“What happened?”
“A lapse of j—oh. I see what you’re doing here. Nothing. You’re right. Nothing. We will never speak of this ‘nothing’ again. And it will never be repeated.”
“Do you want a t-shirt?”
“Yes, actually, I do. Thank you. Black, please, because I’m going to take this dress off. It’s too tight, and it hurts. It’s cutting off circulation even when ripped. I never wear it, so I don’t know why I wore it tonight. And these heels are killing me. I’m not fancy enough for your world.”
“My world?”
“Stop. Can you just get me your t-shirt? A fresh one? Because I don’t want to smell like old man sweat or pickles.”
“Old man?”
“That’s right. You’re ancient.”
“Do you have a craving for cake? I might be able to summon some if I stuff the ingredients up my a—”
“Stop! Part of this deal is you never bring up anything you read either! And I don’t think we need to talk. We’ve already established that—that—I think we’ll do fine selling this. Okay. Actually, just—can you get me the t-shirt and drive me home?”
“I think we should talk. I don’t know we’re fine selling it. Nothing happened back there, so…”
“Stop.”
“You don’t want to eat? Your grandma is going to be disappointed. I mean, I’m full, but you—”
“Alright!”
I put up a hand. “Okay, that was a bad joke. I’m not very good at jokes. Or at being nice. You know that. I’m sorry. Really.”
Sutton eyes me up like she expects to be sucker-punched by my meanness at any moment. She backs up a step and sighs. “Fine. We’ll stop for doughnuts on the way home. I’ll tell her dinner sucked, but that I went by her favorite shop and got them just for her to make up for it.”
“I can’t eat doughnuts.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Unless you’d like me to throw up on you…then can’t.”
Her lips compress, and her shoulders sag. “Okay, fine. Let’s talk about something else. Will you please let me make you an appointment on Monday for the—uh—attacks? If you…if you’re worried about it, I’ll go with you, drive you, and make sure you get there. I’ll even go in with you and wait outside on the front step of the place if you want. Just please, please, will you let me call?”
“Do you think they have gluten-free doughnuts? I could go for that.”
“Philippe! This is important!”
Her hands fly to her hips, but she looks at me with so much naked worry and distress on her face that I just don’t have the heart to continue being a jerk right now. I can always get her to make the appointment and cancel it later. Or not go. Or just go and get it over with, figure this shit out. I have to admit it would be nice. Nice to be able to sleep. Nice to not have panic attacks in public or even in private.
“Okay.” I nod. “Yeah, make it. I’ll go. And hold on, I’ll get you the shirt.”
It hurts my chest to see the relief on Sutton’s face. Like she really does care. I think about what I thought about when I had that panic attack. How I thought she saw me. Really. Saw. Me. Saw me in a way that people haven’t before. The way she looked at me makes me want to be better. It makes me want to deal with this pain so that when she looks into my soul, she doesn’t have to see all of it.
It’s stupid, I think. I don’t know. I give my head a shake because nothing about this night went how I planned it, so I focus on getting Sutton a shirt instead.
When I fetch it and hand it over, she takes it wordlessly but offers me a small smile. She goes off to change, and I pace the kitchen until she comes back.
I have to blink at her, stunned. She’s beautiful. So beautiful in my shapeless t-shirt that goes past her knees, her sweater pulled tight around her, her heels in her hand, and her hair half-tucked into the neck of the t-shirt.
“Promise me,” she whispers without meeting my eye. “That by Monday, this will all be back to normal. Us. This.”
“We still have my sister’s wedding to get through though, and that will not be normal, I can promise you.”
She groans. “Then I hope it goes by fast. Everything is easier when I don’t like you.”
“Careful,” I parrot in her grandma’s voice. “Hate and love are very close to each other.”
Sutton frowns at me, but I know she can’t hold it. A second later, she bursts out laughing. Even I can’t help but smile. “Never do that again. That’s weird and creepy. Please. Don’t. And she’s wrong anyway. I don’t hate you. I don’t hate anyone.”
“The journal said otherwise.”
“Argh. Okay, I take it back. I do hate you.”
Sutton stomps off. I smother another grin, grab my car keys, and trail after her. Later, after I stop for doughnuts (they didn’t have gluten-free options, unfortunately), drop Sutton off, and get back at home, I fall into bed.
The same way I usually fall in. So tired, I can’t think straight. Exhausted. Spent.
This time, something is different though. When I close my eyes, I can feel sleep coming—deep, dreamless, restful sleep. In the morning, I wake up, amazed. I had slept for twelve hours straight.
CHAPTER 7
Sutton
I thought things would be weird at work,
