Page 104 of Betting on the Best Friend
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands.
My frustration is getting harder to control. “You shouldn’t have come over, Ruby. Take the hint.”
“I come over here to tell you I’m in love with you and you’remadabout that?”
“Because you’re not!” The last thread of my patience snaps. “This is you reacting to Niles making you feel bad and finding some way to feel okay instead. That’s how you are, Ruby. You’re reactive, and you’re trying to drown out the crappy way your ex made you feel by giving yourself a new story about the afternoon.”
She backs up a few steps until her legs hit the side of the sofa, and she sits down on the arm. “You’re not wrong much, but when you are, you go big.”
“I’m not wrong.” I wish I were. “We must not have been sharing the same kiss because the second you heard his voice, you turned to him.”
“Because I forgot he was there! Then I made it clear I wasn’t up for his nonsense and turned right back toyou.”
“With so much hurt in your eyes. Only people you care about can hurt you like that.”
“First of all, of course people can hurt you even when you don’t care about them. Or at least they can hurt me. Just knowing someone wants to hurt me specifically, even a total stranger, can hurt me. Secondly, Nilesdidn’thurt me. I was annoyed and wanted to get away from him and back to you.”
“You were hurt when he showed up.”
She waves an impatient hand. “See point one. Then I realized how pathetic it was and got over it, and then see point two.”
She’s saying all the right things, but they don’t feel right. Not when I’ve spent weeks understanding how I had us all wrong. I’ve mapped it with logic and emotion, both. Her debate points won’t change what I know and how I feel about it.
“Ruby, you don’t suddenly catch feelings for someone you’ve known for years. If I were a real option for you, you’d have taken it and never needed anything else. Instead, you started going on date after date. I was right there, Ruby.” I walk past her to my kitchen, needing a beer or a therapist for the rest of this conversation.
She follows me but stays on her side of the breakfast bar to give me space. “But I wasn’t trying to find love. I was going on those dates to make my besties feel like they were helping.”
“You went on them to stick it to Niles because you’re still hung up on him.”
“Sticking it to Niles was a fringe benefit. I never looked forward to any of those dates. It seemed pointless, and now I know why.” She leans forward, resting on her arms so she can lean farther into my kitchen. “You, Charlie. You’re why. None of them were you.”
I hold up a beer in a silent question. She shakes her head, and I pop off the cap and take a long swallow, watching her. “This is everything I’ve wanted to hear, but it doesn’t feel right.”
She drops her head to her arms and groans.
In spite of myself, in spite of today being the worst day yet since I told her how I feel, I want to take care of her. I want to make her feel better, even when I’m miserable because of her.
“We’ll be okay, Ruby,” I say quietly. “I’m not going to quit being your friend. But when I tell you I need space, you have to respect that.”
She’s quiet for a moment before she mutters, “Even if you’re trying to protect yourself from someone who just wants to love you?”
I give something between a grunt and a laugh. I prefer the dramatic irony of suffocating under the inventory that’s supposed to help me make a living overthisirony. “I read this poem recently. You heard of Khalil Gibran?”
She shakes her head without lifting it. “Am I going to like this poem?”
Probably not this part. “There’s this line about how you can see a friend more clearly in their absence, like how you can see a mountain better when you back away from it. I took that like I needed to give you space soyoucould seeme. But now I think it’s more about how I need space to put you in perspective.”
She doesn’t say anything to that, and I let her think. After a few more swallows of my beer, she straightens.
“I also know a poem,” she says. “If you love something, set it free. If it returns, it’s your best friend telling you she’s figured out her feelings.”
I choke on my drink, setting it on the stove so I can thump my chest. “Funny.”
“Not being funny.” She shakes her head and looks down. Her posture shifts, her head tilting as she studies something, and too late I realize what it is.
“Strategies for Turning a Friend into More,” she reads, picking up the list I’d quit using.
“It’s trash. You already know what’s on it.”
