Page 200 of Becoming Us

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and then cleared my throat. “And I’m sorry—for always making it about me and my problems. You’ve had to put up with a lot of bullshit, and I’m really fucking grateful. You deserve everything.”

“I do,” she said without hesitation.

I laughed and rolled my eyes, but she gave a sharp tug on my pants and pulled my focus back. “But that’s not how friendships work. You don’t owe me anything just because I was there for you. Iwantedto be. I always will be—because you’re my annoying little brother, and I fucking love you. We’re stuck with each other for life, Noh. I’ll take the bad and the good and all the messy in-between.” Her voice was steady, no-nonsense as ever.

“I love you too.”

“I know.” Her gaze shifted as she returned to her work. “That’s why you’re still standing there, putting up with this crap. And why you’ll keep doing it until your dying day.”

“Even when I’m a rock star?”

“Especially then. Because you’d have to be out of your damn mind to hire someone else as your fashion consultant.”

“I would never,” I declared, pressing a hand to my chest like I was swearing an oath. “Even if that’s not technically in your job description as a textile designer, but okay.”

“My style is unmatched. Who cares about titles?”

“Not me.”

“Exactly,” she said with a satisfied chuckle.

We stood there in easy silence, her focused on her work, me just soaking it in—grateful beyond words for her. For all of it. For her being the best fucking friend in the universe.

“How about this?” I said. “I stop saying thank you every five minutes, and instead, you get first dibs on gossip time. All your stories come first. Forever.”

“I do like the sound of that,” she mused, brow furrowed in thought.

“Bet you do.”

“Plus, I need to fill you in on the love triangle drama involving two of our closest friends.” Her voice came with a sing-song tilt.

I widened my eyes, already hooked. “Donothold out on me. I need details. I’m already shipping Ez and Pax so hard.”

“I actually don’t know much about Paxton’s side of things, but Colin’s, however…” She let the sentence dangle on purpose.

“Stop edging me.”

She laughed hard, then leaned in to spill what was—by all accounts—completely speculative, totally unconfirmed gossip. But I didn’t care. It was wildly entertaining.

By the end, I was in stitches, nearly breathless from laughing, and silently thanking the universe for putting these people in my life.

Because they were truly unmatched.

Once again, I sat cross-legged on my bed, laptop balanced on a pillow in my lap. But this time felt different. Better.

The knickknacks weren’t all Samuel’s side of the screen anymore.

Behind me, the headboard was visible, and above it, framed records lined the wall—good ones too. Blondie. Chicago. Phil.

If he could see the rest, he’d find framed photos on the shelves and over the dresser. Real ones. Atty hugging me from behind. Holly and me, laughing on the couch. Ilana and me, from that day on the sailboat. The whole band after our last gig—sweaty, wild-eyed, all of us grinning with leftover adrenaline.

It was a real room. It belonged to a real person.

“You look more at ease,” Samuel noted.

I nodded. We’d already gone over everything that happened in Seattle—finally getting through that letter and what it meant for me to say goodbye. Telling Atty everything, including the truth about my mom. Including the pills.

It wasn’t like I was magically cured. I still wondered if I’d done something wrong, still noticed every shift in someone’s expression when I spoke.