My Babe??:
I’ll explain when I get home. Everything is fine, so please don’t worry. We’re getting your food now. Glad you’re okay.
Me:
??
Dragging my eyes off the screen, I maturely stick my tongue out at Stella and respond to her jab about my text tactics. “He’s used to it by now.”
Freya chimes in as she sits on the couch on my other side, creating a best friend sandwich with me as the filling. “Trust me, Stella. There is nothing Lettie could do to make that man bounce.” She lifts her wine, hovering the glass in front of her lips. “Forget drunk in love. He’s stoned for our girl. You should see the twitterpated look on his face when she sings at the club.”
My cheek twitches as a smile spreads.
Although his actions speak louder than words, I’d still like to hear him say he loves me.
Just not now.
It wouldn’t be for the right reasons. And since my bullshit detector is operational, I’d know it. The damn three-word phrase would be forever tainted if he said it while we’re going through all this shit.
Humming, Stella leans forward and grabs her drink from the coffee table.
Shit fire and save the matches. I know that sound.
Stella has three distinct hums.
The first is a hum of satisfaction, employed when something has gone her way. It’s melodic and flowy. Often heard when playing board games ‘cause she’s a damn cheater.
The second is a hum of confusion. It has a squeaky quality, and she busts it out when I’ve said something stupid and left her befuddled.
This is the third hum. Doubting skepticism.
Given the topic is Jam-err-Tomer, it’s a safe assumption she’s not buying Freya’s glowing endorsement.
It’d be smart to pretend everything is hunky dory.
Regretfully, I rarely do the intelligent thing. Why ruin my streak?
Feels safer to ration my dwindling supply of avoidance for dealings with Tomer. He needs it more than Stella does.
I set down my phone and face my friend. “You good, Stella?” There’s no venom in my tone. It isn’t my style to be huffy at someone for having an opinion.
“Of course I am,” she replies unconvincingly, flashing a tight smile.
My newly functional bullshit meter blasts a warning signal loud enough to rattle the windows.
For a second, I waver, teetering between two paths.
Do I let it go or face it?
Undoubtedly, if I remain quiet, her concerns will pass in a matter of minutes. After all, she’s in Florida to support me, not create trouble. If I tell her to button it up, she’d do it faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.
The thing is, though, I don’t want to push this aside the way I have a dozen other things this week.
I need a single moment to feel strong.
Just one.
Stella is my safe space. Always has been.