“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 7SuttonI thought things would be weird at work, but they aren’t. For most of the week, Philippe kept himself locked away in his office. He emailed, called, and texted me minimally. He hasn’t even asked me to get him lunch like he normally does. When I get his coffee in the mornings—out of force of habit—I set it on his desk, but he’s never in his office. Not even once.
The wedding we’re supposed to be going to together is on Saturday. It’s Thursday afternoon now, and I’m starting to get nervous. I expected some kind of briefing or notes. I also haven’t bought a dress yet, and I know I have to get right on that. I don’t expect to hold Philippe to his sarcastic promise to pay for a dress. Worst case scenario, I could always just wear the black maxi dress I have in my closet. It’s not fancy, but maxi dresses are good for just about anything. It’s form-fitting enough, in good shape, and I can throw some sweater over it for a pop of color, so it doesn’t look like I’m going to a funeral. Problem solved.
I’m sitting at my desk, trying to focus on the report I’m supposed to be working on and pretending I’m not thinking about Philippe—which is something I’ve done all week—when Cherry sticks her head around the corner of my office.
“Hey!” I shove away from the desk eagerly.
Cherry thrusts a huge package out at me. It’s yellow. Sturdy and square but soft looking. “This just came for you. By courier.”
“Oh.” I can feel my forehead wrinkling up into a frown. “I don’t remember ordering anything.”
Cherry stares at me like she expects me to open it, but I don’t open mystery packages in front of anyone. God knows what could be in there. Someone could have ordered me something super embarrassing as a joke.
“Thanks.” I toss it onto my desk, flash Cherry a big smile, and resume working.
Soon, Cherry leaves since I’m not very entertaining. The second I’m sure she’s gone, I get up, shut my door, run back to my desk, and tear into the package like it’s Christmas morning, and also as if I was promised an actual real-life unicorn as a present.
The thing is sealed up well. I tug at the packaging, bite at the corner, and finally grab my scissors. I make sure I carefully snip so I don’t damage anything inside.