Chapter 25
Nadine
“I still can’t even believe this,” Mika says as she studies my leopard print flats before seeing them carefully into a moving box. “It’s the end of an era.”
I swallow.
The end of an era indeed.
I’ve had the exact same thought a million times.
And then I had about a million more thoughts wondering if I could get out of it—if I could back out of moving in with Paulo.
For a second, I want to tell Mika everything. I want to confide in someone that the only reason I said yes to Paulo was because I was scared. Scared to death that if I stayed with James things would change, horribly.
Except they’re still changing horribly, only now I have to deal with the change minus a best friend.
But telling Mika any of this is bound to bring up questions I’m not ready to answer.
Questions about me. And James.
About what the hell happened that last night in Cannon Beach.
So instead I say nothing, and continue my self–pep talk that moving in with Paulo is the right decision. The move-forward-with-my-life decision.
I don’t look up from where I’m wrapping all of my perfume bottles in Bubble Wrap. “Thanks for helping me pack.”
“Oh, of course,” she says with a wave of her hand. “This is the easy part. At least you have two dudes to help with the heavy stuff tomorrow.”
I say nothing, and she pauses. “Right? James' helping? Because I love you, but no way am I going to ruin my new manicure by helping you move that freaking dresser.”
“I haven’t really asked,” I say, keeping my back to her so she can’t read my expression. “But, yeah, I’m pretty sure James will help Paulo load up the truck tomorrow.”
I’m not sure of this at all.
It’s not that James and I aren’t talking. We are. We’ve been perfectly civil. We have to be, because until noonish tomorrow, we’re living together. And we still carpool to work together.
But in the two weeks since I told him that I was moving in with Paulo, we haven’t really connected. Not mentally. Not emotionally. Definitely not physically.
Neither of us will admit that anything is wrong. But something is wrong, and I’m dying inside.
“Okay, hey, I need to talk to you about something,” Mika says, oh-so-carefully setting a pair of ancient flip-flops in the box like they’re Louboutins before plopping down on my bed.
“Sure,” I say, grateful for the change of topic. Anything to stop thinking about James.
“It’s about James,” she says.
Or not.
“Okay…” I say.
I have the sudden premonition that I’ll want to sit down for this, only to realize that I’m already sitting cross-legged on the floor. Crap. Maybe I should be holding on to something.
“I’m going to ask him out. James. I’m going to ask out James,” she says.
Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact, and very, very clear, and yet it takes what feels like several minutes for her words to register in my brain.
“Mika—”
“No, I know what you’re going to say,” she interrupts. “That he’s a womanizing turd, and he’s going to break my heart because he doesn’t do relationships. But I like him, Nadine. Enough that I want to risk it.”
