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“Ugh!” Libby lifts her chin in exasperation. “I have to grab my bag.”
“Do you want me to hold those?” Emily nods to the roses.
Libby hugs them to her chest. “No.”
“Those muffins look good. Do you want anything from the counter?” I ask Libby.
“A brownie? The biggest one you can find,” she adds with wide, hopeful eyes.
“Got it.” I turn toward Emily and raise an eyebrow.
“A blueberry muffin if they have them.”
Libby leans up on tiptoes to whisper in my ear, “Avoid the pies. I’m pretty sure Jeremy’s little brother licks all the crusts when his mom isn’t looking.”
I choke on a laugh. “Got it. Brownie. Muffin. No pie,” I recite.
When I return, Libby and Emily are talking to the same guy who’d invited Emily for pizza earlier. Ignoring the brownie in my outstretched hand, Libby reaches for me, pinching my sleeve and dragging me closer.
“Oh, Mr. Davis.” Libby raises her voice to get the man’s attention. “Did you have a chance to meet my sister’s boyfriend yet?” she asks in her politest my-sister-is-taken voice.
Smooth one, Libby.
Emily side-eyes her sister, then me, as if we conspired together. But she doesn’t correct Libby.
I pass Libby her brownie, then hold out my hand to the guy. “Dixon Watts.”
“Frank Davis.” He shifts his gaze to Emily then back to me. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Drunk Mom sets her sights on me and pushes past Frank to introduce herself. “Melissa.” She curls an arm around Emily’s shoulders like they’re old pals. “Our girls are besties.”
Next to me, Libby groans and shifts from foot to foot.
Emily forces a smile and extracts herself from the half-hug.
“You’re going to drop Libby off for the sleepover, right? The girls have really been looking forward to it.” Melissa hiccups. “I can give her a ride if you want.”
“No,” Emily snaps, then in a friendlier tone adds, “I’m, uh, not sure if she can go yet.”
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” Libby huffs. Before Emily can answer, Libby spins around and marches away from us. She runs into another girl her age and they leave together.
Emily’s helpless eyes blink up at me and for a second, she looks like she’s going to cry. All I want to do is rescue her.
But she’s made it clear that’s not my role in her life.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Emily
Libby’s spoiling for a fight when I find her in the parking lot waiting by my car. Dex waves to me from the spot he’d backed his bike into but doesn’t start the engine.
My mind and body seem to split in two pieces. I’m still distracted from sitting so close to Dex during the play. Then having Libby go out of her way to introduce him as my boyfriend—and him not contradicting her. Now he’s agreed to go out for pizza with us and a bunch of other people he doesn’t know.
What am I even doing?
“Libby, you had such a great night. We’re going to go hang out with all your friends. Please don’t argue with me,” I plead as I unlock the doors.
“Em-ill-eeeee,” Libby draws out my name to a high-pitched whine. “Why can’t I stay over at my friend’s place? We’re not going out. I’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Why don’t you have the girls come over to our house instead?” Although, the last thing I feel like doing is hosting a gaggle of teenagers. But at least I’ll be able to keep my eye on Libby.
“Because,” she says in her slow and not-at-all-patient tone, “everyone already agreed we are staying at Caroline’s.” She pronounces each word slowly in case I’m too dense to get it.
“Well—”
“Emily!” She slaps her hand against her leg. “You haven’t let me hang out with my friends since the accident. School, home, doctor, and physical therapy. That’s it. That’s all you let me do. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why am I being punished?”
“I…” My arguments fade. “I’m not punishing you. I worry about you.”
“Okay.” She sniffles and lifts her chin. “But you’re kinda smothering me to death.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Please save the drama for the stage.”
“Their apartment isn’t even that far away.” She flaps her free hand in the air. “I can walk home tomorrow morning if you don’t want me to get a ride.”
Like hell. “No, I’ll pick you up,” I promise.
Her eyes light up and she taps her feet in an excited little dance. “So, I can go?”
I let out a frustrated groan. “Fine. Yes.”
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She drops her bag on the ground and pulls her phone out of her pocket, clumsily tapping a text to one of her friends.
“You don’t have anything to change into,” I point out.
“Can we swing by the house before we go for pizza? Then Dex can leave his bike at our house and ride with us instead of taking separate vehicles.”
