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“I don’t know if I can,” she says. “I don’t know if I can figure out what I want with all this outside influence. How am I supposed to have a sexy weekend with an investor judging my relationship?”
“How about you leave early,” I say. “Get a day alone with him.”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s picture it.” I squeeze her hand. “Pretend Willa isn’t there. Pretend no one knows you two matched on the app. Or that it’s a faraway concern. Right now, it’s just the two of you, in the presidential suite, all weekend.”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I can’t see it.”
Okay, let me try another tactic. “What did you do on Saturday? After you shut him down?”
“I said I had a headache. Like a woman in a nineties movie.” She groans as if saying,what a terrible lie.
“Then?”
“He made me peppermint tea,” she says. “And he offered to rub my back. And he lay with me while I closed my eyes.”
“And?”
“It was nice.”
“Really nice?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know it was possible to feel good just holding someone.”
“Welcome to relationships,” I say.
“Do they always feel this awful?”
“Only sometimes,” I say.
“I hate it.”
“Because it’s new and scary.”
“Ugh.” She rests her head on my shoulder.
I hug her sideways, the way I did when we were kids. “You’re not one to back down from a challenge.”
“I do like him,” she says. “And I want to try. But I won’t pretend to be someone I’m not. I won’t pretend I’m Ms. Commitment.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath and exhale thoughtsof New Yorkerprofiles andForbes 30 Under 30lists. “Follow your heart.”
“Are you sure?”
No, but I know this is the right thing. “Yes.”
“What if she doesn’t think we’re a couple the right way?”
“I’ll tell her to fuck off.”
“Really?”
“Really.” This is more important. Sisterhood is always more important.
Even if it means we lose everything.
But it won’t come to that. I know exactly how to play this.
