Page 42 of Lessons in Faking
So it hadn’t been rocket science to figure out why I was closing off to people. Why I’d spent my days under the blanket, reading or texting or crying. Very quietly. Apparently just not quietly enough, because the next thing I knew, she’d thrown half of my closet into a bagand announced she’d be waiting for me in the car. No room for ifs, buts, or whys.
We’d only known each other for three months when she took me to spend Thanksgiving with her family. For the past three years, she’d insisted on doing so for every other holiday too.
Christmas? I was there.
Easter? You guessed it.
Fourth of July? Yep.
From the moment we’d arrived that first Thanksgiving, Delphia and James had welcomed me with open arms. Nobody asked about my bad mood or got upset when I locked myself in their guest room for twenty-four hours. Instead, if I didn’t show up for dinner, there was a plate waiting outside my door. Most of the time, I did eat with them, but when I didn’t, there was compassion.
They understood me. Valued me. Maybe even... loved me, a little bit. In three years, they had shown me what family meant—more so than people who’d been in my life forever.
“Doesn’t have to be blood for it to be real.” McCarthy must have been aware of where my thoughts were leading me. His voice was calm and kind when he interrupted them. “You can choose. You always have a choice.”
Understanding, I thought. That’s what he was giving me.
Chapter 20
When I came home from class on Monday, the kitchen was littered with dough-covered bowls, and the whole loft smelled like heaven. The last time I’d seen Wren bake like this, she had gotten a C on her final and caught Jason cheating on me the same afternoon.
She was a stress baker if I’d ever seen one. So the tray of chocolate chip cookies and the dozen red velvet cupcakes were enticing... and concerning.
Sliding a third batch of something into the oven, she paused when I walked in. I was calculating each and every word, movement, even the way I breathed, because this was a delicate situation, and just asking what was going on might have been enough to set her off. But I did. Ask, that is.
She unfroze, the tray rattled as she slid it all the way in, and the oven door thudded before Wren emerged from behind the island, back to me.
“Do you like him?” She sounded eerily calm. Casually, she dusted off her white apron and placed it on thecounter, like she was a contender on MasterChef and had just been eliminated.
“Who?”
Wren turned on the spot to lean against the counter. Her hair laid perfectly, even after a serious case of stress baking. There was flour on the tip of her nose, and if I hadn’t been so confused, I might have thought it was cute. “You’re not dumb, Athalia.” In other words,Take a wild fucking guess.
I almost snorted at the suggestion. “McCarthy?” I asked. The only thing keeping me from laughing was Wren’s blank expression.
“Ding ding ding,” she muttered sarcastically. “The one and only.”
“What about him?” My words were still as calculated as before, and I was on high alert as soon as his name had slipped out of my mouth.
“Let me paraphrase. Are you two fucking?”
I shook my head so quickly I felt dizzy. “What the fuck?” Okay, so my words were no longer calculated.
Wren shrugged. Her narrowed eyes were the only crack in the unruffled facade she tried to put on.
“Why would you say that?” I added.
“Heather and I had lunch today,” she said casually. Heather, my brother’s best friend with a big mouth that usually worked in my favor. “She’s one hell of a talker, isn’t she?” Wren was playing with me at this point. “Just talks, and talks, and talks. And she says just... the funniest things.” Wren arched a brow. “Doesn’t she?”
“Like what?”
She ignored my question and asked her own. “Are you?”
I shook my head again. “Obviously not.”
“So you just kissed him?” She began collecting those batter-stained bowls. When her back was facing me again, somehow thinking became easier.
“How do you know about that?”
