Page 120 of Break Point
Gemma’s mom taught her how to fold clothes in that perfect, compact way they have mastered through generations. She’s a neat freak, but it figures, since both her parents are, too.
“I wouldn’t dare teach you my folding tricks,” Gemma chuckles. “I need to make myself useful, or else you won’t invite me over to ‘watch you pack.’”
I laugh.
She’s not lying, though. I phrase it like that every time.Would you pleeeeease offer your moral support and watch me pack?I know she won’t be able to help herself and will end up taking over the packing operation. But with all the traveling, these are the rare moments we have to hang out, so we make the most of it. Either way you look at it, it’s convenient.
Someone knocks on the door.
“Must be Henry coming to complain about traffic,” I say, zipping up one of my suitcases.
We still have four and a half hours before our flight leaves, but he’s an airport freak who likes to get there with plenty of time or else he’ll go into a fit of hysterics. So I’ve learned to prefer waiting for hours at the airport lounge than listening to him mumble:We’re not going to make iton repeat all the way there.
His airport anxiety is contagious. Eventually, I start believing we’re not going to make it either, and my dad has to step in and remind us we’ve never “not made it.”
“Come in!”
The door slides open, andRobbie,not Henry, walks in. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second when he sees Gemma sitting on the floor, deeply concentrated on making my clothes look like origami inside my suitcase. Even though he already knew she’d be here.
“Hey,” he says, leaning against the door frame.
“What’s up?” I get up and pull my suitcase upright. Gemma’s still focused on folding clothes as if her life depends on it. Still refusing to acknowledge Robbie.
“What do you think?” He quirks his brows and rolls his eyes playfully. “Henry’s waiting for you in the car downstairs and wondering if you’re ready to leave. You turned off your phone, and it’s making him anxious.”
I groan.
“Why doesn’t he come up and tell me himself?”
“Hereallydoesn’t want to get out of the car,” he says with a mocking laugh. “He says it’s rush hour, and it’s best if you guys leave with enough time, just in case.”
“Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Okay.” Robbie wets his lips and glances down at Gemma.
“Are you going to Josh’s birthday party this weekend, Gemma?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” she says, refusing to look at him. Pretending to be fully invested in a suitcase that will be a total mess the moment I arrive at the hotel in Mexico. I mean, sheisinvested, but it wouldn’t kill her to make a little eye contact. “I have this dinner I need to attend with my parents. I still don’t know if I’ll be able to get out of it in time for the party.”
Gemma’s been avoiding Robbie like the plague since we got back from Australia. When I tried talking to her about what happened that night, about how the guys were played by Zoya and her publicist, and about her reaction, she said she was furious at them for being so stupid. And on my birthday of all days. Especially after everything that happened with my mom. It overwhelmed her. She also blamed her reaction on jet lag and the two-and-a-half beers she had at the cocktail party.
“That sucks,” Robbie says, clicking his tongue and taking the hint. Gemma doesn’t want to talk to him. He straightens and looks at me as I double-check my backpack. “Let me know if you need help with your luggage.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I smile, feeling a bit bad for Robbie.
He likes Gemma. He always has. And I know things have been awkward and different between them. I’m sure he misses her. The playful banter. Being able to tease her and get a reaction. He stopped trying, though. Weeks ago. So that fun and mischievous dynamic they had going on between them simply … evaporated.
Robbie’s not one to open up to me about these things. But even if I don’t knowexactlyhow he feels, I might have a clue. All he does is askhow Gemma’s doing, trying to sound casual, like I can’t tell how everything changed after Australia.
They hadn’t seen each other since the last week of February, when Gemma and I had a sleepover here at the apartment right after I returned from Dubai. That is, if Gemma fixating on my suitcase instead of looking at Robbie counts as “seeing each other” today.
My bedroom door clicks shut after Robbie leaves.
“We kissed,” Gemma blurts out, not bothering to stop packing my bag or look at me.
“Wait, what?” I almost choke on my saliva as I shriek out my response. “You and Robbie? When? How?Why?”
I’m shocked, but after Australia, I’m not brain-dead shocked. I’ve been putting together the puzzle pieces, even if Gemma tried to brush off her reaction to thinking Robbie was either hooking up or wanting to hook up with Zoya after the cocktail party. Among other context clues …
