Page 108 of Mortgage of Convenience

But I don’t want to make Morgan upset.

It hits me, a punch in the chest that leaves me winded and a little weak, as Sebastian returns from the coffee cart. The lake is glittering today. Spring is spreading its wings as May nears its end. I can’t wait to see how the lake responds. I hope the ducks have had babies.

We walk in contented silence for a lap. I never really had this with Morgan. Maybe anyone, before Sebastian.

What is our friendship really about? Has its usefulness passed, or did we fail it in some way? How is it possible for someone who was once so close to now feel so far away?

I should have said it was okay, reassured her.

Except then I’d be making it out like I’m not hurt by it. Putting her hurt before mine. Shouldn’t I be allowed to acknowledge that? It’s not like I lashed out. Just stated the facts.

And now she’s not responding.

Great.

I feel like an ass for standing up for myself, and I’m frustrated that I might have a friend who needs me to validate them before myself.

Introspection sucks.

“Friends should respect each other,” Cassie said when I talked to her about it. “If she can’t handle you gently enforcing boundaries, then she isn’t a good friend.”

I groaned. “You say that like it’s so easy. I made things so awkward when I could have just said nothing, gotten over it, and gone on like normal.”

I didn’t like the scrutinizing look she gave me. “So she gets to hurt you—intentional or not—and never know about it because it’s too awkward to bring it up?”

Well, when she put it like that, it sounded terrible.

I’ve always thought growing up stopped once you hit twenty-one. It was the last milestone I had to reach—irrefutable proof that I was an adult. I could go, do, say, be whatever I wanted.

Sure, I didn’t follow through on most of those things, but I could have.

Meeting Morgan was honestly the best thing to happen to me in school. We had the same classes, liked the same things, and thoughtPushing Daisiesdeserved more seasons.

She was the first person I got drunk with. Someone to stay up all night on the phone while we watched clip compilations of Ollie and Christian from a German soap opera Morgan had discovered from a few years before. Then stayed up even longer to bitch about the end of Ollie and Christian’s story. Then Luke and Noah’s.

We talked about everything, shared everything. And Iassumed we’d keep on doing that until we were past our golden years.

Letting go of that future has been harder than leaving our past behind.

“You’re here!” Morgan looks incredible, even in white sweats and a crop top. This is her off-duty look. “Jenna just found out her twin didn’t die in that cruise ship fire, but was in the Alps having a baby instead. And guess who the father is?”

She herds me inside, pouring us both a drink before I can stop her.

“The husband! I’m a little mad it wasn’t his dad. That would have been wild. But I’m also not surprised she took a pass at Riley. I mean, that body. Banging.”

It would be so easy to smile and nod, slip into my role as her friend. Take the drink, watch the show, remember why I cared for her so much.

But as she holds the glass out to me, I keep thinking of that night. All the nights, all the little moments that I pushed through or moved past. The comments. The negativity. The drinking.

Saying no hasn’t been enough.

And I see it, in the hesitation written on her face, in the way we don’t know how to talk to each other outside of soaps and vodka and dancing.

We’ve outgrown each other. And we both know it.

“We need to talk.”

Morgan huffs a laugh, pausing the show. “Oh god. I thought chicks only said that when they were breaking up with someone.” When she catches how serious I am, herexpression morphs from amused to incredulous, scrunched up at the corners. “Wait, seriously?”

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