“Remind us again why you can’t be friends with him.” Greer crosses her arms.
I do this frowning lip thing. They don’t need all the details. The fewer people who know, the better.
“You’re not telling us something,” Willa says, stepping up next to Greer.
“I … I’m … I am.” I say it slowly, as if the weird word mix-up didn’t just give me away. “I. Am.”
Both of them continue to stare at me, so I pretend to be useful and straighten a straight picture on the wall.
“You remember I lived with you in college, right?” Willa speaks up.
“So?”
“So, what aren’t you telling me?”
I fake laugh.
“We lived together one summer between semesters. It doesn’t mean you—” I stop, turn around, and they’re both shaking their heads.
“Better stop while you’re ahead.” Greer chuckles. “Just spill. It’s us. We’re the last people to judge you.”
Greer is right: if I share this with anyone, it would be them. Maybe she’s right.
My hesitation is enough time for them to both go nuts.
“This is good, isn’t it?”
“Is this the real reason you moved here?”
“Does it involve Beck?”
“Did you sleep with him?”
I lick my lips and take a breath.
“First of all, no,” I say with a hand on my heart. “I did not sleep with him, thank you very much. And second, I moved here because I wanted to. End of story.”
“So it does involve Beck!” Greer shouts. Willa giggles.
“Glad you two were listening.”
“Just tell us.”
“Alright.” I stretch my neck side to side as if I’m prepping for a fight.
This is happening. I’m doing it. I’m telling them. Maybe they can help.
“Beck and I got married in Vegas when the guys were there a couple months ago.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
“This is a joke, right?” Greer asks first.
“Nope. Not a joke.”
Willa opens her mouth but then closes it. She does this a few more times before she takes a seat in one of the chairs near the front window.
