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I turned over to look at her. “Neither did I. I don’t want to fight with you. We’re roommates and best friends.”
She smiled. “I know. I don’t know why I’m so sensitive about the money thing.”
I caught her gaze. “You’ve always been. It doesn’t mean anything.”
She looked away. I felt horrible that she had to struggle, but her father didn’t make as much money as Anders. Throughout college, I always tried to buy things for our room and pay for meals while being sensitive to her feelings.
“When you don’t have it, it does.”
“Let’s stop talking about this before we have another argument.”
“Deal. Let’s have some champagne and take it easy.”
She got off my bed, and I followed her to the living room. I was already in love with the couch. It was comfortable and I arranged myself on the chaise while Sadie opened the bottle of champagne. We toasted to our graduation and the good times ahead. We talked briefly until we both dozed off, waking up when the sun started sinking in the sky.
“Do you want to share a pizza with me?” I asked.
“Sounds good. Can we get mushrooms on it?”
I wrinkled my nose since mushrooms weren’t my favorite, but I compromised.
“Only half.”
“I’ll call it into Lou’s down the street. They deliver. I’m paying,” she said.
I frowned but let it go. After security, rent, and filling the refrigerator with food, I knew Sadie had little left of her contingency fund.
“Fine with me.”
“Do you want to get a Caesar salad with it?”
“Nope, just the pizza. I’ll go back to eating better tomorrow.”
Sadie chuckled. “You mean after you eat leftover pizza for breakfast?”
I laughed. “Yeah, after that.”
“Dammit, Ryleigh, wake up.”
Sadie shook me out of another horrible nightmare. I was disoriented and sat up, squinting at the light from the hallway.
I exhaled loudly. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“I guess I should’ve expected it.”
It was stress. So many changes in such a short time. I should’ve expected it. When I was in sixth grade, our class went to some nature preserve for the weekend, and I woke up screaming. It was the change. I never went on a school trip again.
“I don’t know how to stop,” I said apologetically.
“You’re like having a baby.”
I bit my lip. “Was I screaming at the top of my lungs this time?”
“No. You were calling for your father. I waited to see if you would stop, but you got louder.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
She squeezed my shoulder. “Stop apologizing. I’m used to it. I understand.”
