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“I’m perfectly happy!”
Anna just raises her eyebrows. “I’m your best friend, Liz. I lived with you for years. I know you. And this—” She waves her hands around at my stark apartment. “—is not you.”
“Well maybe it was, deep down,” I mutter. “Maybe this is what I was always working toward.”
“I don’t believe it,” Anna says without a moment of hesitation.
Annoyance bubbles inside me. Where does she get off coming into my house and lecturing me on who I am? I think I’d be the expert on that. Not her. Not anyone.
“You don’t have to believe it,” I say. “It’s the truth.”
Anna changes tactics; it’s obvious she’s prepared for this. “Okay, Liz. You’re right. If you’re happy working a hundred hours a week and living in this weird stock-photo of an apartment, then you do you. If this was always the goal, then I’m happy for you.”
“But…” I start for her.
“But,” Anna says over me and obviously already bracing herself for my reaction, “you haven’t always been this mean.”
I sit up. “Mean?” I repeat. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I came by your office today,” Anna says quietly.
“Really?” Fucking Katie. Of course she didn’t let me know. “Okay, my assistant is a goddamn idiot. That’s not my fault—”
“I didn’t see your assistant,” Anna interrupts me.
“Never at her desk…” I mutter.
“No, she was in your office.” Anna stares at me, as if expecting some kind of reaction. I stare back, nonplussed.
“You were screaming at her?” Anna prompts.
I try to remember today. The highlight was negotiating a particularly tricky account merger that I’ve been working on for the past couple weeks. I barely remember seeing Katie, much less yelling at her.
“I don’t remember,” I say.
“About salad?”
“Oh!” I smack my forehead lightly. “Yeah, she got me Ranch dressing. With a Caesar salad. Idiotic.”
“I don’t know what world you’re living in where you think it’s okay to talk to anyone like that,” Anna says, “but as your friend I feel it’s my responsibility to let you know when you’re acting like a complete asshole.”
I furrow my brow. “Oh come on, Anna. You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I a dramatic person, Liz?” she challenges.
I have to give it to her. “No…” I admit.
“Then listen to me. As your friend. You’ve been acting crazy lately.” She hesitates and then says, “You haven’t been the same since Chicago.”
I can’t hide the dark look that instantly sweeps across my face. Oh really? I want to ask. I really haven’t been the same since Rhett fucking Westing beat my heart into a pulp and disappeared off the face of the Earth? I wonder why.
Anna can tell she’s walking into dangerous waters, but she perseveres. “Have you heard from Rhett lately?” she asks.
“Of course not,” I snap. “We’ve obviously both moved on.”
“Ah yes,” Anna says dryly. “It’s obvious you’re completely over him.”
I grind my teeth. I can tell what she’s doing. She’s trying to bait me into a conversation about him, trying to get me to unload. But what she doesn’t know is that I have absolutely nothing to say about Rhett. His enthusiasm was irritating. His kindness was pathetic. Just the thought of his handsome face makes me want to slap it. The memory of waking up in his arms is merely a distraction from my next goal.
