“I’ll have those right out.” The waiter walks away.
“Do you hate me?”
She shakes her head, but she’s not looking at me. “I could never hate you. But I think ending your marriage is a big mistake. Huge. Very bad idea. Putting metal in the microwave level of bad idea.” Leaning forward, she taps a nail on the table. “I saw you with John. And I’ve seen you with Parker. And you know what I think?”
I’m not exactly prepared to hear her thoughts, but I nod.
“He’s more than just your best friend—sorry, your other best friend. You love him. You’rein lovewith him.”
It’s a good thing we’re tucked in this corner because this is the information I don’t need spread around. “Parker lives to make people happy. And if I tell him, he’ll stay even if it’s not what he wants. And I won’t do that to him.”
“Are you pushing him away? What signal is that sending?”
I swipe at a tear, thinking about dodged kisses and how we hardly touch each other anymore. It’s been over a week since he’s reached for my hand. The only time we get close is in bed, but it’s routine for him to hold out his arm and for me to use his chest as a pillow. I’m not sure sleep will be possible without curling up beside him.
“You have to promise me you won’t tell him.”
She rolls her eyes. “This is frustrating.”
“Promise.”
“Like you promised me that you’d give him a chance to be a husband?”
There are some things I haven’t told Paisley. “I did give him a chance, Paisley. I kept my promise.”
Tears slip down her cheeks, and she digs in her bag.
The waiter walks up, and his smile falls. “Here are those drinks, and I’ll be back with the fries soon.” He bolts away from the table like we’re contagious.
And Paisley laughs. “That was awkward.”
“Yeah. And I’ll think about things some more before saying anything to Dumplin’, I mean, Parker.”
“If you stop calling him Dumplin’, I’m going to be upset. Please don’t make me cry again. And I’ll keep my mouth shut.” She crosses her heart. “I won’t tell my brother that you are in love with him. Butyoushould really tell him that.”
“Thanks for not hating me.” I sip my Dr Pepper.
She shrugs. “Changing topics. Have you heard from your mother?”
“I thought you wanted to move on to happy topics. And no. She hasn’t called since the wedding. I guess she’s still mad that I chose Parker over John.”
Paisley leans back as the waiter slides two plates of fries onto the table. “If you do end things, she’ll be happy about it, so there’s that.”
“And I hate that.”
“Then don’t do it.” She picks up a fry, gooey cheese stretching out into long strings. “But I’ll stop giving my opinion. Y’all have to figure stuff out on your own.”
“Yeah. We do.”
* * *
Since yesterday,I’ve been thinking about my conversation with Paisley, and I still don’t know what to do.
Today is one of those days where if I could hit rewind, I would, and then I’d call in sick. I’ve been peed on. I worked through lunch, and my truck has a flat. Just perfect.
It’s as if the animals and my vehicle can sense my sour mood and are piling on. Since lunch with Paisley, my stomach’s been in knots, and I can’t blame the fries.
My phone buzzes as I’m trying to decide what to do about my tire, and I glance at the text.
