AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So when Layla reaches us and asks brightly, “How was your weekend?” Camden takes the question, telling a story about a song request she got last night at the lounge where she’s bartending and moonlighting as a torch singer. She chats more about it while we head inside Harlow’s building. On the way up to her place, I try to decide how much I’ll say when the poker questions inevitably turn to everyone’s weekend.
Including mine.
Really though, how muchisthere to share anyway? I don’t even know that man’s name. But I want to.
* * *
“Oh my god, fuck you,” Layla says, slumping deeper onto Harlow’s orange couch as she points at me. “I can never beat you.”
Harlow nods sympathetically. “No one can, sweetie.”
“But you should keep trying,” I deadpan as I scoop up the chips from the table, thanks to a fantastic bluff on a pair of twos. Layla folded with a pair of kings. Bummer for her.
She shoots lasers at me with her bright blue eyes. “I’ve been trying for months. Since we started playing. And I swear I thought you had a full house or something. I was telling Nick and Finn just hours ago that you have the best poker face.”
Camden’s brow knits as she dips a hand into the bag of chocolate-covered orange slices. “Who’s Finn?”
“Nick’s brother. He was over at our place today. Well, they were swimming with Finn’s kid.”
The talk turns to the weekend again, coming back around to me with Harlow asking, “What did you do this weekend, J?”
Even though it was inevitable that the chitchat would return here, I’mneversure what to say when conversations get too personal with anyone other than my bestie. It’s so much easier to talk about other people than to talk about myself. I’d rather listen.
“Oh, you know,” I begin, trying to keep it light, but I feel like a little sneak, which I hate. It reminds me of terrible days long ago and of things said and unsaid that still pierce my heart.
“No, I don’t know,” Layla teases as she reaches for her glass of wine and takes a drink. “Did you make or break dreams all weekend, Jules?”
“Bridger says you’re his secret weapon,” Harlow adds affectionately.
I do love the secondhand praise from my boss, Harlow’s fiancé. Part of my job at Opening Number, the production company I work for, is to read scripts for Bridger and provide coverage on whether we should pass or not on those shows.
“Definitely, I broke some hearts,” I say, taking the easier answer, then I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, feeling fidgety.
I wish it weren’t so hard to tell them about the party—to tell them how I felt and what I want and then ask what they think. To analyze it together, turn it inside out, and then somehow feel better for having shared the experience with all my good friends.
But a nagging voice asks…what if?
That’s the problem. Telling someone one thing opens the door to them learning more things—things they could use against you.
Like plenty of people have done. Like, say, Brandon. And, hey, how about my parents too? Yeah, that was real fun.
“Lots of scripts,” I add. “Then, I did some planning for the final episodes ofHappy Enough.”
“Spill,” Layla demands.
With a smile, I shake my head. “Can’t give up trade secrets,” I say. That’s one of our most popular shows, based on books by the romance author Laura Paigeley, and it’s heading toward the end of its successful second season.
“Fine, fine. So, basically a typical weekend for you,” Harlow says, bumping her shoulder against mine. It’s a move she does with Layla. A friendly move.
I miss big friend group moments fiercely, so the move inadvertently does the trick, opening me up more. “And I filled in for a friend of mine who plays piano.”
Whew. That wasn’t too hard to say.
“Oh cool. Where did you play?” Harlow asks.
“It was kind of like a private party,” I say.
In tandem, Layla and Harlow both sit up straight, instantly attentive. “What kind of private party and how do I get an invite?” Layla asks.
