Chapter 26
INDIA
My phone has buzzed three times in the last hour, and every single time, the caller has been Cyrus.
This is, of course, a bit worrying. So worrying, in fact, that I texted Poppy fifteen minutes ago.
Me
Cyrus keeps calling me. Be honest: Is it an emergency?
Poppy
Nah. You can hide for a bit. But eventually you’re going to have to talk to him.
Me
I would like to live in denial for a little longer.
Poppy
I wish you the best of luck! Let me know if you want me to be there when this conversation inevitably happens.
Me
So…he found out about Felix?
Poppy
Yep.
Me
And…did he find out from you?
Poppy
Yep Sorry, chickadee. I couldn’t lie!!
Me
I would like you to be there. Consider it restitution.
Poppy
I will absolutely uphold my duty to you as the betrayer of your secret.
Me
I expect you to go to bat for me. NOTHING HAPPENED BETWEEN ME AND FELIX.
Poppy
I’m getting my baseball gear on as we speak!
Curse Poppy and her moral compass.
I tuck my phone in my pocket and swallow down the pain that’s trying to blossom in my chest. It’s been days since I told Felix I like him, and my heart is still bruised. Sometimes it aches out of nowhere; sometimes I’m able to forget, just for a little bit.
It’s my own fault. I know that. I broke the cardinal rule: I let Felix back in my life after I’d already gotten over my initial crush, my silly high school infatuation.
Yep. I brought this on myself.
That doesn’t make it hurt any less, unfortunately. And I know that while I don’t technically have to talk to Cyrus, it’s probably a good thing to do. I promised him nothing would happen with Felix, and then I broke that promise. But I’m not looking forward to how that conversation will feel.
No one wants to tell their brother they fell for his best friend— again.
Hope is such a stupid thing, isn’t it? Such a stupid, beautiful thing. Hope makes us jump out of our nests. And even when we fall flat on our faces, that same hope is potent enough to convince us to try again. What is that, if not sheer magic? Maybe this time will be different.
When do those hopes become delusions, then? Where’s the line?
I sigh, wiping my forehead with my sleeve and trying to clear these crazy thoughts from my mind. Then, even though my phone buzzes again, I keep working.
The excuse I give myself for avoiding Cyrus is that there’s no point calling him back while I’m at work. He’s probably going to want to talk in person, not because he’s so social but because our conversation might be extended or—depending on how grumpy he is—even heated. I’d rather defend myself in person, anyway, so although he calls me twice more while I’m at work, I don’t answer. It’s not until I’m on my way home that I pick up his call.
“You’re coming off pretty desperate, Cy,” I say.
“We need to talk. Come over to my place,” he says—and then he hangs up.
The nerve.
I can’t say I’m surprised, though. So I redirect my course and head to his house instead of mine, taking deep breaths and fortifying myself the whole time. I drop a quick voice message to Poppy, telling her I’m going to Cyrus’s house now. Then I continue my strength breathing.
“You are a boss babe,” I tell myself firmly. It’s not strictly true—Aurora is more of the boss babe—but I’m running short on inspiration, which means my affirmations are a bit lacking. “You are allowed to like Felix,” I go on. “And you don’t have to apologize for liking him. You simply need to explain to Cyrus that your initial assessment was wrong.”
I’m not sure how effective this is, all the talking to myself, but it does make me feel a little better, so I keep it up for the rest of my drive. By the time I pull into Cy’s driveway, I’m repeating the words a bit feverishly: “Boss babe. You can like whoever you want. Just explain.”
And when I get through the front door—without knocking, I might add—I give myself one final, disjointed pep talk.
“I am a boss babe. All kinds of babe. I can like people.” I take a deep breath and then announce my presence. “Cy,” I call. My feet hesitate in the entryway, wary of moving forward, but I force myself on in. I even try to hold my head up high. Still, it’s only when I hear a female voice that I finally feel some of the tension drain out of me.
“We’re in here!” Poppy calls, and a big breath whooshes past my lips.
