The Boys of Blueberries

9

Since they've grown up, it's rare that everyone in their little circle can make it—the last was Andy and Rhysand's wedding, and even then, it almost cost the bride her hair and her sanity because it was apparently demonizing to find a one-week schedule that fit everyone's availability.

So to the clinic's opening, it's Andy and Rhysand, who have been each other's since the beginning of time, are living in domestic bliss and have a son; MJ and Adrian, who have transitioned from a lot of tequila and on/offs before finally getting their shit together and building this clinic from support and ambition and dedication; Jenner, who is always a delight to be with and can't seem to find anyone to share the ridiculously large house with yet; and Sabina and Tristan who are—something. Lots of things, and also nothing at all.

"Congratulations." Sabina leans close to give Adrian a hug. "How's it feel, Doctor?"

"Overwhelming," he answers with a grin, wrapping an arm around MJ. "Worth it. Thanks for coming, Sab."

"MJ forced me to."

"I did not," MJ retorts, rolling her eyes.

Sabina tightens her arm around Tristan, who's just standing there beside her, all stiff and rigid, like he's here as her bodyguard and not as her freaking date. "Adrian, this is Tristan Bishop. Tristan, this is Doctor Adrian Flynn, he owns the clinic. And you know MJ."

The doctor's grin turns menacing as he switches his gaze to Tristan. And then back to Sabina. "Ah. It's a blonde this time."

Sabina narrows her eyes at him. It's his day, she tells herself. We can't kill anyone. Oh, and it's MJ's boyfriend, she'd be pretty sad.

MJ shoots him a look. "Babe."

Adrian offers his hand out to him. "Nice to meet you, man."

"Hello." Tristan shakes it. "Congratulations."

Adrian's eyebrows raise. "You don't have to be so polite. Come on, Sabina's..." He sucks in a deep breath and pretends to think about it. Sabina rolls her eyes. "Any friend of Sabina's is a friend of mine."

Before Sabina can speak, Tristan says, in his flat, flat voice, "We're not friends."

The brunet's eyebrows raise up higher. They reach his hairline. He looks at Sabina, and his eyes are mischievous. "Really." The word rolls off his tongue so mockingly, Sabina is going to punch him. "So it's more than the usual. You like her, she likes you, which is it—"

"Neither. Shut him up," Sabina snaps to MJ, taking Tristan's hand. "Just because he's a big shot now doesn't mean he can treat me and my date like this."

"Ah!" Adrian's voice calls out from behind them. "So the term is date!"

Tristan's hand is slack in hers, but Sabina keeps pulling him inside the small clinic, through the glass doors. They're instantly hit with the cool air conditioning, and despite her flusteredness, Sabina can appreciate beauty when she sees it. The walls are cream but the doors and the paintings are blue—but not the blinding blue, more of a Robin's egg blue, the kind of blue that makes you feel sleepy. The sofa, throw pillows and rug are beige, and the reception desk is marble, and the Flynn Psychology Center name plate is in metallic gold, right up on the wall—no one can miss it. It looks bright and cozy for people coming to see a shrink.

And filled with people—Adrian and MJ's friends from work and medical school. Andy is easy to spot—if it's not the floral embroidered mesh mini-cami dress she's wearing, it's the fact that she's eyeing the sweets on the table, features drawn together like she's thinking hard, like she's making an incredibly difficult decision at a candy store.