She stared up at me. "We?"
Yes. We.Because I wasn't leaving until she did. "If you need boxes, let me know. I'll have some delivered."
"But…" She shook her head. "Who'd do that?"
"Do what?"
"Deliver boxes. I mean, nothing's open."
For the right price, everything was open.And whatever the price was, I'd pay it, not a problem. But she was wasting time.
I asked, "Do you need them or not?"
"No."
"Good. Then get packing."
She was frowning now. "Don't you think that's kind of bossy? I mean, I never said for sure that I'm moving."
Wrong.
She was moving, all right.Yeah, she wasn'tmysister, but if I let her stay, and things went South, I'd be kicking myself later on.
I told her, "Well you're not staying. I can tell you that."
She glanced around, but still made no move. Earlier, she'd mentioned that she'd been living here for only a couple of weeks, which meant there was no need for a long goodbye.
I said, "Becka."
She jumped at the sound of her name. "What?"
"You're not packing."
"I know, because I'm thinking."
"So do both."
She sighed. "Just stop it, all right?"
"Stop what?"
"Stop badgering me. Listen, I'm not stupid. I know I can't stay. I'm just trying to figure out…" She blinked, and her eyes filled with tears. "…well, where I'm going next."
Shit.
The goal wasn't to make her cry. It was to get her moving. Deliberately, I softened my tone. "Listen, we'll go to Flynn's and work it out, all right?"
She gave a choked laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure your friend would just love that."
"If you mean Flynn, yeah, he would."
"I don't mean Flynn," she said. "I mean, your, um, girlfriend, I guess."
"She's not my girlfriend."Or my friend – not after I'd sent her away with enough rudeness to keep her gone.
Becka replied, "Yeah, but she's something. And I don't think she'll be any happier to see me now than she was the first time."
"It doesn't matter," I said. "She's gone."Good thing, too.But even if Imogenweren'tgone, she wouldn't be getting a vote.
