Page 38 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

He chuckles softly. “Since she’s my sister, her loyalties are split.” He studies me a moment, then asks, “What’s bothering you?”

“I’ve just got a ‘check engine’ light on. It’s not a big deal.”

“Reese.”

“It’s nothing. And everything.” I look down at my hands in my lap. “Do you ever wish you could just be… different?”

He tilts his head. “Occasionally. I never wish you were.”

I give him a weak smile. He just sits there, patiently waiting.

Eventually, I let out a deep breath. “I’m exhausting.”

Miles frowns. “What?”

“Everyone has to remember everything for me, remind me about things, pick up the pieces after I drop balls, make allowances for me, and they have to…”

I don’t even finish getting the sentence out before the floodgates really do open. Through tears rolling down my cheeks and a voice that isn’t working so well, I say, “I take so much more than I give. It just costs so much to love me. Last night, your grandparents showed what it looks like to be loved over decades. Decades, Miles! More than half a century.” My voice falls so quiet it barely comes out. “And I just don’t think I’m lovable enough to ever have that.”

I’m crying in earnest now, feeling all of it so much more now that I’ve voiced it out loud. At first, Miles doesn’t say anything. He just wraps his arms around me, hugging me. I let my head rest against his shoulder as my tears continually wet his t-shirt.

It’s stupid to be crying right now. It feels like it’s over nothing. But it also feels like it’s something I’ve been holding back, and a lifetime’s worth of feeling like I’m too much and not enough at the same time decides to surface tonight.

After a moment, I say, “I’m sorry. For crying. And for bringing you down, too.” I hiccup through a sob. “And for making you worry enough to come over. Especially when I know you’ve got a big day tomorrow and need to prepare. I’m just sorry… for everything.” I definitely didn’t want him to see me like this. Ever.

The worst of my sobbing subsides after a few minutes, and Miles pulls back just enough to make eye contact.

“Do you know what I see?”

“My vibrantly red eyes?”

He gives me a soft smile and uses his fingertips to brush back the section of hair that is stuck to my temple with tears. “I see someone who remembers every sixth grader’s favorite fantasy series.”

I let out a little breath of a laugh and then sniffle.

“Someone who knows which kid needs the beanbag chair. Who remembers birthdays. Who talks to bees, gives them names, and was convinced they recognized her before she even knew they could. Who notices when someone has a hard day. Who remembered Heidi likes purple popsicles the best.”

He pauses a moment, brushing away some of my tears with his knuckles. “You think it’s only other people keeping track of you? You look out for others at least as much. It’s the way it’s supposed to be. We all help each other. People need people.”

I shake my head, not entirely convinced. “No. I bring chaos.”

“Not chaos. Adventure.”

“‘Adventure’ is just a nice way of saying ‘chaos.’”

“I like the chaos you bring.”

“Stop.”

“You’re right. I love the chaos you bring. I live for it.”

“Miles.”

He holds my gaze and, in a much more serious tone, says, “It’s true.”

Two simple words. It’s true. I look at him for a long moment, searching his eyes, an occasional hiccup still catching in my chest.

“Come here,” he says as he moves to sit at the top of my bed, his back against my headboard. Then he pats the spot next to him.