Page 18 of Rumor Has It

Wren added a fingers crossed emoji and sent it. She quickly followed up with another message.

Wren Eames (8:58 PM): I made it back, too. btw.

Rebecca was quick with her response.

Rebecca Rothschild (8:58 PM): Dammit! lol

Rebecca Rothschild (8:59 PM): Good luck with your talk!

The words brought Wren back to the present, sitting outside her apartment complex, avoiding the conversation she knew she needed to go inside and have. She needed to properly express how much Andy had hurt her sharing that photo. She also knew she needed to tell Andy about her history with Rebecca given that they were going to have to room together for the whole year. Especially now that they apparently texted each other.

Wren let out a heavy sigh and shouldered out of her little beat up pickup truck. “Thanks for still being alive, Toddrick.” She patted her truck on its hood as she walked around it, heading towards the stairs and her second floor apartment, lugging her rollie suitcase, lucky gym bag, and backpack behind her.

The lights were all off when she got the front door open and all of her bags into the entryway. Her heart dropped. Andy knew she was coming home today. They had been apart for two weeks. Sure they were still in a bit of a fight, but they had fought before. Wren flicked on the lights, the light bulbs sparking on like thoughts in her brain. Their fights had never been her being mad at Andy. Their fights had always been Andy being mad at her. How had she never noticed that before?

Wren dragged all her stuff inside. Unceremoniously, she dumped the contents of her rollie suitcase into their efficiency stacked washing machine. Wren didn’t care about separating her light clothes and her darks when so much of her wardrobe was athlesiure wear. None of it mattered. She stuffed her gym bag in their front closet and unloaded the three books she had taken from her backpack. Her stomach rumbled. She cringed at the thought. There was a really good chance that there was nothing edible in their refrigerator. Andy rarely cooked. Wren wasn’t actually sure she could make foods that weren’t breakfast items. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but it would be a bummer if Andy hadn’t done any shopping at all while she was gone.

When she made it into their kitchen, Wren immediately noticed a pink sticky note stuck to the refrigerator door. “Out with friends, be back late- A.”

Wren nodded. “Yeah, well, your girlfriend is home after two weeks.” She let out a long sigh and threw the note away. She wasn’t going to respond. She wasn’t going to let their relationship dissolve into a sticky note exchange on the front of a refrigerator that was probably older than they were combined.

Wren yanked open the refrigerator door, the milk was definitely bad. It was out of date by over a week. She would just have to take the trash out tomorrow. There was a half eaten salad in a takeaway container and, surprise, the stuff to make breakfast. She rolled her eyes but pulled out the eggs and the pack of turkey bacon as she resigned herself to an omelet for dinner.

Wren woke up the next morning with Andy tucked into her side. Andy’s auburn hair fanned out all over her pillow like she was posed. Wren should have been glad to see her like this. They should have spent the night remembering why they had fallen in love in the first place, but Wren was just annoyed. She had passed out, alone, after three o’clock in the morning with no word from Andy other than the post-it note on their refrigerator door. When had they drifted so far apart? They hadn’t even finished unpacking their shared apartment, but they already felt like completely different people. Wren sighed as she wiggled out from under Andy. They just needed to have a good heart-to-heart and do some of the things they would always do together back at school. Wren frowned at the thought. Back at school, their primary shared activities were studying and partying. Now they had nothing to study and Andy had turned partying into clubbing every night. Wren was more the type to post up at a beer pong table, have a few beers, and hang out with her small circle of friends.

Wren washed her face and stared at her own reflection. Her green eyes looked tired and maybe a little bloodshot. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t shed any tears the night before about Andy’s clear lack of interest that she had made it home. They would just have to find new hobbies to share together. Maybe they could become one of those couples who went hiking all the time. That would benefit them both: It would help with their fitness, it was free, and they could explore Los Angeles a little more—something Wren hadn’t really done since she had first moved out here. Wren would even buy into that urban hiking nonsense, where you just go for really long walks through cities. They could do that. She would whip up some breakfast for them both and suggest it. She had the next few days off. It would be the perfect opportunity to try.

After she had finished making breakfast, Wren headed back into their bedroom and kissed Andy’s cheek. “Good morning, Baby. I made breakfast. Your favorite,” she whispered.

Andy mumbled something unintelligible, but her light blue eyes fluttered open not long after. The corners of her eyes crinkled into a smile. “Hey, Baby,” she mumbled back.

Wren knew that there were a lot of hurdles and obstacles in their path, but maybe, just maybe, they could make it. “I made breakfast,” she said again, lifting her dark eyebrows suggestively. The scar at the crescendo of her right eyebrow, arching higher than the rest.

Andy hummed happily. “I’m glad you’re home.” She stretched lazily in their bed before she bit down nervously on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry about last night. I really intended to be home earlier, but things just got out of hand.”

Wren swallowed uncomfortably. She bit back all the harsh words that she thought—all the bitter comments like: “You could have called or texted” and anything that resembled a sarcastic remark: “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure your fake friends needed to feel like they were more important than your actual girlfriend,” and instead just went with, “Hey, it’s okay. I was thinking, though. After breakfast, do you maybe want to go for a hike? We could do Griffith Park or Runyon Canyon? Anywhere you want?”

Andy stared up at her with a confused look on her face. Wren’s heart sank. She should have let Andy have some caffeine first. Springing a new hobby on someone before they’ve even really woken up yet was probably a bad plan. “You want me to hike? Like, outside?” Andy let out a laugh. It didn’t sound real. Worse, it didn’t even sound like one of her fake laughs that Wren had heard a thousand times when someone important for Andy’s career would say something they thought was funny and expect a laugh. This was something different, new, another thing that was completely unrecognizable about her girlfriend. “Oh no, Baby,” Andy continued. “I don’t think I want to hike on my day off. How about we play a drinking game to the new season of The Bachelor?”

Wren felt defeated. If they drank, how on earth was she going to bring up the photograph that was still up on Andy’s Instagram? How was she going to bring up her history with Rebecca?

As Andy hopped out of bed and pressed a sloppy kiss to Wren’s cheek, Wren wondered if bringing it all up was even worth it.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

BECKY

When Becky woke up the first morning back from training, Katie, her best friend ever, was waiting for her—less than patiently—in their cramped kitchen. She had meticulously stacked a fourteen-pancake stack of perfectly symmetrical pancakes. Becky still didn’t know how her pancakes were always so perfect. She also knew just by the look on Katie’s face that she wouldn’t be getting the answer today. Katie’s face was screaming: we’re about to sit and eat pancakes while you tell me everything I’ve clearly missed over the past six years.

Katie slid a fresh, steaming cup of coffee across the counter. It was already a caramel color, so Becky knew her standard two creams and one small scoop of sugar were already mixed in. Becky knew this was about Wren—about soccer camp all those years ago and about the rest of their training together.

Becky hadn’t really caught her up. The last time she and Katie had texted about the situation, Becky had just responded that she had been wrong about everything and they were now trying to do their best to be friends. Katie had replied with roughly nine million question marks and exclamation points and had just sent more the longer Becky went without filling her in. The thing was, she’d kept Wren a secret for so long she didn’t really know how to talk about her, especially not over text messages.

“So,” Katie started, in a way that suggested she had planned an entire speech.

“So,” Becky responded, intrigued. “Can I just help myself to these? Or is it about to be an answer-a-question earn-a-pancake type of morning?”