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“Drop it.”
“—is what you always do.” He takes the other mug. “When you’re stressed.”
“The cleaning was necessary.”
“In the middle of the night?”
I slam my mug down, and coffee sloshes over the edge, staining the pristine counter. Shit. I just cleaned that. “What do you want me to say? That I’m fucked-up? That I’m a mess? That I can’t even?—”
“Can’t what?”
“Help her.” My voice drops to a whisper. “You were right. I’ll lose her. I can’t even help her when she needs me because I’m too fucked up myself.”
Sebastian’s quiet for a long moment. “So get unfucked.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He sets his mug down, gesturing around. “Like you did here.”
Everything is in its place. Everything except me.
“It’s not that simple,” I say.
“Never said it was simple. It never is. Wasn’t with Lil and me.” He finishes his coffee and heads for the door. “But you’ve got to start somewhere.”
“What am I, your new pet project?”
He pauses, hand on the doorknob. “Gym. Tomorrow. Six AM.”
“Bash.”
“Six AM, chef.” The door clicks shut behind him.
My phone buzzes with a reminder.
Smith Dinner 6 pm.
A smirk tugs at my lips.
Naomi’s mother loves me.
NINE
NAOMI
Lipstick, unsmudged. Hair smoothed into submission. Smile, brittle, but intact. The perfect daughter, reporting for duty.
Smile, nod, push the food around your plate. It’s just dinner. No one will notice.
And if they do, I’ll just say I ate late, or my stomach’s been off since lunch.
My phone lights up. It could be Brandon telling me he’s moved to Australia and will never bother me again.
I fish it out of my purse. Three new texts.
Brandon: Still not talking to me?
Brandon: You can’t ignore me forever.