“I don’t know. That’s the problem. Bree thinks so. Archer—I’m not sure. I mean, he could be in denial about having feelings for me, or maybe he felt guilty about how close we were, or it could just be nothing and Bree read into it.”
Winnie stirs her coffee. “Can I tell you what I see from the outside?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re not his nanny and you’re not his friend. You’re the person his kids run to. You’re the person he called first when his life imploded. That’s not nothing.”
“Winnie—”
“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m telling you what it looks like from where I’m sitting. Banks sees it too. The whole team sees it. The only two people who can’t see it are the two people standing in the middle of it.”
“That’s because we’re too close to it.”
“Or because you’re both terrified.”
I drink my coffee and don’t answer because she’s right and I hate it. I hate that everyone around us can apparently see what I’ve spent years trying to hide, and I hate that Bree could see it on his face when I couldn’t, and I hate that I’m sitting in a café with smudged mascara and three hours of sleep.
“What would you do?” I ask. “If you were me.”
Winnie thinks about it. “I’d ask him.”
“Ask him what?”
“The question you’ve been afraid to ask since you were teenagers. Just ask him, Syd. Straight up. No subtext, no reading between the lines, no interpreting hallway conversations. Look at him and say, do you have feelings for me, yes or no.”
“And if he says no?”
“Then at least you’ll know. And you can stop torturing yourself.”
I think about that for a second. I don’t think Winnie understands just how badly his rejection would destroy me. There would be no coming back from that. I wouldn’t be able to stay here. I wouldn’t even be able to stay friends with him, most likely. It’d just be too hard. It’s not a simple yes or no.
I stare at my coffee. The café hums around us—other conversations, the espresso machine, a baby crying two tables over. Normal life happening at normal speed while mine feels like it’s moving through mud.
Winnie reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “For what it’s worth, I think everything’s going to be okay.”
I drive home in the Lexus and sit in the garage for five minutes before I go inside. The house is quiet—Archer is at practice and the twins are at Bree’s until tomorrow. I have the place to myself.
I walk through the kitchen and stop at the fridge. Luke’s family drawing is still there, held up by two magnets. Five figures on construction paper. Daddy and Auntie Syd standing close together. Mommy off to one side.
I look at it for another second, then I go to the guest room, close the door, and let myself fall apart.
Chapter Twenty
Going Back in Time
Archer
Three days of this, and I’m losing my mind.
Three days of Sydney being polite, helpful, and present, yet completely, deliberately gone. She makes the twins’ breakfast and asks about my schedule, but then she disappears. Off to the senior center or out with Tori or Winnie. Somewhere. Anywhere but home.
The couch sits empty after bedtime. She goes straight to the guest room, and I hear the door close, followed by silence. I sit alone in the living room, watching TV that I don’t care about.
On Thursday night, I put the twins to bed. Luke wants the octopus book. He lies very still, the blanket pulled to his chin, eyes wide open, absorbing every word as if he’s going to be tested on it later. When I finish the chapter, he says, “Daddy, did you know an octopus can change color in two hundred milliseconds?”
“I did not know that, buddy.”
“Now you do.” He rolls onto his side, pulls his shark blanket up, and closes his eyes. That’s it. Luke’s done. Goodnight delivered, information transferred, sleep initiated.
