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“I like my job, thanks.”
“Hard to imagine how you could like a job that doesn't let you eat.”
“There are other things to eat besides greasy, artery-clogging fast food, Connor. You should give it a try.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about what I eat,” he fired back, offering a smug grin in the rearview mirror.
The rapid-fire of their bickering filled the truck, and I glanced behind me at Sammy. We exchanged wide-eyed expressions of urgent disbelief. Connor had known Tarryn as long as I had, and while they’d never been best friends, this back-and-forth squabble was new. And if I hadn’t stepped in, saying we could order something else, I wasn’t sure they would’ve stopped.
They did though, and Connor shoved a CD into the player and turned the volume up, keeping conversation and obnoxious commentary at bay with Rise Against. But even that couldn’t compete with the deafening silence of his sudden and apparent dislike toward my best friend.
***
“What crawled up his ass?” Tarryn asked the moment Connor pulled away from the house.
“He wasn't thrilled about picking you up,” I answered weakly. “I’m sure that’s all it was.”
“I told you I could call for a car.”
She said it so casually, like calling a chauffeur service was as ordinary as doing the laundry.
I shot a quick glance in her direction. In her expensive tracksuit and glittering jewelry, she looked out of place beside our ten-year-old refrigerator when, not long ago, she’d fit in seamlessly.
It’s like she doesn’t belong here.
The thought invaded my mind without invitation, and I looked away while swallowing the pain of drifting further from my best friend. I didn't want it to happen, but the more she progressed in her career, the more naturally she'd outgrow this small suburban life.
We ordered dinner from Panera Bread to keep the calories small but filling, and we put on a movie to have on in the background as we ate.
Then, whileThe Hills Have Eyesplayed, Tarryn turned from her salad to ask, “So, when are you hitting publish on that book?”
“Well,” I said, putting my own salad down on the coffee table and grabbing a napkin, “I showed you the cover I’d gotten from the designer, and I should be getting the manuscript back from the editor in a couple of weeks. Then, I'll do whatever rewrites I have to do. And after that …” I tried to shrug with nonchalance, but my level of nervous excitement was too high for me to act casual. Stifling a squeal, I concluded, “I guess it'll be out there.”
“Oh my God,” she said, her mouth full of veggies and grilled chicken. “That's so freakin' exciting. I can't wait to tell everyone I know to buy your book.”
My eyes widened in a flash at the sheer thought of the people she knew—notable, famous people—and I turned to her. “Oh God, no. Don't do that,” I said, shaking my head.
“Why not?!”
“Because!” Scoffing, I grabbed my bowl of salad, ready to use the lettuce and croutons as a distraction. “It's probably not even good.”
“You were just excited about releasing it, and now, it isn't good,” she stated. “You know what I think?”
I didn't reply; she was going to tell me anyway.
“I think it's probably amazing, and you know it. You just don't think you're worthy of having a great life, doing the thing you love,” she said, proving me right by speaking her mind without invitation. “I think that's why it's taken you forever to even finish a book in the first place.”
“Not all of us are destined for greatness,” I replied, dragging my gaze away from the bowl to look at her. “Some of us only get to dream of being famous.”
“Yeah, but you actually could be,” she pointed out with an adoring smile. “And you have a couple of people in your life who freakin' love you and who have the power to help you get there.”
While I knew she meant well, I was now filled with a stronger sense of doubt.
But why? Why should I feel any doubt at all? Why was it so hard for me to believe that I deserved the things that other people had? Why was it hard to believe I could have more?
***
What Tarryn had said weighed on my mind heavily as I waited for the edits to hit my inbox.
