"Maddie." Jazz's voice drops out of banter register and her expression goes serious. "You do know dating a billionaire isn't like dating a normal guy, don't you?"
The question lands between us on the faded blue carpet, plain as a nail.
"It's not simple, I know," I say. "I'm not going to pretend otherwise." I fold another layer of paper. "But Demetrius and I, we were never really done with each other, you know? So much was left unsaid, left undone. It's like we have a second chance now and I don't want to mess it up."
"So you're in trouble."
"That does appear to be the situation, yes."
Jazz hums and reaches over to hand me a piece of wire. I take it and twist it around the center of my flower. The wire is thin and it takes three tries to get it right.
"I want to say something," Jazz says, "and I want you to hear it as coming from someone who loves you and not from someone who wants to ruin your good mood."
Well, that's not good. And I can't stop it, either. When Jazz wants to say what's on her mind, she'll say what's on her mind.
"Just spill the beans, Jazz," I tell her. "It's not like you even know how to shut up, anyway."
"Fair." She pulls another square of pink paper toward her. "He loved you before. Really loved you, I believe that, I'vealways believed that. But the way he loved you was selfish. He didn't want to share you with your own ambitions. He wanted everything or nothing, and when you said you wanted your own life too, he picked nothing and walked away."
I know all that. It still hurts to hear Jazz lay it out this way.
She ties off her wire with a decisive snap and brings a perfect flower up toward her face. She stares at it, hard, then nods and puts it aside.
"What makes you think he'll want anything different from you this time around?"
The crepe paper is cool and soft in my fingers. Out the window, the Saltford Bay oaks are doing their late-spring thing, all new green and restless light, and I look at them instead of Jazz for a second.
"He's older now," I say. "We both are. He's different, just like I am."
"Maybe." She says it without sharpness, which is somehow worse than if she'd said it with some. "So what happens when he goes back to Boston? You're going to do long distance or are you going to follow him there?"
I pull another square of paper toward me. In that moment, I wish she wouldn't be so sharp-minded and that she would just leave well enough alone. But she wouldn't be Jazz if she did.
And she's right. I know this. I just wanted to live in denial for a little while longer.
"Honestly? I don't know where he's going, or when." I separate a layer of pink paper with my thumbnail. "That's the whole problem. His life is enormous, Jazz. Boston, the company, he's barricaded in his office most of the day."
A pause, during which she chews the inside of her cheek. "So what does that mean for the two of you?"
I don't have an answer ready for that one. I look at the pink paper in my lap and I fold it.
Accordion. Accordion.
"I don't know," I say. "We didn't talk about it yet."
Jazz nods, slow. "You'd better figure it out," she says. "Before it figures itself out without you."
The paper in my hands is soft and I'm being too slow with it now, separating each layer like I'm defusing a bomb.
Jazz is watching me. Not speaking. Not pushing, which should ring all the alarm bells in my brain.
"I'm taking it one day at a time," I say. "For now, I'm just enjoying things as they are. Is that so bad?"
Jazz smiles and shakes her head. "Nothing wrong with that. But girl, I've known you for a long time. You're not the type to separate feelings into neat little boxes. You get attached, you make plans. And you can't ignore the elephant in the room even if he rocks your world between the sheets."
I open my mouth to counter, but nothing comes out. I snap it shut when I realize that she's right. I hate her for it, but she is.
I fold my flower. Separate each layer. Pull the paper apart with care.
