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“You are so weird. Rickshaw? Seriously? I’m telling you the secret ingredient in Gran’s French toast. You can’t tell anyone. Swear it.”
“An ingredient is hardly a dangerous secret, Roxie.”
She sticks her pinky out at me. “Promise, Maddison. No one. Not even Nick.”
I hook my pinky around hers for the pinky-swear, which makes me feel about eight years old. Then I get back to the vanilla-nutmeg deliciousness in front of me. “Nick says Grandpa gives him a discount, you know. And a salute.”
“Grandpa loves Nick. Hey, probably about as much as you love him.”
“I don’t love Nick.” I’d pick up a throw pillow to bop her with if I wasn’t engrossed in swabbing up sticky maple syrup. My begrudging tone will have to do.
She watches me for a minute. “You know, if you’re going to live by him, you guys might start dating again.”
Okay, that’s it.
I abandon my syrup swabbing and twist to pick up a pillow. I lob it at her and she leans back and squeals.
“I am not going to date Nick because I never dated him in the first place.”
“But you told me that you guys were inseparable and I know about that dorky club you guys started, and didn’t you kiss him? I’m just saying?—”
“We werefriends, Roxie. A guy and a girl can be just friends, you know. It’s called a platonic relationship.”
“But you kissed!”
“Once, and may I remind you we were eighteen? Eighteen-year-olds do stupid things. And that kiss was stupid. Everything got awkward with him after that. We couldn’t go back to hanging out. Which totally sucked, because he was my best friend. We went from talking ten times a day to zero times, and that was a huge loss.”
“But it’s not awkward anymore?”
I think of the way Nick wrapped me in that warm hug, in the treatment room.
And even though I don’t want to, I think about how strong his arms felt. He’s not a lanky teen anymore. He’s a man. Strong, defined chin. Chiseled features. His shaggy hair, so unruly in college, looks great chopped short and neat. He’s undeniably handsome… and I honestly don’t know if it’s a good idea to try to be just friends with him.
But I’m not up for telling my little sister all that. It’ll only give her more reason to razz me about him. I’d rather keep the conflict hidden instead of exposing it so she can pick it apart.
“Anyway,” I say, as I slice off a corner of French toast with the side of my fork. “All I care about is that I’m in a serious jam here, and he’s helping me out, big time. This dog-sitting gig is going to be good.”
A glance at my phone lets me know it’s already nine-thirty. I’m due to meet Pansy and get a rundown on dog care instructions at eleven. “Shoot. I need to keep packing.”
It hurts to abandon the half-slice left.
Roxie snatches the to-go container and helps herself, and I get busy refolding the explosion of clothing items around my person-sized suitcase.
“Any word from Sylvester?” she asks.
“No, and thank the Hollywood Stars for that.”
“Dork.”
“It takes one to know one. Hey, can you save a bite of that for me, at least? I wasn’t actually done.”
“Too late.” She dabs her lip with a napkin and then stretches her slender legs. “So, you guys were going to get married, and now you’re not talking? Just like that? Cold turkey? There has to be more to it. That’s really abrupt. Maybe you should call him and let him know you made it home safely.”
“He doesn’t care. That’s the thing… that’s what I’m starting to understand. If he was different, he’d have reached out to me to check on me… but he’s Sylvester. He cares about himself, his work, his art. I think I got out of that relationship in the nick of time. And it wasn’tthatabrupt. Sure, the storming out part was, but in a weird way, that ending was a long time coming. I was having doubts even before I found out he’d gone behind my back with the script.”
“So, what’s up with that, anyway? What are you going to do?” She licks syrup off her fingers one by one.
“I think I have to hire a lawyer.Ugh.” I stuff a folded pair of jeans into my suitcase, then reach for a T-shirt off the stationary bike, which looks more like a clothes rack now seeing as it was in the exploding-suitcase zone. “I mean, it’s a copyright issue and I don’t really know where to start. A lawyer will, but I started looking last night and got totally overwhelmed.”
