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  Nora stands up and tosses the pillow onto the couch. It falls to the floor, and neither of us moves to pick it up. “I told you from the beginning that this isn’t going anywhere.”

  I stay in the chair. If I get up, she’s going to slap me or kiss me, and as much as I would like either of those options right now—some kind of connection—we need to have an actual conversation for once.

  “You say that”—I keep eye contact with her—“but then we kiss or . . . well, you know. If you just told me the reason you’re trying to keep me at a distance, we could figure it out together.”

  When she just looks at me, my frustration makes me braver. “This is the thing I don’t understand about humans. I’ll never understand why people can’t just say what they feel and talk about shit. I don’t get it. Nothing can be that bad. Nothing is too bad to figure out. I’m not some asshole guy who will pretend to be here for you and then disappear.” I stand up. I want to be closer to her.

  She takes a step back.

  “Nora, I don’t have any intention other than getting close to you. Believe me. Or at least allow yourself to try to.”

  “You don’t even know what you’re saying. You don’t know anything about me. You barely noticed I existed until two weeks ago.” Nora’s hands are balled at her sides, and she takes two steps closer to me.

  “Barely knew you existed?” It’s an absurd claim.

  Nora lets out a huff. “You were so wrapped up in Dakota that nothing else mattered. I don’t know why we’re talking about this. We’re friends. Nothing more.”

  “But—”

  “No fucking buts,” she hisses. “I’m tired of people telling me what I’m supposed to do or how I’m supposed to act or feel. If I say we’re friends, we’re fucking friends. If I say I never want to see you again, then I won’t ever see you again. I’m capable of making my own decisions, and just because you think you’re a damn therapist doesn’t mean I have to talk to you. Not everyone wants to sit down and spill their fucking guts to a stranger.”

  “I’m not a stranger. You can try to convince yourself that I am, but you know I’m not.” I try to break through the wall that she’s so adamant about keeping between us. I’m no therapist; I just don’t have a problem with saying how I feel.

  “Oh, really?” Nora says, almost shouting.

  “Yes, really!” I try to mock her anger, but it doesn’t work. Any anger I had been feeling disappeared when I saw how vulnerable she was through her anger. There’s something at play in her that I don’t understand.

  “How many times did you see me before you moved here?” she asks.

  What does this have to do with anything?

  Before I can speak, she adds, “Think about it before you answer.”

  I’d seen her once or twice. Ken knows her dad somehow. “You were at my mom’s house. We had dinner once,” I tell her, proving her wrong.

  She laughs, but not from amusement. “See?” Her hands move in front of her like she’s pushing the air toward me.

  I keep my eyes on hers even though I want to look away.

  “Eight times,” her voice breaks through the silence. “Eight times is how many times we saw each other. It doesn’t surprise me that you don’t remember.”

  “There’s no way. I would remember that.”

  “Really? Remember when we were talking about Hardin and how I didn’t know him? I kept hoping you would remember. I was there when he slammed you against the wall at your parents’ house. I remember when he raised his fist to you but he couldn’t hit you because he loved you. I remember sitting at your kitchen table a few days before that and you were talking to me about college and how you hope Tessa got into NYU. I remember the blue of your shirt and the honey flakes in your eyes. I remember the way you smelled like syrup and blushed when your mom licked her finger and wiped your cheek. I remember every detail—and you know why?”

  I’m stunned into silence.

  “Ask me why!” she demands.

  “Why?” The word is a pitiful sound from an idiot’s mouth.

  “Because I was paying attention. I’ve always paid attention to everything around you. The sweet and sexy, sort-of-dorky boy who was in love with a girl who didn’t love him back. I memorized the way your eyes close when you drink good coffee, and I loved cooking with your mom and hearing you and your stepdad cheering at some stupid sport on TV. I thought”—she pauses and looks around the room before zeroing back in on me—“well, I had half a thought that you were paying attention, too, but you weren’t. I was nothing but a distraction from Dakota, who is a freaking bitch, by the way.”

