The line goes quiet for a second. Sybil has been my best friendlong enough to know exactly what my “fake happy” voice sounds like.
“Okay, back up,” she says, her tone shifting eager chaos bunny to concerned friend. “That was the least convincingincrediblein the history of human speech. And don’t think I forgot about that SOS text from earlier today. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“My family are acting like pod people,” I tell her. “They’re all so frickin’ obsessed with this wedding.” It’s true. Beyond just Pete and Linney acting like the most annoying insular version of themselves, Dad’s been getting misty-eyed at the drop of a hat. Mom, who normally runs on pure caffeine and control, has started sneaking naps in the middle of the day. She’s totally running herself ragged trying to plan this thing in a preposterously short window of time. “This whole trip home has already been so insanely weird, and yet I still feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?”
“What kind of shoe are we talking here?” Sybil asks. “Stiletto? Sneaker? UGG boot?”
I sigh. Because I do have one theory—something that’s been bugging me since yesterday morning, before our boat ride.
“I think they might be selling the house,” I tell her. Yesterday, I spotted a folder on the kitchen counter—with the logo for Musgrove Real Estate. In it was a printed listing of rental properties in Atlanta. That, plus Dad’s weird interaction with Mrs. Musgrove at the Fourth of July parade and then spontaneously cleaning out the garage have led me to one heart-sinking conclusion: Maybe the whole reason Mom is pushing this wedding is because theyareselling the house and moving closer to Linney. “It would make sense,” I say to Sybil over the phone. “The house has too much upkeep for just my parents, and I know they’d love to be nearer to the grandbabies…”
But still, the thought of this house—the one place I’ve always been able to call home—suddenly being gone makes me nauseous.
Sybil sucks in a breath. “Oof, sorry, Nikki. That sucks. But I have to admit, itdoesmake sense, in terms of why everyone’s rushing this thing. And I know it’s hard, but it is kind of a rite of passage,” she adds. “When my parents downsized out of my childhood home, I was an emotional wreck. But eventually, I got through it. I’ll totally come out there and help you pack if you want me to. Well, I’ll help keep you company whileyoupack…”
This gets a little laugh from me. “Thank you, Sybs.” I let out a sigh. “I know this is petty, but I just can’t stand seeing Cara in my house—in what’s maybe my last summer here—with my family, and an adoring fiancé… and meanwhile, I’m failing at my own life.” I look around at the garment bag ghosts of pageant victories past. “I feel like I’m right back where I started, even after all the work I put in to bounce back after theLovedByscandal.”
“You’re not failing, Nik,” Sybil says, and for once, her voice is quiet and steady. “But maybe you need to look athowyou moved on. You spent two years throwing yourself into growing as an entrepreneur. But maybe you didn’t actually heal emotionally.”
The truth of it hits me like a physical weight.
“Maybe,” I whisper. “Nate kind of said something similar to me earlier today.”
“Nate?” Sybil’s voice perks up instantly. “Cara’s carpenter brother? The one with the dimples you mentioned exactly once and then went weirdly silent about?”
“Yeah. Him. He’s—”
“Wait! Hold that thought!” I hear the frantic tapping of a keyboard. “Let me get Willow and Emma on the line. We have been dying for a debrief since you sent that shirtless pic of him workingon the gazebo. Don’t move. Do not even breathe until everyone is on this call.”
I smile, more grateful than ever to have a best friend like Sybil.
“SO, WHAT DO YOUguys think?” I ask the group FaceTime, once I’ve recounted everything from the kiss under the fireworks on his first night here, to the charged moment on the boat earlier today when I was flung into Nate’s lap. “He said he wasn’t interested in a relationship… but heseemsinto me.”
“Oh, he is definitely into you,” Emma says.
Her reassurance sends a warm tingle down my spine. It’s good to have objective confirmation that I’m not alone in my crush. “But, like, maybe he genuinelydoeswant to stay just friends,” I say. “Because of how complicated the whole situation already is?”
“It’s possible,” Willow says. “Things can be tricky when family is involved.”
“And,” I continue, “even if he was open to being more than friends, wouldI? Realistically, he’s not right for me in any way. He wouldn’t fit into my life in LA at all. Heck,Ifeel like I barely fit intomylife in LA these days.” I see Emma and Sybil exchange glances at this, but push past it. “Nate wouldn’t make it a single week.”
“Then don’t bring him to LA,” Sybil says, pouring herself a glass of wine. “Nik, you are in a high-stress, high-stakes situation. You’re living in a closet. Your nemesis is eating your mom’s cobbler. Maybe you just need… a distraction.”
“A very hot, very capable-with-his-hands distraction,” Emma adds.
“Exactly,” Willow chimes in. “Why does it have to be a ‘fitinto your life’ situation? Why can’t it just be a ‘fits into your bed’ situation?”
“You’re totally entitled to a summer fling,” Sybil says. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Forget your checklist, enjoy the dimples, and leave the complication behind when you fly back after the wedding.”
The wedding.
The word feels like a lead weight in my stomach. Cara, who cheated and lied and stole, gets the white dress and the “till death do us part.” Meanwhile, I’m supposed to settle for a temporary distraction with a guy who literally warned me he’s a dead end. The jagged unfairness of it rips through me, but I don’t say anything. The girls have already listened to me whine enough for one day.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell them, forcing a small smile as they blow me kisses and log off one by one.
“And look at that listing!” Sybil says right before her square on the screen goes black.
I stare at the phone for a long time. The Zillow link is right there, a tiny blue gateway back to my life in LA. I should click it. I should be mentally arranging my mid-century modern furniture on that rooftop terrace.
