Page 91 of The Cannibal

Now I remembered, John said they were converting the apartments and attaching the building. The decor was outdated, small things left behind from previous tenants. Sometimes curtain rods, an umbrella, a spare folding chair.

Phoebe was now on the other end of the long hallway, about to disappear again.

I had to jog to get there before she found another corner to turn off to. Narrowly dodging new and old furniture, people crossing in front of my path without even a second look and stepping around boxes of trash. By the time I made it to the end, I’d half expected her to have left already.

The end of the hallway was a sort of reception area and another entrance, except they were converting it for a gathering space and breakfast spot.

To my relief, she left those fast legs to rest on one of the new chairs with her eyes trained firmly on the list.

“You can’t avoid me or outrun me,” I said, though my limited breath made my declaration a bit silly. “We still have work to do.”

Her eyes snapped up at me. It was like I just interrupted her leisurely viewing of the new season’s fashion plates. “What work?”

I pulled one of the old worn chairs across from her to sit.

Even if it felt good in the moment, I regretted how I spoke to her yesterday. I knew she cared, she always did. Even if she was brash and harsh in her delivery, it didn’t help to be angry with one another. As long as she loosened her grip on me, we could work this out.

She straightened her back and turned her board over on her lap so she could cross her arms. Even when she was angry with me, she couldn’t help feeling needed. She gestured with one hand for me to continue.

“You haven’t told me how many people are coming, or if there are any odd protocols I should know.” I clasped my hands in my lap, her expression unchanging. “Or what to wear.”

“I’m surprised you’re taking such an interest at all.” Her defensiveness was evident, but so was her curiosity when I mentioned clothing.

“I care,” I insisted. “I do! I just don’t know what I don’t know. That’s why I have you.”

Phoebe was less than amused, tapping her finger against her forearm as she pressed her tongue to her cheek.

“I’m sorry for calling you an egotist,” I pleaded with her. “You’re . . . charitable with your empathy.”

That earned a light snort despite her refusal to look me in the eye.

“Please.” I tipped my head. “I need your help.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Also,” I mumbled, “I’m sorry. For yesterday.”

She shrugged as she chewed on the inside of her cheek.

The minute her shoulders slouched, I knew the emotional dam was split.

“No, I’m sorry.” She looked at me sheepishly before lowering her eyes again. “You’re right, as always.” She lifted her arms before they fell back in her lap. “I haven’t been fair to you. The situation just . . . frightened me a little, as it did all of us, even you I’m sure.” She took a deep breath. “I am sorry for being overbearing. Truly. I can’t help but feel protective over you.”

“I don’t understand why you can’t trust me to learn. I feel as if you think I am a child.”

“No, I don’t think that.” She looked a bit distressed now. “You are my oldest friend. You saved my life. You died for me. I will be forever in your debt, and I can’t help but be protective. I realize now I went too far.”

“You owe me nothing,” I said sternly. “You are my friend, and I love you so dearly. There is no debt.”

She shrugged, her demeanor dampened by the conversation alone.

Even when she was a bit insufferable, controlling, even vicious—I knew her heart. But things like this are why I am convinced she will always be my best of friends. We have falls, we fight, but in the end, we heal.

“We can go shopping,” I suggested.

Her green eyes cut in my direction.

“Then tea after.”