Seven
Teller
The next two weeks are tense. Susanna barely speaks to me. When she does, her voice is cold, clipped. We move around each other like strangers, careful not to touch, careful not to engage.
I tell myself she's overreacting. I tell myself she'll get over it.
I don't stop texting Clarissa and Emmaline. If anything, I text them more. They're grateful, appreciative. They make me feel valued in a way Susanna hasn't in months.
Frank suggests we all have dinner together—me, him, Clarissa, and Emmaline. "Just a casual thing," he says. "Good food, good company."
"I don't know," I say. "Susanna's already pissed about how much time I'm spending with them."
"So invite Susanna," Frank suggests. "Let her see that they're just friends. Maybe it'll put her mind at ease."
It's not a terrible idea, but I know Susanna won't come. She's made it clear what she thinks of my "friendship" with Frank's friends.
"I'll think about it," I tell him.
But when Saturday rolls around, I don't invite Susanna. I tell her I'm meeting Frank for dinner, and she just nods, not even looking up from her laptop.
"Fine," she says. That word again.
"Do you want to come?" I ask, knowing she'll say no.
"No, Teller. I don't want to come. Have fun with Frank."
There's something in her voice—resignation, maybe. Defeat. It bothers me more than her anger did.
"Susanna—"
"Just go. I have work to do anyway."
So I go.