“I’m spending more time out of my room now that I get company much more often,” Mel says, and I feel a twinge of guilt that I haven’t been here for her. That with Luke at school this year, she pretty much had only Naomi.
I can’t even imagine how lonely she must have been.
I sit on the couch beside her, and she peppers me with questions the way she used to when I was a kid. At the time, she was the only grownup that even seemed to care what I thought of anything, what I loved and hated and dreamed of doing.
Now she says, “Did you decide to go to State after all?”
“I’m taking a year off,” I tell her.
“Oh. How come?” she asks.
I shrug, try to think of what to tell her. “I don’t know what I want to do, and I don’t want to waste my money and time.”
“Lots of people don’t know what they want to do,” she insists. “You kind of just bluff your way through it the first couple of years until you figure yourself out.”
“Maybe I’ll bluff in Winchester for a while first,” I say.
She looks concerned, but doesn’t say anything else.
“I’ll go grab you some more water,” I say, reaching for her empty cup and disappearing into the kitchen.
The kitchen is eerily the same. The same appliances in all the same places. I swear, even the pile of undone dishes looks the same as the one I saw on the very last day I spent in the Cohen house before everything happened.
“When I take a break from my planning, I’ll get to the dishes.”
I jump at the sound of Naomi’s voice. “Oh, I can totally do them.”
“No, it’s fine,” she says.
“Seriously, Naomi. That’s why I’m here—to help out. I’ll do it,” I insist.
“Thanks,” she says. From the way she hesitates, I can tell there’s more she wants to say.
I go to the fridge and fill a glass of water for Mel.
“You know, the weird thing is,” Naomi continues like we’re in the middle of a conversation. “I thought I saw Luke drive past me on Friday on my way here. I must have missed you in the front seat.”
It takes me a moment to realize she’s still talking about the whole takeout nonsense from two nights ago.
“You must have,” I repeat lamely.
“The other weird thing—I keep meaning to ask Luke, but maybe you know. Who is Court?”
“Court?”
Naomi nods. “He’s on the phone with her at all hours of the day and night, so I figured you’d know her.”
Anybody listening in on our conversation would be wondering how she made the jump from the first weird thing to the second weird thing, but I know exactly what she’s saying.
She doesn’t believe us.
I swallow.
“Ah well, she’s probably just a friend from school,” Naomi says, helping herself to a mandarin from the fruit bowl. As she starts to peel it, I smile and say, “Probably,” like I’m totally unbothered by what she’s just told me.
My façade is breaking, so I turn my back on her and start on the dishes.
When the hell didNaomi,of all people, become so observant?
