Chapter 33 Kaylee
THIRTY-THREE
KAYLEE
“Ineed to buy some fabric. And thread. And needles. And…”
I was muttering quietly to myself, making notes in my journal as I sat on my bed and watched the first videos lessons from my online sewing course. It was turning out to be more fun than I had imagined, but also a lot more work.
Because it was for beginners I assumed I’d already have all the materials I’d need, but it seemed a shopping spree to a fabric store was in order. The thought made me giddy. I’d have to drag Anya along, she had a good eye for colors and patterns.
I paused the video, the excitement I’d been feeling draining away, a painful ache in my chest taking its place.
I still hadn’t seen Anya in days. I had to wonder if maybe she had left the mansion, but I didn’t know where she would have gone. It wasn’t like she had any other friends to stay with.
I had immersed myself in my new hobby but even the joy and inspiration it sparked hadn’t been enough to stop the worries swirling around in my head.
What if we couldn’t all come to an agreement? What if we couldn’t get over our fight? What if the things we’d said had been too much to forgive? What if I lost my friends, forever?
The thought made me sick to my stomach, gut churning like sour acid was eating me from the inside out.
I inhaled deeply, gave myself a mental shake, and unpaused the video.
I tried to lose myself in the lesson but this time I couldn’t concentrate on a thing the instructor was saying. My mind kept wandering back to those morbid thoughts. I paused the video again and stared at the screen until my vision blurred.
I couldn’t let this go on any longer.
I pushed my laptop aside and jumped off the bed. I left my room and went across the hall to knock on Anya’s door. My heart pounded fretfully but I knew if I stopped to think about what I was doing I would chicken out.
“Anya?” I called out.
But there was no answer. Either she wasn’t in there or she was still hiding from me.
There was only one other place she might have been. I braced myself and went downstairs to the kitchen where her fancy European coffee machine sat waiting for her daily doses of caffeine intake.
Sure enough, I caught Anya in mid-sip. When I entered the kitchen she froze, her eyes growing wide over the rim of her mug.
There were purple bruises under her eyes and her long dark hair was limp and greasy where it hung over her shoulders.
She never got much sleep, but it seemed she’d been getting even less than before.
Anya slowly lowered mug. We stared at each other.
“Hey,” I said weakly with a tiny wave.
“Hey,” she said softly. Her eyes lowered back to her coffee.
We went silent again.
“I hate this,” I finally said. “I hate that I fought with you. I hate that we’re not speaking to each other. I hate that you’re avoiding me. ”
“I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me,” she said in her usual quiet tones.
“Why would you think that?” I asked.
Her mouth twisted. “Because I ‘refuse to have real conversations with my best friends’.” Her voice as caustic as I’d ever heard it. “Because I ‘bottle everything up’ and ‘refuse to talk about my feelings’.”
I winced. I’d almost forgotten the words I’d thrown at her in a fit of pique.
“I’m sorry,” I replied honestly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“But you meant it,” Anya shot back, lifting her eyes from her mug to meet mine.
Now it was my turn to lower my head. “I do sometimes feel hurt that you won’t open up to me,” I admitted. “But I shouldn’t have said it like I was accusing you. I’m sorry.”
Anya let out a sigh through her nose and put her coffee mug down on the kitchen countertop, leaning against the sink.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said you were dramatic and emotional.”
“But you meant it,” I said, repeating her words back to her.
She nodded slowly. “Yes. But I feel guilty that I made it sound like a bad thing. Your emotions are what make you you, Kaylee. You may be too emotional for some people, but not for me.” She gave me a small smile.
“You always feel so deeply, and you let everyone know it. That’s what I love about you. ”
I swallowed hard, holding back tears. The crack in my heart that had formed during our fight began to seal.
“I know we don’t agree on what to do about the album, but…” Anya’s eyes shined with hope, “maybe we can put that aside and stay friends?”
My heart ached that she said it as a question. I leaped over to Anya and threw my arms around her.
“We’ll always be friends,” I told her fiercely. “No matter what happens.”
She returned my hug and I could feel the tension in her body relax, as if she’d been a puppet strung too tight and someone had finally cut the strings to release her.
“What are we going to do about the album?” she asked, voice soft again.
“I don’t care about the album right now,” I said firmly. “Right now, I want drag you off for a shopping spree.”
Anya chuckled lightly. “Retail therapy?”
“In a way,” I said. “I kind of started a new thing.”
Anya pulled back and raised an eyebrow at me.
“A new thing?” she repeated. “Should I be worried?”
I shook my head with a grin. “I’ll tell you all about it on the way. But first,” I added, “you need to go wash your hair.” I lifted a greasy strand and wrinkled my nose in an exaggerated motion.
“Who are you to talk?” she teased, tweaking one of my frizzy curls.
“Fine, I suppose we both need to get back to a regular personal hygiene routine,” I allowed.
“Give me thirty minutes,” Anya promised. She turned to leave the kitchen, then turned back to me. “Thank you,” she said. “You know I wouldn’t have had the courage to come to you first.” She gave me a self-deprecating smile then left before I could answer.
It felt like my heavy heart had lifted from my chest and was now floating above my head. I’d been worried Anya would be too upset with me to want to talk, but she hadn’t been. She’d been willing to work things out.
I just had to hope that the same could be said about the rest of the band.
I started to make myself a coffee of my own, and not using Anya’s expensive machine which was out of bounds for everyone but her, when my phone pinged.
My heart sank back down into my throat. Odds were good that it was my mom.
She hadn’t messaged me ever since I’d told her off, ever since she’d gone to Micah.
I’d been dreading hearing from her again.
I’d been determined to ignore any communication with her, but after what she’d told Micah, I was preparing to do major damage control.
But when I checked the text it wasn’t my mom.
It was Micah, in our group chat. It was the first time I’d heard from him since he’d stormed out of the mansion after our confrontation.
We need to get together. I’ve got something important to tell you all.
That was all the message said. It sounded ominous, and wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. That dread didn’t leave me. In fact, it only intensified. Micah could have wanted to tell us any number of things.
I could have speculated all day about what those things might be, but in the end, I only wrote back a single sentence.
When and where?