Page 37 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Blake was about to ask Monroe about her foster care comment when Monroe started crying. Tears streamed down her face, rolling past her chin and onto her neck, where they only stopped once they hit the hem of her T-shirt. It was like she’d broken open, weeks of holding it together finally giving way to the uncertainty that had been clearly tying her up in knots.

“Hey,” Blake said at the same time she wrapped her arm around Monroe’s shoulders, pulling her close. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t do this. Not by a long shot.”

She rubbed her hand against Monroe’s shoulder, hoping Monroe would allow herself to embrace the comfort she was offering.

“I’m going to fuck this up,” Monroe hiccuped, wiping at her tears. “I’m sitting in a tree house, losing my shit, and tomorrow, I have to get up and pretend like everything’s okay for Maisie’s sake, when nothing is okay. I don’t know that anything will ever be okay again.”

Blake pulled Monroe closer, the heat from Monroe’s tension and frustration making their bodies stick together. Blake didn’t care. Softly, she said, wishing that Monroe would look at her, “So you’ll do it tomorrow. And maybe you will fuck something up, and that’s okay.”

Slowly, Monroe started to get a handle on her breathing, like the worst of her breakdown was over. She leaned into Blake’s embrace, her chest rising and falling more evenly now, as she took deep inhales through her nose. “I kept telling myself that I could do this, but I feel so lost, all the time. I wish that I could call my mom and ask her what to do.”

Monroe’s words were like a kick to the chest. “That’s not fair either,” Blake breathed, running her hand up and down Monroe’s arm, “but I’m here. If you ever want to talk about her. Or lose it over Maisie. You’re not alone, okay?”

The hiccuped laugh that Blake received in response was its own answer. “Why are you being so nice to me?” Monroe asked.

Weighing her options, Blake decided for levity. “Well, you do have the coolest fort on the block. I can’t lose access to that, now can I?”

Blake, for all of her proclamations, wasn’t ready to get into all of her messy bits. At least not yet. Monroe had been dropped into the deep end of a whole new life, and the idea of showing up for her instead of Blake navigating her own unfurling future felt like a much more enticing proposition.

So she was heartened when Monroe laughed but didn’t move away. “Crying my heart out to Blake Bettencourt. Will wonders ever cease?”

Blake shrugged. “I’d like to think that if I ran into you in the bathroom at school crying like this, we’d have ended up in the same position.”

“Always so sweet,” Monroe said drolly, though there was a hint of something else behind it that Blake couldn’t quite label.

“Are people not nice in New York?” Blake had been there once, on a trip with a few college friends. It had been bustling and loud and teeming with activity. She was sure that more happened in New York City in a single day than happened in Cypress Falls in a lifetime.

Finally, Monroe was coming back into herself. Blake could tell because she husked out another laugh before wiping at her eyes again. “The art world is . . . interesting. A lot of quid pro quo. And Sylvia . . .”

“Who’s Sylvia?” Blake asked, tilting her body toward Monroe.

She could see Monroe bite her lip, looking for the words. “Sylvia’s worn a lot of hats in my life. Art professor. Girlfriend. Landlord. Now she’s . . . I guess she’d call herself my agent, but she’s more of a pain in my ass than anything. She hates that I’m here and doesn’t let me forget that she thinks I’m making a huge mistake. As if what I did was decide to jet off to Cabo for the weekend or something.”

Blake narrowed her eyes, even as awareness thrummed through her body at what Monroe had just told her. But she didn’t have time to dwell on it, given her worries that, at any moment, Monroe would lose herself in sadness again.

And that wasn’t a place Blake wanted to see the other woman go.

“That’s an interesting résumé she holds when it comes to you.” She tried her best to keep the judgment from her tone, but she wasn’t quite sure if she succeeded.

Monroe laughed. “That’s a nice, Southern way to say it.”

Blake scowled. “Well, I have a few less delicate words for her, but I’m reserving them because that isn’t the point of this conversation.”

She softened at the lopsided smile Monroe finally gave her as she leaned back so they could look at one another. “Yeah? The Blake’s got some bite?”

She liked the way Monroe was looking at her, intrigued. It was a nice change of pace after having felt written off by everyone else lately.

Still, Blake rolled her eyes. “My run-in with Allison notwithstanding, it’s hard to make it in this town without at least developing thick skin.”

“So not that different from New York, then?” Monroe surmised, and Blake could tell there was definitely a story there.

“Well, the great news for you is that none of my bite is directed at you or Maisie. And I really meant what I said. If there’s ever anything that I can do to help, I’d like to.” There. Blake had made the offer, and it was up to Monroe to accept the olive branch.

And Blake desperately hoped that she would.

“You’re officially looking for an upgrade from neighbor to friend. Is that what I’m hearing?” Monroe teased, a tenderness in her voice that juxtaposed the joking nature of her words.

“Yeah, I would like that, actually.” Blake had never had a good poker face, so she didn’t even try to hide her earnestness. Not with Monroe, who’d already shown her more vulnerability than she’d been expecting.