obnoxiously long sip from the glass. “I came here to check on the wellbeing of my client and best friend.”
Brittney stopped tapping and rolled her neck. “Because…”
“Becauseit’s being reported that things are dire between you two and—”
“And you thought we were in aphysical fight?”
“In which I wouldn’t need back up!” I interjected for the record.
“Well, that’s all very nice and admirable, and while I do harbor deep loathing for your client here, I am too pretty to get into fights.”
“Lee, they literally call you the crash out queen.” I retorted.
“God forbid a girl have big feelings!” she shouted and stood, leaning against the couch.
I was not looking at her cleavage. I was not looking at her abs. Oh wow, maybe I did like reality tv.
“Can I see this report?” Brittney extended her hand to Daya.
“Where’syourphone?” Daya didn’t concede.
