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“I was the DD,” she announces proudly.
It’s the opposite of what I want to hear. I groan, burying my face in my hands.
“You’re probably going to like this even less,” Callie says gently, “but do you want to hear why I think you love him back?”
I hesitate, then nod. Might as well get it all out in the open.
“The touchy-feely thing, and you stare at him, too. When his mom was dying and he only wanted you, you were there. He spends more time in our apartment than I do. You basically dumped Drew for him, and speaking of Drew, you had actual sex with him andneversounded as horny telling me about it as when you told me about Maverick touching your boobs.”
That last part has me snapping my head toward her, jaw dropping open, cheeks heating up. “I was not horny.”
“I literally thought you were going to get on the ground and start humping my leg.”
“Callie!”
She throws her head back and lets out a cackle. “It’sokay, Azalea. You’re a woman. It’s fine to have urges.”
I bury my face in her shoulder. “Please stop talking.”
Callie carries on, cracking up and smacking my knee. “Okay,” she gasps out finally, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m done. I’m done.”
I still can’t look at her, but I speak into her shirt sleeve. “Maybe I do love him.”
“You don’t say.”
“But does it even matter now? What if we’re done with each other?” The thought makes my stomach feel hollow. IneedMaverick in my life—as a friend, at the very least.
Not for the first time, I wonder if we made a mistake by pushing our close friendship aside in pursuit of something more. I know now that things have always been a bit more complicated for him, but for me, being Maverick’s friend was sogood: easy and steady and simple. I’m not sure at what point our friendship began to transform, ensnaring me in feelings I don’t fully understand and making me wonder if we’ll be able to salvage the connection we’ve had since the moment we met.
Callie sobers up quickly. She puts her arm around me, leans her head against mine. “Of course it matters,” she says, her voice soft again. It always amazes me how she can do that: go from teasing to comforting, obnoxious to kind, in a split second. “You and Mav will never be done with each other.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maverick
Onthefirstdayof the draft, I wake up in the exact same spot I’ve been in for weeks. I don’t feel slammed with grief or angry at the world like I expected to. I’m just numb. I avoid any and all draft coverage while I’m vegging on the couch, flipping mindlessly through channels and streaming services, never able to settle on anything for more than a few minutes.
At some point in the afternoon, I hear Dad moving things from the basement to the front door. By the time I bother to raise my head and look, there are planters, tools, and full bags of soil stacked by the front door. “What are you doing?” I ask when he comes by again, carrying some packets of seeds.
“We’re going to plant your mom’s spring garden,” he says matter-of-factly.
“It’s July.”
“Better late than never.” He stops at the bottom of the stairs and yells up at Lilly. “I’m ready, Lil.”
Unlike me, she doesn’t seem surprised. She bounds downstairs a moment later, wearing shorts and a ratty t-shirt. “Are you helping, Mavvy?” she asks.
Dad answers before I can. “Yeah, he’s going to help us. Here.” He hands her the packets. “Take those outside. We’ll plant them by the side of the garage.”
Lilly walks out the door, and I sit up. “I can’t help,” I tell Dad, gesturing at my leg. “I can barely walk.”
“You can sit on the porch and help pot the plants,” he tells me firmly. “Your sister told me it would help her miss Mom less if the garden was done. So we’re doing it.”
If it’s supposed to be a guilt trip, it works.
I force myself off the couch and onto my crutches. Dad calls me into the garage, where he’s set up two chairs—one for me to sit in, one for me to prop my leg on—and a card table. He lines up the planters, a tub of soil, and a twelve-pack of impatiens in front of me. “Let me know when you’re done,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “I have more.”
I watch him walk away and join Lilly in the driveway. I can’t quite put my finger on what went wrong between Dad and I, but after my injury, something did. A large part of the blame goes to me, of course. There’s been tension about my moods, my lack of motivation to do much of anything. But there’s also just been...distance. On both sides. Maybe because he’s absorbed in trying to raise Lilly by himself and I’m absorbed in trying to figure out what the fuck my life is going to look like once I’m done moping, and we’ve just lost sight of each other along the way.
