Page 35

“Rachel, what are you doing?” I ask when I enter the room. “Who are you talking to?”

“She doesn’t love me anymore,” she slurs, the pain smothering her words.

I try to understand what’s going on. I’m assuming she means Emma, but Rachel’s not making sense. “Who?” I ask again. We shouldn’t have stayed out so late. I’ve only seen her this emotional one other time, and that was after too many shots on a night with no end. “It’s three o’clock in the morning,” I tell her gently. “Give me the phone.” I slip it out of her hand. She doesn’t resist.

“Why doesn’t she love me?” Rachel sounds heartbroken. I know this is the pain she referred to the night of beer and darts. She hides it well, behind her carefree mask—until she’s too far on the other side of sobriety. Then the truth can’t hide.

“Emma?” I say into the phone. “Are you there?”

“Yes.” I can barely hear her.

“Are you okay?” I keep my voice low, as I did with Rachel. No one should be woken by hurtful accusations. It turns the world upside down, coming out of sleep to that.

“No.” The single word is encased in a whimper. My chest is tight, recognizing the hurt. Rachel’s crying into her pillow.

I feel like I started this, inadvertently. But still. I need to do what I can to fix it.

“She had too much to drink tonight,” I try to explain. I don’t want Emma to think any of this is because of her. “And we got in kind of an argument, so it’s not you. I’m so sorry.” There’s only silence. “Emma? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” she answers, breathing out slowly. “I’m okay.” After another breath, she assures me, “I’m okay.”

“Go back to sleep,” I tell her. “It’ll be over in the morning.”

Stop mocking me. I’m trying to be romantic here.” Jonathan says, but he’s laughing too, so I don’t feel bad for killing the mood when I ran my fingers through his hair in an attempt to stand it up in a mohawk. It didn’t work.

“Who knew you were a romantic?” I tease. He squeezes my waist, and I squeal.

“Quiet. You’ll wake everyone, and the last thing I want is your brother in here with another birth control lecture.” He runs his hands through his hair to smooth it down again.

“Then keep your hands to yourself,” I say, swatting at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

I smile back. Then shuffle my butt on his lap and sit up straight. “Okay. I’ll be serious. You were talking about promises before I so rudely made you over.”

He pulls me to his chest, and I curl up under his chin. “I made you promises. And I hope I kept them.”

I promise to never hurt you. To always protect you. And to be the person you can talk to about everything.

“You have.” I thumb the pink-and-green gem on my right hand, the keeper of all these promises.

“You’re my best friend. My only love. And I want to make you new promises…”

I call Rachel and I out of work, sending an email to Gerard’s assistant for Rachel. Lynette responded with remedies for the supposed stomach bug I have, along with advice I don’t need about “Stop chasing the fireflies; their glow doesn’t last forever. And then they’re just ugly bugs. Go for the butterflies. They still look pretty even after they’re dead.” I’m paraphrasing because I couldn’t repeat it verbatim if I was getting graded for it.

“I want to talk about what happened last night,” Rachel says while I’m pouring us each a cup of coffee.

“Which part?” I don’t feel what happened with Emma is any of my business, except I did inadvertently instigate it. Which is the main reason I called out today. I want to make sure she knows it. That I said the wrong thing and set Rachel into a spiral. And I need to make it up to Rachel. I never meant to make her so upset over mistimed words.

“I know I’ve been depending on you too much.” She sits down at the table, cupping her mug. I proceed to put bagels in the toaster, so I don’t have to commit to eye contact. “And I’m sorry. You should have your own life to do whatever with whomever you want.”

“That’s not what last night was about,” I say—at the exact moment I realize I shouldn’t.

“You don’t want to see other people?” Rachel asks, then immediately clarifies. “I mean, other friends.”

“I worry about becoming someone you need. I don’t want to disappoint you. Because I probably will eventually. I can’t have anyone relying on me right now. I’m not in a place where I’m good for anyone—not even myself.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”