Chapter 3
Admittedly, the garden looks worse than I thought. The paint on the fence is all but peeled off, the fountain has cracks in the stone, and a thick layer of something at the bottom of it. The sign isn’t even there anymore.
I think I see it lying face down in the weeds.
It used to feel like magic here, something out of a fairytale. Now it feels forgotten. Kind of like my friendship with Diana.
I kick at a patch of dead grass, telling myself I don’t care, that I don’t even know why I came, when I hear the rumble of an engine.
The same shiny blue car from yesterday turns down the street, rolling to a slow stop in front of the open gate.
Pretty boy Scott Whitmore steps out of the driver’s side like he’s in a damn commercial. Blond hair, pressed button-down shirt, smile too bright to be real. The kind of boy who’s never broken a sweat in his life.
And never will.
He circles around the car to open the passenger door, and out steps Diana. She laughs at something he says, soft and easy, before he leans in to kiss her.
I don’t care.
My stomach twists.
She smiles at him in a way she never has for me when he gives a little wave and climbs back into the car. The hum of the engine fades until it’s just her and me and the buzz of cicadas.
“Scott Whitmore?” I ask, stepping into view.
She practically jumps out of her heels, turning toward me with adorably pink cheeks and her hand over her heart. “Lily! I didn’t see you there!”
I raise my eyebrows, ignoring her until she answers me. “What about him?” she asks, smoothing down her hair like it’ll stop the humidity from ruining her perfect curls. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
“Wow. Not full of yourself or anything.”
Her brow furrows, lips parting in that familiar pout because she seriously doesn’t get it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s your twin, Di. He could be your long-lost brother.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“I agree.”
She tucks another loose strand of hair behind her ear, pretending she’s not embarrassed. I look down at the weeds instead, pretending I don’t know whether to laugh or cry as we seamlessly fall into a familiar rhythm.
“Wow,” she murmurs, looking around. “It really is wrecked, isn’t it?”
I shrug, crouching to pull on the sign. “It’s been years since anybody’s been here. What’d you expect?”
“I guess you’re right.” She sighs wistfully. “Remember when we were kids and—”
“Don’t,” I say, cutting her off sharply. The last thing I want to hear is where that was going.
“Let’s get started.”
She blinks at me, then glances down at her clothes, a summer blouse, a flowy skirt, both too white for this kind of work. She tries to kneel, to start on the weeds, but her skirt catches on a patch of something, and she makes a little frustrated sound.
“Seriously?” I stand up, leaving the sign for now to glare down at her. “What are you doing here, Diana? I mean, for god’s sake, you can’t even dress properly.”
She looks up at me, incredulous. “Are you seriously mad at me for not having overalls?”
I scoff. “So what if I am?” Her mouth falls open like she wants to argue, but decides against it. She stands up, brushing dirt off her skirt, muttering something about how it’s brand new. I turn away before she can see the corner of my mouth twitch.
Serves her right.
My self-control only lasts so long. I look back at her as she’s trying to crouch down again without her skirt touching the ground.
When she almost falls completely over, I roll my eyes, but my fingers reach toward the flannel tied around my waist.
“Here,” I say, tossing it lazily to her knees. “Use this. Might be easier.” She looks down, surprise flickering across her face.
And then, because the world is punishing me, she gives me that soft, infuriating smile as she kneels on the dirt-free spot. “Thank you, Lily.”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah, well.”
She tilts her head, that knowing look creeping in.
I ignore her, turning back to the sign and finally pulling it free from the weeds. I don’t care that she’s here. I didn’t do something for the girl who wrecked my entire life.
But she watches me, calm and patient, the stupid expression still on her pretty face, like she knows it’s all an act.
By the time we stop by the diner for lunch, I’m covered in dirt and sweat, generally looking like I’ve been through something terrible, while Diana doesn’t look much worse for wear. The bell above the door jingles, and the blast of cold air feels better than sex.
Probably.
It’s starting to fill up, with Mr. Thompson at his usual booth, reading the paper, and Mrs. Clark wipes down the counter.