  “She’s not a bitch,” my idiot mouth says.

  Nora’s eyes widen. “All of that . . .” Her eyes close and open slowly. “I say all of that, and all you can do is defend Dakota? You don’t even know her like you think you do. She’s been spreading her legs for every guy who even smiles at her since she moved here, and you’re so obsessed with her that you don’t even try to see how awful she is.”

  Her words hit me and my heart drops. Too many thoughts are going through my head to process anything that’s been said in the last five minutes.

  “She . . . she wouldn’t do that,” I mumble.

  Nora sighs. She shakes her head with angry pity. I watch as she walks to the door and pushes her feet into her sneakers. She doesn’t speak, and I can’t find words for her.

  I stand in the middle of my living room and watch her walk out of my apartment. If this were a movie, I would run after her and explain myself. I would be brave and find words to ease her pain and frustration.

  But life isn’t a movie, and I’m not brave.

  chapter

  Five

  IT’S BEEN FIVE DAYS since I’ve seen or heard from Nora. Five days, but she’s been on my mind more than ever. And what she said about Dakota. It just can’t be true, but it keeps playing over and over in my head. Why would Nora say that? And with such venom?

  Tessa mentioned that she worked a shift with Nora last night and that Nora seemed distracted and was barely speaking. Tessa didn’t know why, but she thought it was weird.

  Distracted by me?

  Doubtful.

  I realize that I do barely know Nora. Maybe she’s right—getting to know her would mean I wouldn’t like her. She turned so aggressive so quickly. For a moment I decide to call Nora Sophia. I didn’t know Sophia, not the way I was starting to know Nora, and if I separate the two of them, my life will be easier, so maybe I should admit I don’t know this girl and go back to Sophia.

  Still, a big part of me hates that she felt like I wasn’t paying attention to her, that I ignored her for Dakota. It wasn’t like that. Not intentionally. I was already in love with Dakota when I met Nora; I didn’t know that I was supposed to be paying attention.

  I didn’t know her attention was mine to have. I thought of her as Sophia, the older, beautiful chef who would never give me the time of day. But now in this city she’s become Nora, the stunning and mysterious friend of Tessa’s who said all those hurtful things about Dakota . . . and who’s doing a good job of making me fall for her.

  Falling for may be too dramatic, but I’ve certainly been interested in and very, very attracted to her. And in turn, she’s gone off on me and basically told me to fuck off. Along with her revelation about me needing to mind my own business, she told me that Dakota cheated on me, more than once.

  My head still hurts at the thought, and I haven’t made up my mind whether or not I want to ask Dakota for the truth. Part of me thinks that Nora was just mad and in the heat of the moment started spewing out whatever she thought would hurt me the most. That being said, that part of me isn’t big enough to ignore that it takes a lot of effort and emotional gymnastics not to believe Nora. She might just be playing to my worst fears, but what she said feels true.

  Tessa’s voice surprises me. “Did you really do another load of laundry?”

  I set the stack of towels down on the ground and turn to
her. She’s standing in the hallway, her lime-green tie bright as ever.

  “Yes. It’s time I start helping more around the house. Well, apartment.”

  I open the closet, and Tessa leans against the wall. She’s wearing makeup today; her eyes are lined with black and her lips are shiny. It’s been a while since she’s worn makeup. She’s beautiful without it, but today she looks a little less sad than she has the last few months.

  Hardin’s flight lands any minute, and I’m wondering if the two are related. I thought she would be more upset when I told her, more zombielike than usual, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. She seems to be brighter, her steps lighter.

  “You help just fine. I like to clean, you know that.”

  “Sure,” I halfheartedly agree.

  This little hallway closet is impossible to use for anything. The three shelves are really small, and the bottom section is taken up by the vacuum and the broom. I shove the towels in, hoping they won’t fall before I can close the door. But fall out they do, and I reach down and pick them up.

  “Is it weird that I’m nervous?” Tessa asks softly. “I shouldn’t be nervous, right?”

  I shake my head. “No, not weird at all. I’m nervous, too.”

