3
Charley, Six Weeks Later
“How’s the program going?”
“Good, just hit the halfway mark,” I say before biting into my burger.
“Hell yeah,” Georgia quips. “What do you do after that?”
Taking a sip from my soda, I explain, “I’ll get CPR certified and have to pass the national certification exams.”
“Then you’ll be an EMT?”
I nod. “Pretty much. I mean, there’re a few more smaller steps, but yeah, I have a job waiting for me.”
“I’m so dang proud of you.” Georgia’s whole face lights up, and her smile is contagious.
“Thank you.” I’ll be glad when I’m done with everything. Juggling work and studying is not funoreasy. “How's house hunting going?”
She groans, rolling her eyes. “It’s not going much of anywhere.”
Huffing out a small chuckle, I ask, “How come?”
“Because everything available isnotwhat I want,” she explains. “I don’t want another cookie-cutter house on a cookie-cutter block, where the houses are practically sitting on top of one another. I want space to breathe and have chickens.”
“Chickens?” I snort. “Since when do you want chickens?”
Waving me off, a small grin tugs on her lips. “Since Graham got some and I realized how fun they are, obviously.” Then, with a giggle, she adds, “But also, it would be so fun watching Fletcher collect eggs every morning.”
I chuckle, because that would be entertaining to watch. Fletcher is Georgia’s stepbrother turned boyfriend—it’s not as weird as it sounds—and he’s a reformed pretentious rich boy now living a small-town life. Although, my heart skips a beat, the hair on my arms standing on end, at the mention of Georgia’sotherbrother. It’s been six weeks since we drunkenly hooked up, and just as long since I’ve been avoiding him. I fully know I’m being ridiculous and behaving like a damn teenager scared of confrontation, but I don’t know what else to do. I cannot bring myself to face him and talk about what we did together.
For one, I don’t think I could handle him brushing it off like it was a mistake—even though it was—and that it meant nothing to him, which has to be the case, because even though I’m actively avoiding him any chance I get, he’s not exactly making any effort to clear the air either. But for two, I don’t trust myself to confront this andnotdo it again. It’s absurd how over him I was until that night, and now it’s like the floodgates have been opened, and I don’t know how to close them. I don’t know how to be around him again.
I’m seventeen all over again, and I hate it.
If I avoid Graham for long enough, then I’ll be able to get my feelings in check again. I’m sure of it.
Girl math, at its finest.
Pushing aside all thoughts of him and this mess I’ve put myself in, I say, “I don’t know. I can’t really see you being a chicken lady, Georg.”
“That’s rude. I’d make an excellent chicken lady, thank you very much.” Tipping her chin toward my plate, she asks, “Are you finished already? You’ve barely eaten.”
Blowing out a sigh, I sit back in the chair. “Yeah, I’ve been so freaking bloated lately. I just know if I eat too much, I’ll be miserable later.”
“That sucks.” Georgia wrinkles her nose. “Is it that time of the month?”
“Maybe? My period has been so out of whack lately, so who knows. I randomly got it a few weeks ago, way earlier than usual, but it was so light—like, almost not even there—and it went away that same day. Every part of my body is on board with the period, except my uterus.”
Finishing chewing, Georgia washes down the bite with a swig of sweet tea. “Have you ever been checked for PCOS? That sounds a lot like what I deal with.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m sure it’s from stress, dealing with work, and trying to get through this program.”And fucking your brother.“Besides, wouldn’t something like PCOS have been caught before now? Seems kind of late.”
“A lot of people don’t get diagnosed until they’re older, actually,” she offers. “It can be hard to diagnose, since so many of the symptoms overlap with other conditions. Who’s your gyno? Is it Dr. Mitchell?”
“Yeah.”
“Call the office. It’s worth at least talking to her about it.”
