Page 15 of Merrily Ever After
“Lara?” I press, but she just looks pained.
“I can’t seem to stop snapping at you, can I? Even after you went to all this trouble.”
I force a smile. “I tend to have that effect on people.”
“I used to be so good at this,” she whispers, and I’m back to being confused.
“At what?”
“Pretending.” And before I can ask her what she means, she meets my gaze. “Do you know why I really came home?” she asks. “Why I didn’t stay in Berlin?”
I shake my head.
“It’s because I wanted to see you. Just you. I missed you and I wanted to spend time with you. Because you always know what to do. You always make everything better and I know I take it for granted—”
“Lara—”
“No, just let me say this,” she says, and I shut up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look more uncomfortable, and when she speaks next, it’s slow, as if each word is a struggle. “It’s hard being your friend sometimes. And not because you do anything wrong. It’s hard because sometimes … for a long time actually, I’ve wanted to be more.”
I nod automatically, trying to be encouraging even though I have no idea what she’s talking about. “More like what?”
She ignores the question. “I’m saying that when you tease me like that, even if you’re just trying to make me feel better, it hurts because I know you don’t mean it.”
“I don’t mean it.” I repeat the words out loud, but no. They definitely mean what I think they mean. “Who says I don’t mean it?”
A hint of frustration enters her expression. “I do.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve never shown any interest in me like that.”
It’s a point I should correct her on, because I think I’ve been a littletooobvious about it, truth be told, but I’m starting to feel a little lightheaded, like I’ve stood up too fast or drank too much, and now all I can think about is …
“How long’s a long time?”
She doesn’t respond.
“A week? Two weeks?” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. I think I’m sweating. Am I sweating? “Three?”
“I guess since university, I …” She trails off uncertainly and now I’m just gaping at her.
“Since university?”
“Maybe.”
“Our one?”
“Yes.”
“That we attended together?”
She scowls. “Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you.” My forehead feels clammy. I’m definitely sweating. “I’m trying to figure out why you didn’t say anything before.”
“Because I was shy! I’m not as good as you are with the social stuff. You know that. Especially back then. I was nervous and awkward and half in love with you and thought you just wanted to be friends.”
I’m about to call her out on all the hundreds of things wrong with what she just said, but my brain gets stuck on those five little words. Those five very little yet very big words.