  I laugh, not joking at all, and shove the towels back into the closet, trying to keep them as folded as possible this time.

  “You’re sure you’re okay, right? Remember, Sophia said you can stay with her for the weekend if you aren’t comfortable.” The name Sophia feels odd in my mouth, but calling her Sophia helps me not ache at the sound of her name.

  Tessa nods. “It’s okay, really. I have to work most of the weekend anyway.”

  I can’t begin to guess how these next couple of days are going to go. It’s either going to be a relief, the two of them holding hands and skipping down the road of reconciliation, or one of them is going to burn the place down. It’s Hardin who’s known for burning buildings, but that’s another story for another time, and I feel like Tessa’s learned a few new tricks, so she’s not out of the running as the arsonist.

  “He’s taking a cab from Newark, so he’ll be here in about an hour, given the traffic.” I close the door and look at Tessa. Panic bubbles in my chest.

  It’s not fair for me to ask her to be okay with him coming here. I should have told him to stay in a hotel; there are hundreds in the city. Tessa is my best friend, and I should have made Hardin make other arrangements. Then again, the burning flames of hell can’t keep that man away from her, so why should I try so hard?

  I rub the stubble budding across my chin. “I feel like this isn’t going to go well. I shouldn’t have agreed to it.”

  Tessa pulls my hands away from my face. “It’s fine.” Her eyes are on mine. “I’m a big girl; I can handle a little Hardin Scott.”

  I sigh. I know she can handle him. She’s the only person in this universe that can. That’s not the problem. The problem is that handling him usually comes along with a war. I try to think of this situation as if it were a battle. Tessa on one side, her sword drawn, Nora and her army of cupcakes behind her. Then there’s Hardin, stone-faced and alone, his tank ready to roll over anyone in his way. I find myself in the middle, waving a puny little white flag but preparing for carnage.

  I follow Tessa out into the living room to finish putting away the rest of the clean laundry.

  “Will you-know-who be around this weekend? I don’t know how that will go over . . .” I picture Robert, the pretty-boy waiter, crushed by Hardin’s tank. If Tessa is working, will Robert be there, too? If so, I’ll just keep Hardin far, far away from the restaurant.

  Tessa grabs her black apron from the top of the pile. “No, he works all weekend, too.”

  I don’t know if that will make things better or worse. That means, in fact, that he will be around her all weekend. Should I offer to send Robert to Mars while Hardin’s here?

  Maybe.

  I hate being stuck in the middle between them, but I do my best to be as neutral as possible while still being a good friend to both of them. Tessa is working all weekend anyway. Working with Robert. Oh, so maybe it is for the worse, then. They’ll be together, and Hardin will be thinking about that.

  Between Dakota’s possibly cheating on me for the entirety of her life in New York, the city I moved to for her, and Nora’s storming out of my apartment, my life has turned into a teen drama. No, not teen. I’m a grown-up now. Well, sort of. So it’s a New Adult drama. Is New Adult a thing? I heard two women debating this the other day at Grind, the coffee shop where I work. One of them, a short woman with curly brown hair and a two-hundred-thousand-word manuscript, was livid that a twenty-year-old got a publishing deal writing something called New Adult.

  “What the hell is New Adult, anyway?” the other one asked her, clearly intent on getting her riled up.

  “Some shitty subcategory that publishers created to help put out their shittiest work. Too young for romance, but not young enough for YA,” the aspiring author barked.

  As I wiped up the coffee rings on the table next to them, I thought that I would like to read some New Adult books. A lot of what I love to read is considered Young Adult, but what about those of us who want to read something a little more serious, more relatable to our actual lives? Not every underdog can save the world, and not every love is magical and life changing. Sometimes even the nice guys get the short end of the stick—myself included. Where are those books?

  “Do you guys have any plans for the weekend?” Tessa asks. She’s struggling to tie her apron around her back, but just as I move to help her, she ties it.

  “Not that I know of. I think he’s just sleeping here and leaving Monday afternoon.”

