Page 33 of Words We Didn't Say

“Put Eden on.”

“She’s a little busy.”

She hadn’t been too busy to send her special delivery. “I’m going to call back every minute until she’s free,” I warned. “I need to talk to her. No more fobbing me off, Yvette. I mean it.”

Silence.

The awkward echo of nothingness dragged on, and I glanced down at the phone to make sure the call was still connected. A rustle. Some whispers. Finally, I heard the voice I’d ached to hear.

“Did you get my delivery?” Eden asked.

Except that wasn’tmyEden. Eden’s voice was usually high and sweet, melting my insides like butter on toast. The voice talking was ice, so cold and sharp it plunged between my ribs and snicked my lungs. I couldn’t breathe.

“Stop calling here,” she said.

“We need to talk. Not like the other night, Denny Dee. Properly this time. I tried to give you space over the weekend to cool off, but God, everything we have together is worth at least one more conversation, isn’t it? Please.”

“I…” She paused. “Um.”

“Can we meet somewhere? Anywhere.” I didn’t even bother hiding the desperation in my voice. “I’ll do anything. I’ll stop calling. I promise I’m not trying to get you in trouble with your boss.”

“My boss.”The sweet uncertainty in Eden’s voice disappeared, and the arctic wind was blasting back down the line.

Unsettled, I stammered, “Y-Yeah.”

“You don’t want me to get in trouble withmy boss.” The bitter crackle of Eden’s laugh wasn’t a sound I’d heard before. “Yeah, we better not piss off my boss. She’s a real bitch.”

The call went dead.

A growl of frustration bellowed out of me. I smacked the phone down and threw myself back in my chair. Tired eyes searched the ceiling for answers I knew I wouldn’t find.

Even though I didn’t understand why, I knew my call had just made everything so much worse.

9

She didn’t say, “It’s easier to be angry than hurt.”

Eden

Just my luck.

I’d grabbed the shopping cart with the wobbly wheel. My hands rumbled under the cart’s red handle like I was holding onto the world’s most boring rollercoaster, and the annoying clackety-clack announced my arrival down every aisle.

Heads turned. Strangers stared like startled cats.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

I wasn’t shy. I loved the limelight. But who’d want an audience as they grabbed tampons off the shelf in aisle four? No one. Not even a D-lister craved that kind of attention. I tossed the box in the cart, kicked the wheel into gear, and pushed on.

This was all Andie’s fault. I could’ve avoided my late-night excursion to the supermarket if she’d stocked her fridge like a normal person.

My best friend was a riddle. She was a talented barber and a budding mechanic. She’d even renovated her terrace into an edgy show home after only watching a few video tutorials. The fact that the same set of hands capable of so much had once set a bowl of mac and cheese on fire in the microwave defied belief. Being that bad at cooking was truly a talent.

Andie’s unique talent also meant she’d made it to her thirties surviving off an empty fridge and hideous drinks she tried to pass off asshakes. Sorry, no. Scoops of powder shaken with water that smelled worse than a cat’s butt weren’t on any food pyramid I’d ever seen.

As much as I loved her, five days of camping out on Andie’s sofa was my limit. I couldn’t soar through life if I was hobbling around using my best friend as an emotional crutch. Life needed to start again. Big changes needed to be celebrated—and with tastier snacks than the limp carrot and mouldy wedge of cheese in the back of Andie’s fridge.

And I had a lot to celebrate.

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