“Yeah, I know, but I just don’t fully understand,” I say, trying to keep calm. “Why would you come to the funeral? Risk being seen?”
“Giovanni was my best friend. In hiding or not, I was going to show up for him. He showed up for me. As soon as I heard what had happened, I had to go,” he explains. That makes sense. If I was undercover and my best friend died, I wouldn't care. Butwhyis he undercover? What is he running from? I’m sure people would be delighted to know he made it out alive. “And I’m sorry for that. For you having to see what you did.”
It takes me a few seconds to realise what he’s talking about. Even though Dr. Nelson tells me it’s okay to be shutting out the memories of what happened, a part of me still feels guilty. I don’t want to remember it because of how much it hurt seeing him like that, in so much pain. But those are also the last memories I have with him and the one I had before that — thinking he was covering up a crime scene in his backyard — is not any more pleasant. Blocking it out feels right for now.
“I never told you I was there,” I whisper. Our conversation was short at the funeral. There’s no way I would have dumped that on him. I was already in too much shock.
“Reports,” he replies, “they talk.” Of course, they do because I can't get one minute of privacy apparently, even after people walked past the scene, leaving us to clean it up. I tried to have the bad stories scrubbed clean, getting the best bits of Gios personality, but they’ve not made any changes, still casting him as the villain. “Listen, I'm glad you called, Scarlett, but I don't have time.”
I snort. “You don’t have the time? You’re a dead man walking. What could you possibly have to do that’s more important than answering a few questions from your best friend's niece.”
“I can think of a few things.”
“Yeah? Name one,” I challenge.
“Bills,” he replies gruffly. Bills my ass.
“You’re full of shit,” I argue, my temper rising.
“Look, I know you’re upset about your uncle, and you’re shocked. It's understandable. Right now, all you should focus on is school and your dad getting better if he wakes up.”
“When,” I correct, my throat goes dry.
“What?”
“Whenhe wakes up. Not if.”
“Right. I'm sorry,” he says. I don’t respond to that. Just the thought of my dad not waking up makes my stomach swarm with angry butterflies. “I really do have to go. Take care.”
* * *
The girls have not left my side since the trip to Las Vegas. I thought we were attached at the hip in middle school and high school, but now it’s even worse. I can't decide if it’s a good thing or not. I meant it when I said they are my forever friends. But that also means they’re up my ass twenty-four-seven as if they’re talking me out of jumping off a cliff. No matter how many times I tell them I'm fine, they can’t help double and triple checking.
“Do you want some ice cream, Scar?” Wren calls from the kitchen.
“No, I'm good,” I reply.
“Baby, I want some,” Miles chimes up from his spot across from me on the sofa. Kennedy rolls her eyes and I scoff.
“I wasn't asking you,” Wren retorts. Miles sulks in his seat, pouting his lip and crossing his arms. God, he’s such a baby.How does Wren cope?She also can’t resist him sometimes, so she asks, “What flavour do you want?”
“Chocolate, please,” he replies happily, grinning at me like he won the lottery. I stick my tongue out at him, and he sticks his out at me. See? He’s such a baby.
“Do you want a croissant, Scarlett?” Wren asks again.
“My answer is the same as before, Wrenny,” I say, trying not to laugh at her protective tendencies.
“You’ve got to eat something. I’m worried about you,” she says, and I don't have to look behind me to tell she’s frowning. She's like a full-time mom right now. Each week, we switch who gets to play the mother and clearly this week it’s Wren’s turn.
“Well, don’t be,” I say. “We just had pizza.” I turn to Miles, narrowing my eyes at him as he eats the chips on the table. “Your boyfriend is the one with a vacuum for a mouth.”
Miles flips me off as Wren laughs, padding into the room with two bowls of ice cream. She hands one to Kennedy in her bean bag as she retrieves it happily and gives the other to Miles before she slides into his lap. I hit play on the episode ofNew Girlwe’re watching, and we all fall into a comfortable silence.
Even with Wren and Kennedy up my ass every two minutes making sure I'm okay, I'm getting used to preferring this over solitude. They make everything feel better. It helps me feel like everything is going to be okay. If I want to ignore something, they’ll pretend it never happened. If I want to shit-talk somebody, they’ll do it happily. They just get me and allow me to exist without feeling like a burden.
?It’ll Be Okay by Shawn Mendes
When the episode transitions into a new one, I use the opportunity to sneak into the kitchen for a drink. We've been stocked on —what Kennedy calls— 'Sad Snacks' for the last few days, the girls insisting that I need them.
