Page 44 of The Last Special Thing

“Never met?” Lauren scoffed. “I didn’t even know he existed until Raquel told me you brought some guy into the gym today.”

The way Lauren referred to Art, Amelia knew that the description that fucking-front-desk-Raquel had given did not do him any favors. Clearly, Raquel hadn’t noticed how sexy he looked with his hair pulled back. She smirked at the thought.

“Is something funny?” Lauren asked, rising from the bed.

“Look, I have a boyfriend. If you have any other questions, ask. Otherwise, I need to get ready,” Amelia said, flipping her hand open in dismissal.

She didn’t know what she was getting ready for, but she would find something. Staying home for any reason was no longer an option. She didn’t want to be around whatever lingering coldness Lauren was sure to exhibit the rest of the day.

Lauren shook her head in disappointment as she left, sliding the door closed behind her.

Amelia collapsed on her bed. Maybe she had been a bitch to Weston, giving him the silent treatment after he said he loved her. Maybe she was a bitch to her mom, too. At what point were you not a bitch to people as an adjective but as a noun?

A heavy breath escaped through her lips, and she picked up her cell phone, clicking on the photo of Weston.

He answered on the first ring.

“You want to get frozen yogurt?” Amelia asked before she could change her mind. She had to get out of the house, and she and Weston had been friends even after the breakup.

“Be there in five,” he answered.

Amelia made a mental list of all the reasons she called him as she walked out to her driveway, in case anyone ever asked. Weston lived closest. Art was at work. Madisson was with Max.

The truth was, she needed to get out of the house or risk appearing to her mom like a liar, who was already upset with her. Weston was a safe space, even if their last conversation had been uglier than the breakup.

As he approached, she got into her car, and he followed suit. She was met with a whirlwind of emotions. Guilt for not telling him about Art before they went to his apartment. Sadness that she knew she hurt him and hadn’t cared. Empathy that his heart had been broken, as he had slashed apart hers.

Despite Weston’s admission, Amelia didn’t believe he loved her. Certainly not enough, maybe not at all. This was Weston’s first experience with jealousy. Amelia had never done anything to make him feel truly jealous before. It was a gnarly feeling, but it was not synonymous with love. Jealousy happened when there was a lack of control, and Weston had never been in a situation where he wasn’t in control. No wonder he spiraled, spouting off anything to get her back to him. He wasn’t in love; he was a control freak.

In the passenger seat, he was put together as usual. At one time, she had loved that about him - how organized he was - believing that if someone like that saw something in her, she could be like that too. Put together. Ready for a promising future.

Now, the pretty package of a life he offered her was a cage compared to the freedom she had with Art.

They pulled up to the frozen yogurt shop, and Amelia opened her own door to get out. Weston was oblivious to the small gesture she had grown used to by someone else.

They walked inside and toward the flavor options, passing a group of laughing teenagers at a nearby table. Pulling a bowl from the dispenser, they evaluated the choices. Weston liked to get the same thing—vanilla yogurt with strawberries and granola. Amelia had a habit of mixing whatever nutty flavor she could find with seeds. Today’s flavor of interest was pistachio. With full bowls, they took a seat at a table in the corner. The silver metal chairs indented Amelia’s thighs.

“Do you want to talk about why you’re upset?” Weston ventured, his eyes fixed on his next bite.

“Pissed off my mom again.” Amelia stirred the seeds into the creamy yogurt.

“I thought you were going to have coffee with her the other morning?”

Shit. She had forgotten all about that.

“Chalk that up to another reason I won’t be winning daughter of the year.”

Weston ate a bite, then sat back in the chair. “Do you want to talk about the other night?”

“Nope,” she replied with a pop. She wasn’t trying to be unkind, but there wasn’t a different ending to be had here, no matter how much conversing they did. She cared about him. That wouldn’t stop that overnight. But Art had opened her up. The perfectly curated shackles she hadn’t known she had been wearing all her life had been unlocked, and Art was the key.

Weston took another bite, then shoved the bowl aside. “We have to talk about this.”

“You don’t love me.” She stabbed her spoon into the yogurt.

“I do.”

“You don’t suddenly wake up and love someone.”