Page 29 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail
“I wouldn’t say I crashed,” I say. “It was sort of a swerving…scuffle…scrape. Kind of.”
“Was this a week or two ago when you stopped by my place with super dirty riding clothes?” Cyrus says, his brow furrowing. “And you were kind of wincing when you moved?”
Aurora turns to him, exasperated. “That didn’t clue you in?”
Cyrus shrugs and takes a massive bite out of his cupcake. “I asked what happened. She said she was fine,” he mumbles around the food in his mouth.
“You can’t trust India when she says she’s fine,” Aurora says, rolling her eyes. “The only person who will actually admit when something’s wrong”—Juliet’s hand shoots up, and Aurora nods at her—“is Juliet.”
“Itrustedthat she was handling whatever the problem was,” Cy says, swallowing the rest of his food. “I was respecting her boundaries, Rorasaurus.”
A dark cloud descends over Aurora, one that starts behind her eyes and spreads quickly to the rest of her body. “Don’t call me that,Cyborg,” she says, her nostrils flaring.
Cyrus’s lips twitch—a rare sight that almost exclusively appears when he’s being a pain in the butt. He pushes himself off the couch, even though he’s only just sat down again. “I’m going home,” he says to me. His eyes dart carefully over me for a second; then he adds, “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say, because I know he’s asking about the motorcycle accident. “I’m good.” It’s not a lie, but I’m not sure how true it is, either.
Don’t think about it,I remind myself.
He grunts and nods. Then, jerking his chin at the fishbowl still in my arms, he says, “I’m calling him Joplin.”
I’ll take it.
The next morningis slow and uneventful; it mainly consists of lazing about, staring at Joplin while he swims little circles around his fishbowl, and plying Juliet with plenty of pep talks so she doesn’t spiral again. She’s searching high and low for another job teaching dance now that her old studio closed down, but so far she’s had no luck.
Aurora and I are secretly worried she’s going to have to find a non-dance-related job, which would break her heart.
When midday rolls around, I get a call from Sal’s informing me that Betsy is all better.
“I’ll come pick her up tonight,” I tell him, and once we’ve hung up, I turn to Joplin in his bowl. “Your sister Betsy will be home this evening,” I say, looping my crossbody bag over my head. It’s the closest I can get to wearing a purse—I always forget I have purses, and I leave them behind everywhere. “I have to go to work, but I’ll see you later.”
“What about me?” Juliet says from the other side of the table. She’s still in her silk pajamas, making her way slowly through a cup of yogurt.
“I’ll see you later too,” I say. Then I point to her head. “But you got yogurt in your hair.”
“Did I?” she says with a start, grabbing the hair hanging around her face and holding it out so she can see. “Ah, dang it. Thanks.”
“I’ll see you later. Love you!” I call; Juliet gives me a little wave, and from upstairs Aurora shouts, “Bye!”
I spend my shift bathing and grooming and generally wrestling with two nervous Labradors and one very outspoken Beagle. His howls are still ringing in my ears by the time a break rolls around, when I hide in the break room and eat my snack of a spring roll and some wontons from Dim Sum Delight over on Main.
My phone rings just as I’m finishing up my last wonton.
“Hi,” I say with a smile when I answer. “It’s been forever since we talked. You know that, right?”
“Yes,” my friend Stella says. “But in my defense?—”
“I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. But I’m still smiling as I go on, “You got married to your dream man and then moved. But did we or did we not agree that you would be living in Lucky?”
“We did,” Stella agrees. “And we’ll come back once I’m done with this program. I promise!”
“Mm-hmm,” I say skeptically. “And what does Jack think about that? He loves the hospital he transferred to, doesn’t he?”
“He’ll follow me wherever I go,” she says, and from the background, I hear an indignant male voice saying “Hey!”
Honestly, though, I don’t think she’s wrong. Her husband adores her—tried to stop loving her for years, in fact, and failed. She told me about their first kiss one time—they were pretending to be a couple, which I’ve read about but never actually seen in real life—and I made her stop talking, because the level of detail she was including made me feel like I was standing there watching them make out.
I’m beyond thrilled for her. I just miss her sometimes. And I guess I’d be lying if I said I’m not also a little jealous.
