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“It’s a part-time job, so only about twenty to twenty-five hours a week, and mostly on Friday and Saturday,” she explains, making a little face, like she just smelled something bad.
“You worked today?”
“Yes. It was boring though. I hate my job. But who cares? Not like I’m doing anything with my life anyway.” She purses her lips, and I notice how sleepy she looks. I want to ask her more about her job and why she hates it, when she says, “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”
“Sounds good, babe,” I say gently, my entire body aching with the need to touch her. Console her. She seems sad. Restless. I don’t like it. But there’s nothing I can do about it. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” She hits a button and she’s gone.
Leaving me alone with my turbulent thoughts for the rest of the night.
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Evie grumbles as we climb into her car, both of us slamming the doors quickly so we don’t get doused with the endless rain that’s been falling the last few days. It’s a Saturday morning the end of November and we’re getting a late start, but at least she’s going with me, so there is that.
“I need you there for moral support,” I tell her as I put on my seatbelt. Leaning back, I watch her until she looks up at me. “You do know how incredibly grateful I am that you’re going with me.”
More grumbling from Evie as she starts her car. Hers is a beautiful, newer Mercedes Benz, a sporty cream-colored two-door that must have cost a fortune. Her father gave it to her for her last birthday, and thank God she hasn’t wrecked it.
Yet.
“I’m even more grateful that you’re driving,” I continue, staring at the wipers that whip back and forth across the windshield. “You know how I hate traveling in the rain.”
“You are like a little old woman, I swear,” Evie says with a slight shake of her head. “Wearing your glasses, peering over the steering wheel, complaining when you have to drive in the dark or in the rain.”
Her words don’t hurt my feelings. She’s been complaining about my old woman driving ways for years. “I know you don’t want to go either,” I say.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
It’s because we’re going to my parents’ estate for the night. More like I’ve been summoned, and I’m bringing Evie with me to use as defense. Having someone else around tends to make my mother behave better. When I’m alone, she launches into a full scale scolding every single time. If it’s not my hair, it’s my clothes, or my job, or my choice of friends, or my flat or my lack of a boyfriend or…
Whatever she can find, she will criticize me for it. It’s exhausting. And I’m not in the mood to deal with her, especially considering she’s not happy about me keeping up my so-called relationship with Cannon.
So-called because truly, we don’t see each other. He’s so busy, traveling and practicing and doing all of those football things, we rarely talk. We’ve only FaceTimed twice after that first one where we did such dirty things on camera—I still shudder just thinking about it—and he was so tired both times, we only talked for a few minutes before he ended the calls.
We text a lot though, which is reassuring. I see him on the internet, playing his games. He sent me flowers, once to the gallery, another time to my flat, which was nice. But we haven’t had a real face-to-face conversation, haven’t talked, haven’t done anything that resembles relationship-type stuff in a while.
If I were Evie, I’d say the relationship is doomed.
Before I get too sad over it, I need to change the subject.
“Did I tell you George will be there?” I’m trying to lighten the mood so Evie won’t think about my mother—I swear they’re mortal enemies, it’s so strange—but she whips her head around so fast I’m afraid she might hurt herself, glaring at me when she comes to a stop at a red light.
“Your brother will be there this weekend?” Her voice is ice cold, as is the gleam in her dark blue eyes while she continues to stare at me.
“Um…” I’m suddenly nervous. “Yes?”
“I hate him.” She punches the steering wheel with her fist, wincing like she might’ve actually hurt herself this time. “Seriously, he’s a giant prick, Susanna. If I’d known he was going to be there, I would’ve said no.”
“Oh, come on, George isn’t that bad.” I don’t understand her over-the-top reaction. I know they weren’t particularly close, but I didn’t think they hated each other. “I thought you two got along.” Though they rarely interact.
“He’s a total pompous ass. He’s always been terrible toward me. He treats me like shit!” She glances around, squirming in her seat. “I could probably turn around here and take you back to your flat—”
“No.” I grab her arm, desperation making me do…desperate things. I give her arm a firm shake, like I’m trying to shake some sense into her. “Absolutely not. You’re going with me. You have to.”
“But I don’t want to.” She jerks her arm out of my hold, giving it a rub, making me feel awful. I probably squeezed too hard. “Come on, Susanna. Don’t make me do this.”
“You promised, Evie. You promised you would go with me.” I pause, letting my words hit her hard. “Remember?”
Evie goes still, and then she sighs dramatically, her shoulders drooping, her demeanor slipping into surrender mode. We never back down from a promise to each other. It’s the one thing we maintain. Breaking promises would cause sudden death to our friendship.
