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“Not you.” I look at his face, and he’s got a small smile playing on his lips. He means it as a compliment.
“Absolutely not. But they were there through a lot of the shit. Came and visited in the hospital, drove all the way to Kansas for the funeral. Ken was a pallbearer and Bethani cursed the whole way through the visitation when-“ I pause, stopping myself. That’s a story for a different time. Preferably with a weighted blanket and some sort of sugary treat. “When things got nasty. I thought they were behind me, 100 percent.”
“But?” Clearly I am not hiding my distaste well. We pass a small, fenced-in yard outside one of the apartments where a big Goldendoodle is sitting up on its front paws. I fight the urge to give it scratches, and look at him. Despite moving up the steep hill gracefully, his eyes haven’t left my face. When we turn into my complex, I cross my arms - as if the action will physically guard me from the feelings I’m having.
“But, they weren’t. They got distant, but they invited me to one of their regular get togethers and I thought everything was good. Until I showed up with a guy, and I thought Ken was going to murder him.”
“Dylan?” I let out a snort.
“No, Dylan and I didn’t ever really go on dates.” I catch a flash of distaste, and laugh again. “Dylan isn’t the only person I’ve been with in the last few years, Fitz. He’s just the one you’ve met.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Fitz protests, holding his arms up, and I roll my eyes.
“You didn’t have to.” I sigh. “Bethani read me the riot act about making Ken uncomfortable, how he just wasn’t ready to see me with anyone else. At first I tried to understand, but after a while it pissed me off.”
“Understandably,” he mutters, and then seems to catch himself, shooting me a sheepish glance as we approach my building.
“I found out a few weeks later that they were still friends with most of Mickey’s family, and were basically taking any information they could get back to them. We only realized because his mom made a new Facebook page and wasn’t smart enough to block Alex before she popped up in ‘people you may know,’ could see all of Melissa’s friends, which happened to include Ken and Bethani.”
This time, distaste really does flash across Fitz’s face, and something inside me is incredibly satisfied that the story is as gross to him as it was to me in real time. We climb the stairs up to my door, and as I fish out my keys, I continue.
“None of us really put up with that shit anymore.” I unlock the door, pushing it open, and hold it to the side for Fitz to filter in. I realize, to my embarrassment, that the apartment is almost back to the state it was in before Fitz went full maid mode. But he doesn’t seem to notice as he pushes aside a pot of pasta from our dinner and places the bags he’s holding on the counter. My mind flashes back to the night he showed up with dinner. “They’re fucking dumb if they think that the Davis’ have any loyalty toward them.”
There’s the sound of a door swinging down the hall, before Bex’s tiny nails skitter across the floor, and Carla’s voice sounds in the open space.
“Who’s fucking dumb?”
Chapter 22
Fitz
Carlaroundsthecorneras she speaks, and then freezes when she sees me standing in her kitchen. Bex continues walking, settling at my feet, where I bend down to pick her up, giving her neck a few scratches as she nuzzles into my chest. I can’t blame Carla. Last time she checked, I was probably still on Piper’s list of people not to let into the house for the time being. Truthfully, I’m surprised I’m here, myself.
“Bethani and Ken,” Piper says simply, and comes around to where the bags are, unloading the packaged meals onto the counter. “We ran into Bethani at the store.” Carla makes a face. “Yes, exactly that face.”
“Bitches,” Carla says, like she’s observing the worst kind of demon making a human sacrifice, and then walks up, taking the container of pickles in her hands. “I’ll be in my room if you need me!” She turns to walk away, and Piper lets out a strangled noise.
“If you eat all of those, I’ll smother you in your sleep.”
“Love you too!” Carla calls over her shoulder as she disappears around the corner. Bex stares after her momentarily, before turning back into my chest.
“Asshole,” Piper says under her breath, and then seems to remember that I’m there. “Sorry, she’s a pain sometimes.” She turns to the fridge and starts moving things around. Wordlessly, I set down Bex, who seems to be getting restless. I pull out my own container of pickles and reach over her shoulder, setting them on the shelf of the fridge in front of her. She pauses momentarily, but then continues. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. I wanted to. She seems like a good friend,” I muse.
“She is, I’m lucky we connected.” Piper looks over her shoulder, her face framed by those dark curls. “I need to do a few things in here, then if you want, we can hang out for a little bit?” My heart soars as I nod.
“Absolutely. I’m going to run to pee really quick.” I cringe internally, but she just nods and turns back to her task in the open fridge. Before I can say anything else embarrassing, I make my way toward Piper’s bedroom. When I push open the door, a familiar smell hits me, and I try to look for the source. I spot it in one of the bookshelves, a wax warmer shaped like a lantern, with golden, molten wax atop. It smells buttery, like baked goods - the same way it has the last two times I’ve been over.
Her room is surprisingly clean compared to when I’ve been over - no laundry in sight, though her vanity in the corner is strewn with makeup. I start when I see, on her bedside table, that purple vibrator from the day at The Pine is plugged in. I had no plans of trying anything, but now, swallowing hard and adjusting the front of my pants, I have other thoughts.
I make my way into the restroom, and by the time I’m done, drying my hands on a fluffy purple towel on the towel rack, I’ve taken in the gold accents everywhere, her counter covered in Bobby pins and hair ties and enough curly hair products to stock a salon.
I’ve never been particularly good about caring for my curls - they just kind of do their own thing, and so far it’s worked out pretty well. I wonder what they would look like if I took a fraction of the care Piper seemed to with hers, given the transformation they’ve taken in the last decade?
I hear Piper humming to herself, the faint sound of music coming from her phone in the corner of the kitchen, so I don’t bother her. Instead, I cross the hall into the office she and Carla seem to share, where the light is on. It’s apparent which desk is Piper’s from the start. Carla’s, in one corner, is neat and only has a big all-in-one computer with a few piles of papers. If I remembered correctly, Carla was in some sort of medical profession - she probably didn’t need a whole lot of space to do anything at home.
Piper’s, on the other hand, is a reflection of her other spaces in the house. The kind of chaos I expect from her, at this point. The L-shaped desk is nearly covered in sewing and crafting supplies, with scraps of leather, lace, metal tools, all scattered over cutting boards and sheets of vinyl. Her sleek Mac is surrounded by half a dozen different cups, with varying levels of emptiness.
