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“Are you even watching the movie?”
I blink, realizing in my haze of internal thought, I’ve been staring at Busy, and she’s now staring right back.
Licking my lips, I nod. “I am.”
Her lips tilt up. “Really? What just happened?”
Looking to the screen, I try to assess what’s happening. “They are…taking their relationship public.”
Busy laughs. “Lucky guess.”
“Okay, so…I might not have been watching.”
“Knew it.”
“I was just thinking,” I say, wanting to tell her how important she has become to me in such a short time but struggling to find the right words, “how lucky I am to have you as a friend.”
I’m rarely that honest. I can’t remember a time when I’veeversaid something like that to anyone, let alone a woman. It feels like a big deal for me.
Which is why I’m surprised when Busy’s smile slips and she quickly looks away, back at the screen.
“Did I…say something wrong?” I ask, feeling confused.
She shakes her head then looks back at me. “Not at all. I’m glad we’re friends, too.”
But that fake smile is back, the one I thought we’d gotten rid of, the one that says she’s not really being herself, not being honest. And the worst part about it is that I see sadness there, too.
I hate it.
We sit in a stilted silence for the rest of the movie, and I couldn’t tell anyone what happened if they offered me a million dollars. Instead, I’m hyperaware of Busy next to me, her breathsand the way she sits with her bare feet on the edge of the sofa and her arms wrapped around her knees.
When the credits finally begin to roll, Busy stands like she’s been waiting for it to end for hours, shoving the M&Ms she’s barely touched back into her purse.
“Thanks for inviting me over,” she says, giving me a tight smile as I stand. “I need to get back to Junie, so…”
“Busy, what happened?” I need to know. “Why did you…shut me out like that?”
“I didn’t.”
I raise an eyebrow. A flat-out lie if I’ve ever heard one.
I’ve never been the type to push when someone isn’t honest. I tend to be a ‘live and let live’ kind of guy. If you don’t want to be honest or want to keep your thoughts to yourself, that’s your choice. I rarely share exactly what’s on my mind with anyone.
But I have a feeling if I let Busy leave right now, she’ll shut me out again, become that version that’s friendly but distant. And that’s the absolute last thing I want.
“Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,” I say, my words softer than I feel inside. “I don’t want you to leave upset.”
She looks at me, clearly surprised. “I’m not upset.”
“Really? So that fake smile was because…what?” I ask. “You didn’t want me to know you hated the movie?”
“I didn’t hate the movie. It was actually really good.”
“Was it? I have no idea because I barely watched it.”
“And that’s my fault?”
I grit my teeth. “I feel like you’re trying to pick a fight, and I’m not trying to fight.”
