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A knock rattles the door to my office, and it opens. Hannah steps inside.
“Can we talk, Marci?”
I struggle to respond.
“Oh my God, Marci, what’s wrong?” Hannah asks, circling the desk and pressing her glasses up her nose as she does. “Did my idiot brother upset you?”
“He paid off my debt,” I say.
“Oh. Yeah, that’s surprisingly nice of him.”
I swallow.
“No offense, but I’m kind of failing to see what the problem is,” Hanna says, grinning. “Was it… Was he aggressive in his payment of your debt?”
“Huh?”
“Maybe he paid it off after a fight? Or to get on your nerves?”
Hannah scratches her ear.
“Nothing like that.”
“Oh.”
Quiet.
“Okayyyy?” Hannah turns her head to the side. “Do you need a drink?”
“I think so,” I say.
“Let’s go day-drinking at Longhorn’s. It’ll be fun. We can have mimosas and read books. And talk.”
I love thatthat’sher idea of a party. Hannah is one of my favorite people in the world, and I draw her into a hug.
“Han?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m in love with your brother.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You’re married, remember? Do you need to go to the hospital?” She checks my temperature with theback of her hand on my forehead, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. “One of the first signs of stroke is discombobulation.”
“Hannah, I told you to stop self-diagnosing online,” I say.
“I wasn’t self-diagnosing,” she grumbles. “I was diagnosing you. There’s a difference.”
I laugh, and it feels good. Like a break in the tension. Like I can get through this day and figure things out until I see Jesse tonight. I can’t tell anyone about our deal, not even now, especially not with the debate for the candidates a few days away. But it’s good to say it.
“I love your brother,” I repeat.
“Yeah.”
“I love him. I love Jesse Taylor.”
“Yeah,” she repeats.
“Hannah, I’m scared.”
