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“You gonna stop by after work?” Rumi asked, pulling me against his chest.
“Probably not tonight,” I hedged.
“Aw, come on,” he shook me gently from side to side. “Come hang out.”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, grinning.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe’s always a yes with you.”
“Maybe’s a maybe,” I countered.
“Uh-huh.”
“Get out of here,” I ordered, pushing him away. “I’ll text you after work.”
Once they’d gone, it felt like I was able to drop my guard a little. Other people couldn’t read every expression on my face the way my best friends could and I no longer felt like I was being watched. Unfortunately, once my focus was no longer on making sure I seemed normal, the paranoia and sense of wrongness came back in force. Every time the door opened, I braced. Every time the phone rang, my heart thumped hard in my chest.
It was ridiculous. I was perfectly safe and logically I knew it, but my body didn’t. I spent the rest of my shift jumpy and anxious, and by the time I clocked out, I was an exhausted emotional mess.
I was angry. I was angry at myself that I was backsliding into the feelings I’d had as a child. I was angry that I was overreacting. I was angry at Pop for acting like everything was okay and not even apologizing for losing his temper. I was angry at Nana for not seeing her text from me or telling Pop about it.
I got in my car, yanked the door closed, and sat there in the dark, staring out the windshield as I replayed the last twenty-four hours in my head.
Then, I called Nana.
“Hey honey, you off work?” she answered.
“Yeah, I think I’m going to go hang out at Rumi’s with everyone,” I replied. “That cool?” I could hear Pop in the background saying something.
“You don’t have to ask me,” she replied in surprise. “You’ll be home tonight?”
“I’ll probably just stay the night.”
“Okay, then,” she said easily. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Make sure you let Pop know,” I said, the impulse too hard to ignore. “So he knows I won’t be there tonight.”
There was a silent pause on the other end of the line. “Okay,” Nana said, perplexed. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I didn’t have to go home. Not yet.
My shoulders sagged in relief as I turned on the car and headed for Rumi’s.
Chapter 9
Rumi
“You didn’t warnme you were painting,” Nova accused, standing in the doorway of the laundry room. “You invited me over with false pretenses!”
“We didn’t saywhatwe were doing,” I pointed out, grinning as she scowled. “We filled in all the little holes and textured earlier.”
“Then Rum broke the fuckin’ paint gun and now we have to paint this shit by hand,” Brody grumbled, using a roller on the biggest wall.
