Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
“Paige?”
I’m faint with betrayal.
In fact, I want to faint. I’m going to pretend those malicious words didn’t come out of her mouth. This can’t be coming from sweet, mousy Paige. “What are you saying?”
“I saw your uncle slip behind the tree.” My best friend, usually so soft spoken, now spits out every word.
“And I figured out he was doing Number 2. I was going to run to you immediately, but then… I thought about how you would handle it. You’ll know how to handle the situation better than I can.
You always handle everything better than I can, down to the milk jugs and the last goddamn coffee bean.
” Paige becomes increasingly louder and more unhinged.
Her eyes bug out and she’s developed an unsightly vein on her forehead.
She looks like she’s about to tear her beige sweater in half and rampage across my living room, smashing milk jugs to spite me.
“Holly knows best,” Paige mumbles. “Holly knows everything. Nothing ever ruffles her feathers. Except, maybe, just maybe… she finds some shit under her tree.”
Everyone turns to me for a response. I don’t know how to respond to this.
Paige hates me. She hates me over the money I loaned her for the cafe.
And sure, I’ve made some suggestions, but they weren’t orders.
I would’ve been fine if she painted the walls blue.
I don’t care about what type of milk jugs she uses.
Frankly, I’m still reeling over the revelation that Uncle Tony did the deed.
I can’t even comprehend Paige’s involvement or lack of involvement in it.
The ugly truth is: Uncle Tony might have taken the shit, but Paige witnessed him do it and looked the other way.
Instead of stopping him, she rejoiced in the shitting and rejoiced in my distress.
That hurts the most. She may not have taken the shit, but she guided it onto my carpet.
“You know you’re angry at me over nothing, right?
” I snap. Now I’m pissed. And I have a right to be pissed.
While plying me with smiles, my best friend was secretly wishing for my downfall.
Granted, she wasn’t actively trying to hurt me, but she wanted to see me hurt…
and that hurt me more than any act of holiday vandalism can do.
It’s always the silent ones who strike the deadliest blow. That goes for farts… and friends.
“All your issues toward me could have been resolved if you’d just spoken up about your preferences. When someone agrees with me, I tend to assume we’re on the same page. I can’t help it if your self-esteem is so low that you need to find someone to blame.”
Paige swipes at an errant tear. “I hate you.”
I tip my chin up in self-defense. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think we can be friends anymore. And I can no longer patronize your business.”
“Fine.” Paige stands up and snatches up her sweater. “We’re done.”
“Fine. I can make my own coffee!” I call after her. I know we’re acting childish, but she’s the one who dragged me into the sandbox and shoved my head in the sand.
“Then you can have the cafe! You own it anyway. I should have never let you talk me out of the mortuary.”
I roll my eyes. She likes being an undertaker now? For years, all I heard was, ‘I hate the mortuary. Coffee is my true passion.’ That’s why I suggested she open a cafe. Now I’m the villain for helping her realize her dream?
Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. In a huff, I stomp my foot. “Then you’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me…” Paige says on her way out the door. “I quit.”
“Go back to corpses!”
“Gladly!” She slams the door so violently, a piece of wood chips off from the frame. If I were the petty type, I’d bill her for the repair.
Everyone absorbs Paige’s heel turn in silence. We’re all in shock, except for Elliot. He studies my rigid profile, his brows furrowed in concern. He hands me another tissue and I quickly swipe away my tears before anyone can see them fall.
Most people will tell you that betrayal feels like a gut punch, an Et tu, Brute? stab in the back. But for me, betrayal feels like loneliness, the loss of your right hand after you’ve realized it had been trying to strangle you the entire time.
It was Uncle Tony who broke the silence. “Now that girl is a real sicko.” He gazes around, and, for the first time in his life, Uncle Tony reads the room. “What?”