Page 102 of Hard to Judge

“They don’t tell you that D stands for drama.” I shake my head and unlock the door.

“That’s why you pelted me with questions about my life on the car ride over.” Her arms cross over her chest.

“You’re going to your first event at Crave.” I squeal and open the door. “I needed details.”

“Oh my gooo…” Astor pushes past me and into what used to be my condo. “It’s Fashion Week in your condo.”

“More like a fashion life.” I follow her in and close the door behind us.

“Dior. Chanel.” She thumbs through the racks lining my entryway and corridor. Her gaze snags on one of the red dresses from an iconic show in Rome, circa 1999. “Valentino.”

“The one we’re looking for is in the guest room, I think.” I chew on my lip.

“Don’t rush me.” She waves me off, gliding her fingertip over the array of fabrics. “I’m a kid in a candy shop.”

“A diabetic in a candy shop, more like it.”

“Shush. I haven’t bought a new outfit in four months, thank you.”

“How many have you made?”

Her onyx jaw snaps in my direction and she furls her brow at me. “Just a few.”

“I want to see them next time I’m over.”

“Only if you tell me what’s up with your triad.” Her brow waggles.

Of course I’d told her about my night at Crave with Hota and my feeling about him. That was the easy stuff. I word vomit while she listens and browses. By the time I’ve finished, we’ve made it to the guest room, and I’m lying across the bed staring at the intricately carved ceiling.

“Why is introspection so fucking impossible? Why can we see what others need or the steps they must take to achieve their goals, but be oblivious to our own? How can brilliant people be so goddamn obtuse?” My flailing arms finally hit the bed.

“Humanity,” Astor says, dancing with a Dior number that graced the front ofVogue.

“Tell me you have more insight than that?” I flip onto my belly and pillow my head in my hands.

Astor’s lips quirk, and she sighs.

“Oh dear.” I groan.

“You’re not going to like it.”

She pulls the chair out from the small vanity and sits across from me.

I blubber my lips. “Hit me with it.”

My friend folds her hands over her lap, hugging the dress to her belly. Her eyes are so kind. I know it’s going to be bad. “There’s nothing you can do.”

I let my face fall into the duvet. I knew this, of course. Hearing it, though, is something else altogether.

“Arlo must make his wishes clear to Hota. Hota must accept that they’re real and true. Only then can they face their demons together.”

“I know,” I mumble into the bed.

“What was that?” She holds her hand up to her ear.

My head flops to the side. “You’re right. As always.”

“Not always.” Astor sighs, lowering her hand. “You taught me that.” She shrugs. “You can share your feelings, yourself plainly, and be there for them, but they have to take those final steps on their own. Otherwise, it won’t work.”

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