Chapter 9 #2
“You should,” Jake pipes in. “Especially after Gigi’s latest stunt.”
Sophie darts a look at him, her eyes widening. “Oh. I didn’t realize you knew about the text. I was going to say something, but—”
Confusion slams into me. “Wait, what? A text?”
“I thought…” She sinks her teeth into her lip, apprehensive. “What stunt are you talking about?”
I fire Jake a look that promises violence. Telling him about Gigi’s hotel room drop-by was my mistake, but I figured that’s what friends are for. They have each other’s back when an ex shows up in nothing but a trench coat and heels. I was wrong.
“Just an awkward run-in at the game,” I lie smoothly. “What are you talking about?”
Her shoulders rise to her ears like she’s a kid who’s just been caught with her hand in the candy jar. She averts her attention, studying the pita bread like it’s a piece of art rather than a round, beige carb.
“Soph,” I press, equal parts curious and wary.
She peers up at me through her blond lashes and grimaces. “Don’t get mad.”
I freeze, a spicy lamb meatball hovering on my fork in front of my mouth.
A phrase like that doesn’t bode well for me.
It’s the kind that comes right before a confession.
Gigi used to wield it like a shield, a preemptive strike against accountability.
Don’t get mad, but she made dinner plans for us after I specifically told her I’d be wiped out from a game and wanted to relax.
Don’t get mad, but we were invited to a restaurant opening and I RSVP’d yes for both of us, and no, the only gluten-free menu item is a house salad.
Don’t get mad, but I booked a couple’s trip (with a couple I despise).
It wasn’t a plea for understanding, but a trap.
But I’m not talking to Gigi. This is my sister.
“She texted me,” Soph blurts out, the words running together.
I chomp down on the meatball and chew way more aggressively than necessary for Adina’s tender cooking.
“What’d she want?” Jake inquires, his tone much softer than mine would have been.
“She, um, asked if I wanted to grab drinks or dinner now that she’s back in Boston,” Sophie continues, fiddling with the cloth napkin in her lap.
“I ran into her at the game, and she mentioned it. I didn’t want to be rude and say no to her face, so I did the noncommittal ‘text me’ thing.
I honestly didn’t think she still had my number, and even if she did, I figured she wouldn’t actually do it. ”
I bury my face in my hands and groan. If I’m too confrontational, Sophie’s the opposite. Someone could spill coffee on her and she’d apologize for being in the way and then offer to buy them a new one.
“I said no, obviously,” she hurriedly adds. “Maya helped me write a response. Kennedy, too… sort of. Her suggestions were a little, um…” She presses her lips together, focus lowered to the table. “Aggressive.”
As if proving her point, she digs her phone out of her purse and thrusts it at me.
Sophie Davies
Help! Gigi texted me.
Kennedy Caplan
What does she want? Besides access to Cam’s pants.
Maya Silver
LOL.
Sophie Davies
She wants to get drinks on Thursday before the game. What do I say?
Kennedy Caplan
Tell her you’d rather attend a timeshare presentation.
Oh! Say you have to wash your hair. All of it. Individually. Strand by strand.
Or tell her you’re busy filing your taxes (by hand, in Roman numerals).
Maya Silver
I’m so glad you’re my best friend. I’d be scared of you otherwise.
That’s a lie. You still kind of scare me.
Sophie Davies
I wish I had the balls to say any of that, Kenn.
Kennedy Caplan
It’s tough having big boobs and big cajónes. Trust me.
Maya Silver
Why don’t you say: “Hey! I think it’s probably best we don’t grab drinks. I’m trying to respect Cam’s boundaries and keep things uncomplicated. Hope you’re doing well, though!”
Kennedy Caplan
0/10 on creativity, but I suppose it gets the point across.
Sophie Davies
Going to send that one. Thanks, My!
I hand the phone back, a laugh escaping before I can stop it. “Roman numerals?”
Sophie grins. “Kennedy has a gift.”
A terrifying, relentless gift. It’s comforting knowing that my sister has people in her corner who will go to bat for her. Even if the bat is made of sarcasm and bizarre excuses.
“You’ll let me know if Gigi is giving you any issues?” I ask.
She waves me off. “Yeah, yeah, sure, but back to the important topic. Kennedy. You should ask her out again. She’s great.”
I crack my knuckles. “I never asked her out in the first place, Soph. It—”
“No, seriously, hear me out.” She leans forward, forearms on the table, her expression shifting from teasing to earnest. “Kennedy is great. She’s smart, driven, funny.
She likes people for who they are, not what they can do for her, so I wouldn’t have to worry that she’s with you for the wrong reasons. ”
“The wrong reasons,” I repeat flatly, though my chest tightens at the concern in her voice.
“You know what I mean.” Her eyes are sympathetic now.
“She also wouldn’t put up with your bullshit,” Jake adds unhelpfully. “And let’s be honest, you need someone like that in your life.”
“I don’t have bullshit.”
The two of them only stare at me.
“Okay, minimal bullshit,” I concede.
I may not date or be interested in anything more than a night (or two) with a woman, but maybe I should ask Kennedy out, if only for the Gigi-repellent factor. One experience with Kennedy’s unhinged energy, and my ex would probably change her number and move out of Boston again.