“It’s fine,”Chloesaid, settling back into the passenger seat, holding up the cord connected to her phone. “It’smy playlist anyway.”
I looked at her in surprise. “YouknowMUNA?”
She smirked at me. “Doyou thinkMUNAis niche?Becauseif so, let me introduce you to this little-known artist calledChappellRoan.”
Something warm unfurled in my chest at the unexpected overlap.I’dmostly thought of us as opposites ever since meeting her, butIwas learning we were far more alike thanIwould have guessed.God,I’dbeen so harsh on her.Ihated myself for it now.
We drove mostly in silence after that, and the quiet felt charged with unspoken tension.Ourbreath was fogging up the windows, despite the defroster running, andIkept having inappropriate thoughts about what else might cause that kind of condensation.AboutwhatChloemight look like if those borrowed clothes ended up on the floor of my car.
The rain was worse than either of us had expected.Whatshould have been a forty-minute drive turned into well over an hour asIcrawled along the country roads, the visibility so poorIcould barely see the markings.
“Jesus,”Imuttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter asanother gust of wind rocked the car on theAroad.Butotherwise, we didn’t talk.Chloe’smusic played in the background, but we could barely hear it, except for the brief moments when we would drive under an underpass, and the rain would stop for just a heartbeat.Butin those half seconds, allIheard was my own breathing, shallower and more ragged than usual.
When we finally pulled up outside her building, the rain was still hammering against the windscreen.
“You could come up,”Chloesaid, glancing at the weather. “Waitfor it to calm down a bit?It’smeant to ease up in the next half hour or so.Notall the way, but enough to make it a little less terrifying out here.”
I knewIshould say no.ThatIshould thank her politely and drive home through the storm rather than spend more time alone with her– and in her flat this time.Twicenow since the cheese festival, something had almost happened, and both times, she’d been the one to bow out.IknewIshould be putting some distance between us.
But the rain really was worryingly bad, and the sensible thing was to wait it out.
“If you don’t mind,”Isaid, then dashed inside after her.
Chloe’s flat was as chaotic asIwould have expected whenIfirst met her.Videogames were stacked in teetering piles next to theTVand on the coffee table, dishes sat unwashed in the sink, and there were books and papers and other detritusscatteredacross every available surface.Takeoutcontainers littered the table and one end of the sofa;Chloeplucked these up hurriedly ahead of me asItook in the space.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “Iobviously wasn’t expecting company.”
“It’s fine,”Isaid, andImeant it.Therewas something endearing about seeing this less curated side of her life.Thechaos was comfortable sometimes.
“CanIget you something to drink?” she asked,straighteninga pile of journals on a desk that supported an impressive gaming setup. “Tea?Coffee?Somethingstronger?”
“Better not repeat what happened this morning,”Isaid, meaning it as a light joke about the spilled-tea incident.
ButChloedidn’t laugh.Instead, she turned to face me with an expression that was suddenly serious.
“Why have you been so nice to me today?” she asked.
“I’m always nice,”Isaid automatically, meaning it as a joke.Weboth knew it wasn’t true.Itdid make her laugh, but it wasn’t the kind of laughI’dbeen going for.
“No,Teddy, you’re not.You’reprofessional, and competent, and occasionally helpful.Andyou’re kind toJen, and toMaggie, and toWillow, and to the bees.Andoccasionally you’ve done considerate things for me, too.Butyou’re notnice.Notto me.Notlike … not like that.Reassuringme.MakingsureIwas okay.That’snot something you do.”
The directness of the question caught me off guard.WhyhadIbeen so nice to her today?Icould say it was becauseI’dfinally decided to trust her; becauseI’dseen enough of her work to know she was capable and dedicated.Thatwas true, after all.Buttherealtruth was more complicated than that.
“You’re my only friend,”Ifound myself saying, and immediatelyIwanted to take the words back.
Chloe looked like she’d had some witty retort prepared, but she swallowed it when she saw my panicked expression.Ifelt exposed; vulnerable in a wayIhadn’t intended.Itwas true;Chloewas my only real friend.Sure,Iwas getting to knowJackandFatima, but they didn’t know me like she did.LikeIknew her.Butthe word “friend” sounded wrong, too, for reasonsIdidn’t want to examine based on the way our last fewencountershad panned out.
“I should go,”Isaid quickly, suddenly wanting to be anywhere else, moving back toward the door. “Rainor no rain.”
“Teddy, wait?—”
ButIalready had the door halfway open, unable to face whatever conversation might come next.I’drevealed too much; made myself too vulnerable.Betterto retreat whileIstill had some dignity intact.SoIpulled the door to her flat shut behind me, leaving her standing in the middle of her lounge, takeout containers still in her arms.
Chapter18
Chloe
The bus ride to the farm was particularly bumpy thatThursday, which made writing in my journal a challenge, butIneeded to get my thoughts out beforeIhad to faceTeddyagain.Myhandwriting was a disaster of jolted letters and crossed-out words, but the act of writing still helped calm the nervous energy that had been building since yesterday.