Diana doesn’t hesitate.
She flashes Mrs. Clark a bright smile, the kind that makes people soften, whether they want to or not, and before I know it, they’re chatting about the garden and how beautiful it used to be.
When the waitress excuses herself to pour another cup of coffee, Diana turns back to me with a quick, amused look. “Sit, Lily. How am I supposed to charm anyone with you glaring over my shoulder?”
I throw myself into the nearest available booth, frowning. “I’m not glaring.”
But she’s already walking away, waving a hand at Mrs. Johnson. I watch, in awe, as the older woman lights up and her laugh fills the air around us.
Ten minutes later, she slides into the booth, setting a sheet of paper down in front of me. “Six signatures.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Six?”
She shrugs, grinning. “What can I say? People love a cause.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, “A cause.”
The waitress brings our food, and I hate to say it, but it’s almost normal. We talk between bites, about how we’ll need paint and brushes and lots of new flowers.
Diana insists we can make it beautiful again, and I pretend I don’t believe her. That I don’t want to be here with her at all. But the truth is, sitting across from her like this, like no time has passed, makes me feel good in a way I haven’t in a long time.
And then the bell above the door jingles.
Diana’s smile falters as her eyes flick toward the entrance. I turn in my seat to follow her gaze. Three girls walk in, all shiny hair and expensive clothes, the kind of girls who never looked twice at me unless it was to say something cruel. I recognize them instantly.
Her friends.
The air between us shifts. Diana’s posture straightens, and her eyes widen as they dart between them and me, only once, but enough.
My blood goes cold.
There it is. The line I almost let myself forget exists. And just like that, I’m right back where I was. To that feeling of being less.
“You should go,” I say, shoving a fry through a puddle of ketchup, unable to keep the hurt from my voice. “Wouldn’t want them to see you slumming it.” Her face falls, but I don’t care.
I don’t want her pity.
I don’t want anything from her.
“Diana!” one of them squeals. “We didn’t know you were here!” They make their way over, all bright smiles.
“What are you doing here?” another asks, glancing around like the diner air alone might stain her clothes.
Then her gaze lands on me.
“Oh.” Her tone drops, that one word saying exactly what she thinks about me. “Didn’t know you two were… hanging out again.”
I open my mouth to argue, to say that we’re not hanging out, but Diana beats me to it.
“We’re working on something,” she says simply, like it’s normal. “The community garden. We’re fixing it up.”
There’s a pause as they all look at each other. One of the girls laughs. “Why on earth would you do that? I heard they were putting something useful there.”
My eyes narrow. Diana straightens in her seat, her voice calm, but more firm than I’ve ever heard her. “It is useful.”
There’s a shift in her friends’ eyes, a tiny flicker of discomfort at the fact that Diana is going against them. I’m in a similar spot. I look at Diana, and for the first time, I don’t know what to say.
Her friends exchange glances, the kind that friends give each other when they don’t quite know what to say. A brunette who hasn’t spoken yet plasters on another smile. “You should come sit with us, D!”
I expect her to hesitate. Hell, I expect her to agree, but all she does is shake her head. “I’m good here, but I’ll catch up with you guys some other time. ”
In response to her rejection, there’s only silence. Like they can’t quite believe it.
Neither can I.
Diana watches them go, still smiling that polite, practiced smile until they’re tucked away out of sight. Then she exhales a shaky little sound. I pick at a crack in the table, pretending I’m not waiting for her to change her mind.
Instead, she glances down at my plate. “So. Are you gonna eat those?”
I raise my eyebrows. “The fries?”
“Yeah.” She sounds like she’s joking, messing with me, but there’s something soft under it. “I’m starving after all that hard work.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitches. “Knock yourself out.”
She reaches across the table, grabbing a fry, then another, stuffing too many into her mouth. “Thanks,” she says with that same open expression she’s had since we were kids.
Like she never learned how to guard her emotions.
I shrug, picking up my soda to hide whatever embarrassing thing my face is doing. “Don’t get used to it.”