Page 78 of Threads That Bind Us

I saw a video where someone stacked them on their side in the dresser so they could see all their options. Hence, the inspiration for today’s reorganization.

“You’re soothing your anxiety by cleaning and organizing. It’s your M.O.,” she replies in her teenage attitude voice.

I wish she was wrong.

I don’t even really know why I’m tense. It’s not like I have some sort of decision to make. As much as I’m pissed at Charlie about not telling me about the council vote, I’m not going back on my word. We’re in this together, and we’ll get through this.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen Charlie make any effort toward resolving things between us. It’s not like I want him to put on a show, but some sign that he realizes he hurt me and will attempt to change would be nice.

There’s been this pit growing in my stomach every day since we got back from Italy. Because what if he doesn’t address it? What if he’s fine acting like this forever—just two objects floating around each other? What if he loves me, and he’s fine with loving like this?

After everything that’s happened, it seems impossible. But I’ve only known him for six months. People aren’t always what they seem, no matter how much I wish differently.

“I’m not anxious about your appointment, you know that, right?” I ask, trying to stack the shirts like the video said and watching them fall over and crumple in the drawer.

“Oh, I know,” she responds, grabbing a pile of sports bras from the ground and tossing them in a drawer. “You’re mad at Charlie and it’s making you all Martha Stewart.”

I really didn’t think I was fooling Ana. She knows me too well to miss when I’m avoiding the only other person we live with.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I say, shoving the shirts in a drawer and giving up.

Whatever, they’re at least all folded now. An improvement.

“I’m not worried.” Her smile is almost triumphant. “I’m part of the solution.”

I raise my eyebrows at her, but all she does is smile that big, ridiculous smile at me.

“You’re not responsible for my and Charlie’s relationship,” I start to argue, but she just shakes her head and plops her hands on my shoulders, maintaining that grin.

“I am merely a supporting role in today’s activities. Nowplease go shower and shave your legs,” she directs, dragging me out of the closet and toward the bathroom. While I stand in the middle of the room, she turns the water on and hunts for my curling iron.

“Why do I need to shave my legs?” I ask, leaning against the counter. There’s a little bubble of hope in my chest that I’m trying to squash in the name of self preservation.

“I mean you don’tneedto, but I think you’d be happier if you did,” she says, yanking my makeup bag from under the sink and pawing through it.

“You’re not going to tell me what’s going on?” I hate surprises, I really do.

“You’re going to figure it out in like an hour, so just chill. Also, tell me where your dry shampoo is.”

A half hour later, my legsarein fact shaved, and Ana’s wrangled my slightly oily hair into pretty waves. While I was in the shower, she seemed to get herself together as well. I’ve never seen the dress she’s wearing—it’s pale gold and covered in a pretty floral pattern. It looks lovely on her.

The pit in my stomach has turned into a black hole of nausea. I feel my nails dig into the skin of my arms as Ana finishes my makeup.

“Ana...” I start as she lets me look in the mirror. This can’t be happening. I didn't ask for this. I didn’t need this much.

“Just take a deep breath and accept it, okay?” Ana murmurs, like she’s comforting me. That’s not her job.

But maybe, just this once, I’ll let her.

Ana hands me a garment bag that I’m terrified to open. I breathe out a sigh of relief when crimson red, not white, fabric spills out as I open the zipper. It’s simple, sleek satin and tea-length. When she helps me slip it over my head, Ana murmurs,knew it.

My heart is beating so hard I don’t have the capacity to ask questions. Ana seems to have everything completely under control, though. She hands me shoes, makes sure I have my phone, says my purse is already in the car. It’s like I’m floating through space, unable to think further than the next step in front of me.

When we walk out the front door, Zane and Kenzie are waiting by the sedan.

“Oh fuck,” I finally whisper, and Ana laughs behind me.

“Yeah, I thought that might be your reaction,” Kenzie says as Zane opens the back door. She slides in and holds her hand out to me. “I’ve got shooters, don’t worry.”