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No dice. That goes the same way as the rest of them.
I groan, pressing my face into the mattress as colorless starbursts erupt behind my closed eyelids. “Leave me alone.”
“I will not. If this is about what happened last night, I’ll talk to Dmitri, okay? He was being an asshole and you have every right to be upset.”
I’m not so far gone that I don’t appreciate that Bee’s here giving me the benefit of the doubt. I can’t see her, but I feel the bed tilt to the side under her weight. “Can you please talk to me?”
I’m just so, so tired. Admitting that pretty much steals the last bit of energy I have left. I turn to the side, where Bee is looking down at me with pity in her eyes.
Her eyebrows hit her hairline when she takes in the hot mess that is my face. “Jesus, Wren. Who died?”
It’s a serious question. So I give her a serious answer. “M-m-my sister,” I sob, descending into more of the full-scale blubbering that’s already consumed my whole morning.
Bee has no context for understanding, but unfortunately for her, I’m in no fit state to explain. To her credit, she doesn’t ask me to. She leans forward and hugs me and I cry onto her shoulder, which is soaked in seconds.
What I learn then is that there’s a big difference between crying alone and crying on someone else. A few wordless minutes later, I feel drained, but I also feel relief. Plus the full ache of resignation that comes with it.
“Shit,” I mutter when I get my voice back. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Bee chides gently. “You’re having a bad day. We all have them.”
God, I wish my growing love for Bee would cancel out my complicated feelings for Dmitri. But apparently, the heart doesn’t work that way.
Pity.
I sit up and accept the tissue she hands me. “I didn’t expect it to hit me so hard. It’s just… twenty-nine years,” I breathe. “And this is the first birthday I’m spending without her.”
She ogles me for a moment. “Wait. It’s your birthday?”
I nod half-heartedly. “Twenty-nine today.”
“My God, Wren! Why didn’t you tell me?” She jumps right off the bed, looking around like a parade of clowns or something is about to burst out of the walls at any moment.
I stare at her, a little perplexed. “Because it’s not really important.”
“Of course it is! It’s your birthday! We have to celebrate.”
This is so not where I thought this was going. She seems to have completely forgotten that I’m in the middle of a five-alarm meltdown over my sister being dead. “‘Celebrate’? Bee—I have no desire to celebrate. My sister?—”
“Your sister is dead, Wren,” she says emphatically. The shock of that statement does a great job of shutting me up. Bee, however, does not take it back. “She’s dead. But you’re not. And if she were here, she’d want you to celebrate. She’d want you to be happy.”
“I’ll be happy tomorr?—”
“Nuh-uh. Sorry. That’s not an option. We’re going out tonight to celebrate.”
She starts to head for the door, as if it’s decided. “Bee, for God’s sake! I’m not in the mood to get dressed up and hit some lame club and pretend to have a good time. Plus, we don’t have reservations anywhere and I?—””
She holds up a hand to stop me. “I’m the future Mrs. Dmitri Egorov. That name holds weight in this town. I’ll handle everything. Wear something sexy.”
With that, she strolls out of my room, leaving the door wide open. I can’t even crawl under the covers because she’s taken them all with her.
Sometimes—this being one of those times—it makes perfect sense why she and Dmitri are together. They’re the two most headstrong people I’ve ever met in my life.
After I’ve closed my room door, I end up pivoting in the direction of my walk-in closet.
Maybe going out tonight wouldn’t be the worst idea? It beats crying into my pillow in a fetal position, at the very least. I can cry in a nightclub for a refreshing change of scenery.
I stroll through the racks of as-yet unused dresses draped from their hangers. I haven’t had the opportunity to wear any of them and, now that I do, I can’t find it in me to be excited about it.
