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Nothing was ever resolved between us.
Best to keep my distance.
Mack is still standing there, making the same face. Like she’s pitying me and judging me at the same time.
My sister always seemed worried I was going to try to date Emmy, or more likely, she worried I’d try to hook up with her. She made it clear what she thought of the idea—forbade it really—and said, in not so many words, that someone like her and someone like me just don’t mix.
It was fine because I never looked at Emmy that way. And because I agree.
Emmy and I weren’t a good fit. She was a rule-follower, and I was. . .well, not. Emmy might’ve been a good influence on me, but the same can’t be said for me. At least not back then.
Besides, it was never like that with me and her.
“You okay?” Mack folds the paper and tucks it in her bag. “You look a little. . .moody.”
I tilt my head at her.
“Even for you, I mean,” she teases. She’s just about the only one I let do that.
I sit up and push my hand through my hair. “Didn’t really sleep.”
She nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”
But she doesn’t let me answer.
“That’s funny. Owen talking. What a strange concept.” She gives me a shove.
I’m getting better. At least, I think I’m getting better.
I try to prove that with, “I had a whole conversation with the lady who cut my hair. I even told her what I do for a living.”
She feigns shock. “No way! That’s a huge step! I know that small talk makes your skin crawl.”
“She then told me a whole story about how her ex-husband didn’t pitch in to get her kid Taylor Swift concert tickets for her birthday, so she let the air out his tires.”
“Ew.”
“Yeah. I almost walked out with half my hair cut.”
“Would’ve been an improvement.”
I look at her, and she’s sitting there, looking like she thinks she’s so clever. I soften and roll my eyes.
I love and tolerate Mack.
Mostly love.
“What are you doing back?”
I shrug. “Job opened up. Thought it might be good to be closer to home.”
I don’t tell her any more than that, but judging by the squinty eyes sizing me up, she knows there’s more to the story.
“You think I’m not telling the whole truth.”
“I know you’re not telling the whole truth.”
I press my lips together.
