Page 94 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
Cynthia reaches for her tea, takes a sip, eyes locked on mine.
“Because it’d ruin him, I think.”
“The only thing that ruined him was his brother dying and an eighties inspired drug stint.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s putting it harshly.”
“That’s putting it truthfully,” she tells me, matter of fact.
“Can’t you at least tell me one thing that I want to hear?”
“You didn’t come here for that, you came here for the truth that no one else will give you.” She crosses her legs in her eye sore skirt. “Now, this thing—you tell him and if he leaves, then that says more about him than you. If he doesn’t stay through anything—like you did—then he isn’t the one, Phoebe.”
“That’s a slap in the face,” I mutter.
“You’ve been in love with him since before you could even wipe your own arse, of course it’s going to be a slap in the face—a punch, a bullet, even.”
“So…you’re telling me to tell him even though I might lose him over it?”
“You might not lose him over it. Stop focusing on the negatives.”
I sigh, lean back on the sofa.
“Heard from your sister?” Cynthia asks, a look on her face that tells me she still isn’t best pleased with Freddy’s sudden leave of absence. To be fair, she did just up and leave while in the middle of a modelling contract with Cynthia.
“She called me the other day, it was quick—she had a dinner reservation but it was just the same shit she’s been tellingme. Honestly, she’s so not okay that she’s actually making me look stable.”
Cynthia laughs. “I thought she hated LA?”
“She does. All she’s ever told me was that there was too much Botox, not enough authenticity, too many memberships, and a load of sun that melts everyone’s plastic!”
“She’ll come back around.”
“And if she doesn’t?” I ask with too much force because everytime the thought pops into my head, I can never tell if I’m angry, upset, hurt or confused.
“We’re talking about Freddy, she will.”
She holds her pack of cigarettes, offers me one, I take it and lean in so she can light the end. She might be crass, slightly classless and a little vulgar but she’s not judgmental and I think that’s the best quality anyone can have.
∗ ∗ ∗
Later that evening, I go for dinner with Connie. He either feels sorry for my hangover that still hasn’t subsided or what happened this morning.
“Can’t you just cancel on him?” Digby tells me in the car, as he drives me over to Park Chinios. “We can just stay in?”
“He’s my best friend. I’m not cancelling.”
He side eyes me, the car rolls to a stop in a long line of typical London traffic. “You’re still pissed at me for this morning?”
“No.”
“Yes. You are.”
“I’m not, I don’t even care.”
“See!” He slaps the steering wheel. “There it is!”
I laugh, pull back. “What are you talking about?”
