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Not a term of endearment at all. Not even a way to disconnect from the women he’s been with. It’s a name that describes exactly was he thinks of women like me.
Vapid. Shallow. Materialist.
“You lose your limo?”
I look down, and there’s Tess standing a few feet away, looking at me like she’s staring at an animal in the zoo, a take-out box balanced on top of a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. She must live around here.
“No,” I tell her, reaching into my purse to pull out a pair of over-sized sunglasses. I slip them on and offer her a polite smile. “I know exactly where it is.”
She laughs, but it’s not a friendly sound. “Then can I help you find something?” Her tone has gone weird. Like I’m no longer an animal in a zoo, but one who’s broke loose from her cage. She doesn’t like someone like me sniffing around Conner. Her neighborhood. Because people like me spell trouble.
“Boston City Library?” I say even though I don’t need directions. I’m hoping if I tell her I’m looking for a specific place, it’ll put her at ease.
It doesn’t work. “Hook a right at the corner. It’s five blocks up on the left,” she tells me, her warm hazel eyes narrowed on my face for a second before they bounce up the side of the building to land on the window she found me looking at.
“Thank you,” I tell her, wedging my clutch under my elbow, avoiding eye contact when she looks at me again, even though she can’t read my expression behind the enormous sunglasses I’m wearing. “Enjoy your evening.”
I’m less than a dozen steps away when she says it. “Oh my god.” I hear something hit the ground. The sharp, muffled pop of glass hitting the sidewalk. “Henley?”
My stride falters, all but confirming her suspicions, and she says it again.
“Henley.”
Something else hits the ground, slides across the sidewalk, a moment before I feel her hand close over my elbow, anchoring me instantly.
She stands there, fingers gripped around my elbow, pixie face tilted up to study my profile. I can pull myself loose. Play the haughty socialite. Brush her aside with an I have no idea who that is. I can do it, and she’d believe me. I can play the rich-bitch when I have to.
But I don’t want to. I need her. I need my friend.
Instead, I sigh, turning toward her while I push my sunglasses up on my head. “Hey, Tess.”
She gapes at me, her mouth hanging open like its hinge is broken, taking in the woman standing in front of her. Trying to reconcile the image with the girl she used to know. “What are you doing here?” she says, shaking her head at me. “Why didn’t you say anything earli—” Her eyes go wide, her gaze darting to the left, in the direction I’d just come.
Where I just left Conner.
The hand on my arm tightens, squeezing my elbow hard enough to hurt. Tess is looking at me, her eye round and disbelieving. “Oh, Jesus,” she says pressing her other hand to her forehead. “This is bad. This is really bad.”
“It’s not that big a deal.” Even as I say it, I know I’m wrong. I know I messed up.
“It’s not...” she laughs, but the sound of it is harsh. “You don’t get it. Con—” She stops herself, planting her hands on her hips. Takes a deep breath. Let’s it out slowly. Calm has never been easy for her. Once she gets worked up, she’s almost unstoppable. I remember that about her. “He’s not the guy you remember, Henley.”
I think about him. The Conner I used to know. Sweet. Brilliant. Fearless.
Nothing like the man I just left.
“I know.”
“No...” she wags a finger at me, giving me a little sarcastic laugh. “You think you know but you—” She stops talking again like she’s suddenly afraid of saying too much. Like she doesn’t trust me. Like there are things about Conner she knows and understands that I will never be a part of.
“I didn’t realize you two were so close.” I don’t like the way I sound when I say it. Jealous. Ugly.
“You left us both, Henley,” she yells at me, reading my reaction perfectly. “You were my best friend and you just got into the back of some big, fancy car and that was it. You were gone.”
Her words rip the indignation right out of me. “I’m sorry, Tess…” I say. “I should’ve come home sooner. I should’ve called, I just—” I don’t how to explain to her what it was like, being thrust into that kind of life so quickly. One second, I’m mopping up my father’s puke in a rundown walk-up and the next, I’m sleeping on silk sheets and wondering which fork to use at dinner. “Got lost.”
“So did he,” she says. “Losing you hurt me but it broke him.”
Him. Conner. Hearing her say it does something to me. Makes me desperate. Anxious.