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She shakes her head. "I should go."
"I would choose you. I would choose you no matter what."
Her eyes connect with mine. She's upset, but she blinks it away. "I want to be supportive, but I can't watch you bend over backwards for someone you don't even like."
I know Samantha and I aren't normal friends. I know she's more than willing to take advantage of my generosity. But Samantha has never manipulated me. I help her because I want to help her. And I agreed to let her buy out my half of the house because it was the best option for both of us.
"Why don't you meet her," I say.
"I'm going home."
I move towards her. "Stay. We can look for a new place online. Hell, we can visit real estate listings."
"So in six months I'll be the ex-girlfriend who won't let go of her half of your house?" She returns to fixing coffee. "I have a callback Monday. I don't have the energy for this."
"I'm not letting you leave until you eat something."
She turns the coffee maker on. "Fine."
"You'll feel better if you meet Samantha."
Her eyes find mine. "I doubt that very much."
"So do it because you think I'm hot."
She stifles a laugh. "You play that card too often."
"I know." I lean against the counter next to her.
She looks up at me. Her eyes are full of need. "Fine. But I'd like the court record to reflect my official rejection."
"It's reflected."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The air outside is warm and dry. It's typical Southern California summer air, but something about it feels different today. It's heavy somehow.
I wait outside a fancy Italian restaurant on the other side of the marina. It was Samantha's suggestion. She's such a spoiled brat sometimes. She always wants the finer things. That's what she said when I asked her where she wanted to meet. "Someplace nice."
She should get it tattooed on her forehead. Someplace nice.
I swear, every time I've ever asked her where she wanted to go, she's said "someplace nice."
I wish she could get over her obsession with appearances. If she wasn't so determined to convince everyone she was strong, she might have gotten help sooner.
She arrives early. In her BMW. She's the picture of the educated, put-together lawyer--sheath dress, designer purse, black pumps, delicate jewelry. I wish I could say this isn't the Samantha I fell in love with, that I loved some earlier, less appearances-obsessed version of her. But she was like this back in law school. Even on the weekends it was designer jeans and designer shoes and eating at the nicest restaurants.
She hugs me hello. I could swear she lingers for a moment too long, but that can't be right.
"Alyssa here yet?" Samantha asks.
"She's coming straight from a meeting."
Samantha nods. She motions to the host stand inside. "Let's get a table. We can order a bottle of wine while we wait."
"Sure." There's no sense in trying to talk Samantha out of drinking wine.
She steps inside and talks to the hostess. There's something off about it, like she's trying too hard to impress the poor eighteen-year-old college student.
