The words sound cold. Too cold. And there’s so much more I want to say: That my love for him is more important, more permanent than any other kind of love. More special.
But I feel too tired. And frustrated. And this very sensitive conversation feels so out of place in this terrible, lonely room in this terrible, lonely house.
“Well,” he says, rubbing his eyes, “that was direct. Message received, loud and clear.” He looks up at me finally, and I wish he hadn’t. The sadness in his eyes is too big. Too ugly.
“This isn’t how this conversation was meant to go.” I almost say I’m sorry. Almost.
But I haven’t done anything wrong.
I can’t make myself fall in love with Noah.
“I shouldn’t have come tonight.” He takes a few steps back, hovering in the doorway.
“So then why did you? What was the point if you were just going to be miserable?”
“Ginger said I’d lose you—if I kept skipping out on everything. That I had to step up if I wanted to keep being your friend.”
“Maybe she’s right. You might. You might lose me.”
I don’t mean that. I don’t think I do.
Noah and I are supposed to be forever.
But I have my limits.
“I’m not even dating Max, and this is how you act? What do you want from me, Noah? If I don’t love you like that, should I just, I don’t know—run off to a nunnery?”
“What? No.” He drops his head. “I should go.”
“I agree.”
I turn away, and I don’t look back until after I hear his footsteps move down the hallway, the front door opening and closing.
After he’s gone, I drop down on the leather sofa. It’s cool and slick and gives no comfort. I feel nauseated. I want to go home. Curl up next to Mama and Mimmy on our lumpy old sofa that feels like a warm hug and watch a marathon of I Love Lucy.
“We’re back,” Ginger announces in a singsong voice, emerging from the doorway with four tall glasses of lemonade balanced in her hands—showing off her waitressing skills. Max is behind her carrying a tray of pizza and chips and napkins.
“Sorry we took so long,” Max says, putting the tray on the table and settling in next to me on the couch. “Somebody requested a full tour while the pizza was heating up. I’m beginning to suspect tonight was more about checking out the local haunted house than meeting my family.” He puts on a pout like he’s upset about this, but his eyes look twinkly and amused. Maybe this is good for him—having people over. Making this foreign place feel more like a home.
“Wait. Where’s Noah?” Ginger asks, peering around the room as if he might pop out from behind a dark corner.
“He… uh… wasn’t feeling well. He needed to go home.”
Ginger folds her arms across her chest, frowning. “Is that so? He was sick?”
I shrug.
She wants to ask more. Max does, too. He’s sitting up straighter, his body tensed.
“Everything is fine. I just don’t want to talk about it.”
Max nods and reaches for a piece of pizza, jams it into his mouth.
“What really—” Ginger starts, but I cut her off.
“Tell me about the tour. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” I smile as I ask, but my teeth are clenched so hard I must look demonic.
Ginger is distracted then, talking about the sunroom, the staircase, a library upstairs I’ve never seen.
Max doesn’t seem bothered by her obsession with his house. Or maybe he would be, if he wasn’t so distracted. Wondering about Noah. What Noah did or said.
We watch a movie after eating. Wonder Woman. Ginger’s pick. I hope she at least got what she wanted out of this night. One of us can leave happy.
When the movie ends, I stand up and stretch, force a yawn. “I’m exhausted.” I give Ginger a pointed look, and thankfully she gets up, too. “Thanks for having us, Max. You’ve made Ginger’s summer.”
“Of course.” He stands up next to me and his arm brushes against mine. He immediately moves away, gives me space. “We can try again sometime when my family’s actually around. Mom and Marlow at least. Maybe we could let Marlow tag along. Throw her a bone.”
“Sure.” I rub my arm where we touched. “That’s a nice idea.”
“Sorry you didn’t see any ghosts, Ginger.”
Her mouth drops. “That’s so not why I came!”
He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling at her.
Ginger hugs him, and I put an arm loosely around both of them. It’s a noncommittal hug, but I’m not really in a hugging kind of mood.
We say our goodbyes, and Ginger and I quietly walk the stretch of patchy lawn and then cross over into the woods. The moon is bright enough for me to make my way, but she lights up the flashlight on her phone.
“Noah and I had the conversation,” I whisper then, even though there’s no one around us but the trees.
“The conversation?”
“The one where he says I love you. And I say You know I don’t love you like that.”
She gasps. “Oh god. That conversation.”
“Yep. That one.”
“How did it go?”
“How do you think it went?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
We make our way slowly through the woods. Clinging on to each other as we step over rocks and fallen tree limbs, hold back sharp, prickly branches.
I wonder about Noah, what he’s doing now, if he’s okay.
I wonder about Max, how he’s feeling, alone in that empty house.
And I wonder if anything will ever go back to normal.
Chapter Nine
A few days pass.
Noah doesn’t text or call, he doesn’t appear in my backyard with a delightful new flavor of iced tea. I don’t reach out to him either.
I’m not sure what’s supposed to happen next.
Maybe nothing.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Mimmy asks, stopping by the kitchen table to top off my mug with fresh coffee. Mama is honking the car horn from our driveway, yelling out the window for Mimmy to get