  Tessa does her best to maintain a neutral expression. “Okay. I’m working a double shift today, so don’t wait up for me. I won’t be home until at least two.”

  Tessa has been working nonstop since she arrived in August. I know she’s doing it as a distraction, but I don’t think it’s helping. I know she’s going to stop me, but I start my lecture anyway.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t work so much. You don’t have to help pay anything. I got enough money from grants, and you know Ken refuses to let me pay for much anyway,” I remind her for the tenth time since she moved in with me.

  Tessa fusses with her hair and looks over at me. The smile on her face indicates she’s about to tell me to shut up. “I won’t go over this with you again,” she says, shaking her head.

  I decide to save my energy for the weekend and let her have her way. “Text me when you’re off, then?” I grab Tessa’s keys from the hook and drop them into her palm.

  “I’m fine,” she says.

  We both study her shaking hands.

  • • •

  When she leaves, I jump in the shower and shave my face. Sometimes I want to grow my beard out, but once I do, invariably I shave it off. I can’t make up my mind. If I let my beard take over my face, maybe I’ll be invited into the hipster secret circle in Greenpoint. Then again, am I ready for that type of commitment? Hardly.

  I wrap a towel around my waist and brush my teeth. I don’t know if I like being an adult so far. Why does New York have to be so far from Washington? I should call my mom today . . .

  A knock at the door echoes through the apartment.

  Hardin; it must be Hardin. Why do I feel so anxious about his arrival?

  I pull the door open, wishing I had put some clothes on, because he’s going to talk crap to me the moment he sees me in my towel.

  My eyes meet Dakota’s, and I step back more out of surprise than to let her inside. She’s the last person I expected to see; I’m not sure I’m really ready to see her.

  “What’s going on? Why are you here?” Our last meeting wasn’t exactly pleasant, and since then Nora showed up at my apartment with a box of her belongings.

  Dakota looks at me, through me almost, her eyes deep wells of black. “It’s . . .” she croaks. Her bottom lip shakes with
anxiety. “My dad. He’s . . . he’s going to die.” She covers her mouth as the words come out.

  A little cry escapes her lips. “It’s worse now that I’ve said it. He’s dying, Landon; my dad—he’s going to die. I’m not even there, and he’s going to be dead soon. I—”

  Instinctively, I reach for her and pull her into my chest. Her cheeks are wet against my skin, and her body is shaking as sobs take over her.

  I don’t know which thought of mine is worse: that I’m not sad about him, or that Dakota feels like a stranger in my arms. “What happened?”

  Her hands move up my bare back, and I rub my hand over her curly hair.

  “His liver—it’s failing. They said he has alcohol hepatitis; I don’t know what that means, exactly, but his liver is full of scars. I knew the bottle would kill us off one by one. Carter, my dad . . . I’m sure I’m next.”

  I hug her tighter to try to halt her dark thoughts. “Tell me everything they said.”

  I guide her to the couch while I close the door and then join her. She’s still shaking when we sit, and she molds her body to mine, holding on to me as if she’ll lose ground if she lets go.

  She explains that the nurse didn’t say much aside from medical terms Dakota didn’t understand or remember. His body is failing fast, and he hardly has enough money to live, let alone pay these expenses. It deeply bothers me that a man, no matter how unpleasant and downright mean he’s been, can work his whole life and barely have enough insurance coverage to save his life.

  “Do you want to go visit him? Are you planning on it?” My fingers trail up and down her arms, comforting her.

  “I can’t. I owe rent still, and I’m barely scraping by.”

  I look down at her face, but she turns it away, burying herself into my chest.

  “Is that the only reason? Money is the only reason you can’t go?”

  Despite their history, I wouldn’t be surprised if Dakota didn’t want to see the man before he died. I wouldn’t blame her.

  “I don’t want you to pay for it,” she says before I can offer. Dakota lifts her head and looks at me. “I’m sorry I came here. I didn’t know where else to go. My roommates won’t understand, and Maggy isn’t really that great at listening to other people’s problems.”