Page 72 of Lessons in Faking
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me,” I warned as soon as he swung open the passenger door.
“I wouldn’t think of it,” he swore with a laugh that said otherwise, playfully bowing and gesturing for me to finally get out of the Jeep. “Just trying to figure out what about my car is so inviting that you can’t seem to get out of it. Or is it just me you don’t want to leave behind?” he added. I made a point of ignoring him.
Getting out anyway, I couldn’t help but glance up at the building’s top floor. Although you couldn’t see through the windows, the soft light coming from them was enough to make my stomach turn a second time. My attention fell back to him.
“Wren’s probably home,” I said, trying not to sound nervous about it. “You can give me that,” I nodded at my bag over his shoulder. “There’s no need to add fuel to the fire.”
“Athalia,” Dylan sighed in response, moving toward the entrance of my building as if I hadn’t just said he shouldn’t. I slammed the door of his Jeep shut and hurried after him. “Don’t you remember? She and I arethistight now?” He crossed two fingers. “There is no fire to add fuel to.”
I pushed past him with a single humorless laugh. “You can give me my bag,” I repeated as I unlocked the door. After pushing it open, I turned back with an expectant look. He walked past me.
I groaned and ran after him once more, but he’d already pushed the button for the elevator by the time I caught up. Coming to a stop beside him, both of us waiting for the doors to pop open, I shook my head.
“You areby farthe most annoying person I have ever come across.” The hint of his grin in my periphery told me my eyes should stay on the metal doors ahead if I wanted to remain firm in my stance. “I just want you to know that.”
“There’s, like, three pairs of shoes, four hoodies, jeans, sweatpants, shirts, dresses, and God knows what else in here. If you think I’m letting you carry a bag that weighs as much as you do, I’m insulted.”
My mind was running overtime to check the accuracy of his list. I double-checked. Triple-checked. How—?
“I helped you pack. Remember?”
“You didn’t help me pack,” I reminded him. “You watched me pack.” And I didn’t think he had actually watched, never mind paid any attention to it.
He waved me off. “Same thing.” Finally, he let the bag drop from his shoulder, catching it in his hand just as we reached the top floor.
But it wasn’t the same thing. Packing and watching. Paying attention and not paying attention to the little things. It was like night and day. Did he not understand that? Or did he just try not to?
“Give Wren my regards.” My duffel bag stood in the hallway, ready to be slid across the few feet to my apartment—ifit was as heavy as he made it out to be. When he stepped back into the elevator to allow its doors to close, I just felt really grateful. For everything.
For taking me in over Thanksgiving. For letting me sleep in his bed. For kissing me. For not having sex with me whenI was clearly just trying to find distraction from my grief. For buying me my favorite snacks. For driving me home. For not insisting on coming in. For respecting my decision—my boundaries.
The doors slid shut, our eyes still connected when those two words escaped my lips once more. Words I’d said countless times before. “Thank you.” Although I only whispered them, from the way I caught his lip twitching and his head beginning to tip before the doors closed between us, I could tell he’d heard me.
I exhaled a long, deep breath, one that was meant to prepare me for whatever waited behind my front door. A few likely scenarios loomed:
1. Wren could still be ignoring me.
2. Wren could be baking again.
3. Wren could... apologize.
I wasn’t prepared for any of those options.
The door to her room was closed. I should’ve felt relieved not to find the kitchen filled with baking utensils, muffins, and cupcakes, but I was a bit disappointed.
I didn’t know what I expected after her text.Need to talk.What did that even mean?
Perhaps instead of the apology I’d hoped for, she’d tell me she couldn’t take it anymore and move out? Oh God.
That thought kicked my anxiety into overdrive; my heart started beating twice as fast, and my palms began to sweat. I let my bag slide to the ground. Until now, I’dbeen convinced this argument was just a rough patch in our everlasting friendship—one we’d overcome and laugh about in a few years. Now though, with the seed of her moving out planted in my mind, that didn’t feel so certain.
“Athalia.”
I startled when her voice pulled me from my thoughts, jerking around to face her. I didn’t know what she saw on me, but it made her hesitant smile fall at once.
“Are you moving out?” I couldn’t hold back the question at all. If she was, I had a right to know as soon as she made that decision, right? As her roommate, as her best friend. Or something like that.
“What?” Her brow furrowed deeply as she pushed herself off the doorframe she’d been leaning against.
