“So, how is it all going?”
Wren pops a piece of popcorn into her mouth as she eagerly awaits an answer.
“Something tells me you’re not asking about life in general.”
“No, to be honest, the rest of your life in comparison is just so goddamn boring now.” She grins.
My eyes roll, but I give her the information that she’s looking for.
“Things between Finley and me are going really well,” I tell her. “We’re just trying to simply enjoy the time that we’re spending together.”
“Are you hoping that it’ll all work out? That this is…you know…it?”
My chest tightens and I’m overcome with the urge to run away from the conversation. “I don’t want to put any pressure on it.”
Wren’s wide smile and relaxed posture are a complete juxtaposition to my hunched shoulders and feigned happiness.
“God, this couldn’t be any more perfect! Just imagine if things do work out—no pressure, of course, but just imagine! We’d besisters!”
Something that I’d wish could happen if she had any other siblings, but I fear things are too complicated between Finn and me for it to ever develop into anything more. But as I watch my best friend bounce up and down from the mere idea, I wish more than anything that I didn’t have to eventually break her heart and tell her that Finn and I have parted ways.
The thought alone has my stomach lurching. The idea of Finn and I no longer having a reason to be this close is something my body finds utterly disagreeable.
I hope that Finn hasn’t been giving Wren any false hope, past what we’re already providing. I hope he hasn’t been telling her that marriage is in our future or that we’re a match made in heaven. I hope he’s been skirting around the truth like I have, giving her bits and pieces of hope slotted in between slabs of reality.
My phone buzzes incessantly in my pocket. Speak of the Devil. Wren sees the caller ID and somehow makes the connection.
“He’s your boyfriend, but you still have him down under ‘Dumbass?’”
“Did he stop being a dumbass the moment he started being my boyfriend?”
Wren shrugs. “Good point.”
Instead of a phone call, I seem to be the victim of a serial texter.
Dumbass
May I steal my girlfriend’s attention, please?
May I steal it quicker?
Quicker
Quicker
Oakleigh Frances Michaels
If you don’t answer, I’m going to start calling you by your middle name.
Franny, answer me!
“Okay, yeah, the name might be right,” Wren says as she reads the messages over my shoulder.
I laugh as I type my response.
Call me Franny one more time and I’ll replace a pair of your work boots with a smaller pair.
Two seconds later, he’s replying.