It’s not that I’m scared of Cyrus. I’m truly not. But I am so unexcited for the telling-off I’m about to get. Poppy is one of those rare people that can temper my brother, keep him calm and even-keeled.
So I march into the living room, where I find the two of them exactly as I expect to—Cyrus is seated in his favorite chair, and Poppy is on the couch.
The best defense is a strong offense, so I don’t let either of them speak.
“I would just like to say,” I begin, holding one hand up, “that I have done nothing wrong.”
Cyrus raises one cynical brow at me, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“Did you or did you not fall in love with my best friend— like I told you not to? ”
Some of my bravado falters, because Cy’s voice, his expression—they’re serious. He’s not giving me a hard time; he’s genuinely upset.
Crap.
I swallow my retort and answer him honestly. “I wouldn’t say I fell in love. I fell in like, maybe.” When he just stares at me, I add, “Fine. Yes. I like him. But I don’t think I’m in love.”
Cyrus exhales a slow, hissing breath. He pulls his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes fluttering closed. “Of all the men in the world, India, I swear ? — ”
“Hey,” I cut him off with a frown. I’m not interested in arguing, but at the same time…“There’s nothing wrong with Felix. Nothing much,” I amend. “Nothing glaring. Nothing weird or abnormal. He’s just…” I shrug. “He’s a normal guy.”
“And didn’t I tell you if you guys got tangled up I wouldn’t want any part of it?”
My eyes pop wide in outrage. “ You’re the one who called me over here!”
“He’s a complete flirt,” Cy says, his voice frustrated. “A total ladies’ man.”
“You’re emotionally unavailable to ninety percent of the population,” I snap. “That doesn’t make you a bad person. And it wouldn’t make you a bad partner to the right woman.” My eyes jump to Poppy, and I swear—I’m positive —her cheeks turn pink.
Ha.
“He’s an idiot,” Cyrus goes on, conveniently ignoring my excellent logic. “He’s a slob?—”
“He’s not a slob at all,” I say, rolling my eyes now. “His place is totally clean.”
“I—what?” Cyrus says, his head snapping up. Over on the couch, Poppy leans forward too, her expression suddenly intent.
“His apartment,” I say. “It’s not messy. It’s clean.” I glance around. “About like this, honestly.”
I know I’m not imagining the look Cyrus and Poppy exchange, full of meaning that I don’t understand. Then Poppy clears her throat.
“So…you’ve been over there?” she says casually. “To his place, I mean?”
I shrug and throw myself down on the couch next to her. “Just once.” Why are they being weird? “My point is, it’s not messy. And I know I said I wasn’t going to fall for him, but I was wrong. I’m sorry, okay?” I guess I’m apologizing after all. “But nothing has happened between us, and it probably won’t. He doesn’t—” I break off, my voice faltering. “I don’t think he feels the same way. So let’s just drop it, okay?”
Cyrus sighs again. “If you wouldn’t have told him you like him, he wouldn’t have made you sad. Did you think of that?”
Poppy turns her gaze on Cyrus, scoffing. “Of course she thought of that.” She shakes her head, muttering something about hopeless and idiot.
“I knew I would regret it,” I say. My voice breaks, so I clear my throat, keeping my gaze firmly on my hands in my lap. “If I didn’t say anything to him. If I didn’t tell him.” I shrug. “I would have regretted it. Even if he doesn’t like me.”
He didn’t actually say he doesn’t like you, that traitorous little voice in my brain whispers. He said he doesn’t know how he feels.
But Cyrus doesn’t need to know the particulars.
He broods for a second, like the world’s toughest problem has just been dropped on his doorstep. I have no intention of sticking around to hear more, though.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I tell him, standing up. “Poppy…” I gesture to Cyrus, and Poppy sighs.
“Yeah,” she says, waving me toward the door while she frowns disapprovingly at Cyrus. “I’ve got it. I’ll talk to you later, Chickadee.”
