Page 132 of Don't Go Breaking My Heart
My heart begins to race, afraid of what my sister is going to say as she drums her fingers on the table. “No. He and I were justhaving a conversation,” Georgia says sweetly. “You know how it is.”
My roommate creeps farther into the kitchen, going toward the toaster. Opens the cupboard, retrieves a small plate. Grabs a plain bagel and opens it, popping both pieces into the appliance.
I watch.
“Any plans for the day?” Georgia asks, her voice too casual to beactuallycasual.
Poppy shrugs, staring into the toaster like it holds the meaning of life. “Work stuff and a few errands.”
I tilt my head, squinting at her. “What kind of errands?”
She hesitates. And that’s when I know she doesn’t want to say the thing out loud because she knows I might not like the answer.
“A showing,” she says, fiddling with the edges of her plate, staring into the toaster as if she can cook the bagel quicker with her eyeballs.
Georgia blinks. “Like, for a movie?”
Poppy sighs. “No. For an apartment.”
An apartment.
I knew she had planned to move out eventually—I just didn’t think it would be this soon. She’s got all her shit moved in! It took her days and days to get situated.
Is living down the hall from me so fucking terrible that she wants to pack it all up and move?
I don’t say any of that. Of course I don’t. I just stand there, blinking like a man who’s been sucker punched by a cinnamon raisin bagel.
“How soon?” Georgia asks, ever the instigator.
Poppy shrugs. “It’s just a showing. Could be nothing.”
The silence stretches. Georgia clears her throat, possibly for dramatic effect. “Well. That’s… news.”
Poppy shifts awkwardly, grabbing a butter knife and pretending to care deeply about spreading cream cheese with perfect precision.
“If you…” She clears her throat. “Want to come along, Turner, I wouldn’t mind the company.”
My head jerks up so fast I’m shocked it doesn’t snap clean off.
Go with her? To check out the place she might move into? Like some supportive platonic roomie? Yeah, that doesn’t feel like emotional torture atall.
Still, I hear myself say, “Yeah. Sure.”
Because apparently Ihate myself.
Georgia slaps her hand against the table, startling both of us. “God, this is so uncomfortable. Iloveit.”
I shoot her a glare. “You’re not invited.”
She smirks. “Didn’t say I was. But if you think I’m not enjoying every single second of this, you’ve clearly never met me.”
I sigh and drag a hand through my hair. “What time do we have to leave?”
Poppy checks the clock. “Eleven.”
Current time: nine thirty.
Georgia leans back in her chair, arms crossed, lookingwaytoo satisfied. “Aw, look at you two. Going on your little breakup tour of potential heartbreak real estate.”