“Thanks,” I say with relief.
I’m out the front door five seconds later, and I don’t look back.
Sometimes moving forward takes the form of not moving backward. So I make a stop by the dollar store on the way home from Cyrus’s house, and then I round up Jules and Aurora.
“ Please don’t make me do this,” Juliet says, a complaint that I staunchly ignore.
“Sorry,” I say, straightening up in my chair. I hit pause on the video playing on my laptop. “I don’t make the rules. I require sisterly backup, which means you’re on duty.”
“Indy.” Juliet slumps forward, her head thunking against our kitchen table. “This is so boring . Do I really have to be present for this?”
“Such a drama queen,” Aurora says from my other side.
“You do have to be present, yes,” I say.
The three of us are seated at our little kitchen table, each of us with a brand-spanking-new Rubik’s cube in our hands.
Well, Aurora and I are holding ours. Jules is trying to push hers away. I return the Rubik’s cube to her, nudging it against her head where it’s still rested dramatically on the tabletop.
“We’re being supportive,” Aurora says, her eyes glued to her cube, her face determined. She’s home from work a little early today; her pencil skirt and blouse have already been replaced by leggings and a t-shirt, but her hair is still in its sleek ponytail.
This isn’t normally her kind of thing, learning how to solve a Rubik’s cube, but she’s never one to shy away from a challenge.
“I would love nothing more than to be your moral support!” Jules says, finally lifting her head. She looks at me, her gaze pleading. “I will support you with every single click of that little thing.” She nods at the cube and then at the paused tutorial on my laptop. “Just please don’t ask me to solve it. How about I bake us a treat instead?”
When I hesitate, she pounces.
“Any treat you want!” she goes on quickly, her eyes shining now. “Cookies, cupcakes?—”
“No cupcakes,” Aurora and I say at the same time.
“Brownies, or there’s a crumble recipe I’ve been wanting to try, too,” she goes on.
Aurora and I glance at each other, and then she shrugs.
“I wouldn’t say no to a crumble,” she says.
I sigh. “Me either. Fine,” I say to Jules. “You can make a crumble while we do this.”
“Absolutely,” Juliet says. She jumps up and scurries over to the fridge, much happier than she was when I told her we would all be learning to solve Rubik’s cubes. “It will be delicious, I promise.”
I’m sure it will. And by the time that crumble is ready to eat, I will be the master of this colorful little cube in my hands.
I did debate actually setting up a dating profile on the site I signed up for, but ultimately, I’m not ready. I’ll get there, I’m sure.
Ugh. Why do I feel like I’m in high school again? Liking someone, figuring out if they like you, getting over it if they don’t—these are things teenagers do.
Who knew it was something adults do, too? There’s just something so juvenile about it. Something about crying over rejection feels so silly. I don’t even know Felix that well. It’s not like we’ve spent our entire lives together.
So snap out of it, I tell myself firmly. You’re done helping with the article. You won’t need to see him anymore, so you can get over him quicker.
The article. Now that I think about it, it’s supposed to release soon. Sometime this week, maybe?
The thought isn’t even all the way through my mind when my eyes prick with tears. They sting, and then my vision blurs, and then?—
“Oh, no! No, Indy?—”
I’m aware of the hurrying of feet, and then two sets of arms wrap around me.
“This is so stupid,” I say through my tears, slumping against Juliet. I know it’s her because she smells sweet, like sugar and strawberries. “Crying over a boy is so stupid .”
From behind me, Aurora speaks, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re just sad,” she says. “It’s not stupid to be sad.” Then, speaking over my head to Juliet, she whispers, “Say something!”
“Just cry,” Jules says. “Get it all out. I don’t think you can rush these things. Feel sad for a while.” She swallows—I can hear it, pressed so close to her—and then she says, her voice full of tentative dread, “Should we do that Rubik’s cube thing? And then maybe we should bake a carrot cake?”
I’m not sure if the sound that tears out of my throat is a sob or a strangled laugh.