If It Makes You Happy(56)

I scoff. “Yes.”

“This is the first friend you’ve ever had.”

“Lars is my friend.”

“A non-mustachioed, non-pizza-and-doughnut-obsessed female friend.”

I tilt my head to the side, leaning the heels of my palms along the side of the curved prep table. “Got something to say, Carol?”

She bends at the waist and whines, “Come on. She’s not just a friend. She’s gorgeous.”

My heart sinks.

“Well, of course she’s gorgeous. But, yes,” I whisper sarcastically, “also just a friend.”

Carol grits her teeth. “What’s so wrong about liking her?”

“I do like her.”

“You know what I mean.” She purses her lips. “Is it because you’re hung up on Tracy?”

“No,” I say on a rushed-out breath, shaking my head and exhaling as nerves zip through me. “God, no.”

“Good,” someone answers, but it isn’t Carol.

Lars rounds the corner, already wearing his buttoned-up white shirt and red tie with little pizzas repeating over the fabric.

“Lars, do you ever work?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Pizzeria opens late. I own the place. I can show up whenever.” He glances at Carol. “Doughnut?”

She hands him a set-aside napkin with one glazed doughnut, as she does most afternoons. But her eyes don’t divert from me.

“We’re talking about Trace?” Lars asks. “Or is it Michelle?”

“No,” I say at the same time Carol answers, “Yes.”

“Hey, drop it,” I say pointedly.

“No, because I haven’t seen you look this happy in years, and I want to know why you’re pretending like it means nothing.”

“Oh yeah, everyone can see it,” Lars interjects with little flecks of crumbs shooting from his lips.

I rub a palm down my face. “Are there conversations I’m being left out of?”

“We talk about you all the time,” Lars says. “Betty and I were saying the other day how if you wanna find Michelle, you might as well look for Cliff too. You two are always in the same spot.”

Carol’s eyes widen, as if to say, See?

“We’re friends,” I repeat. I sound like a skipping CD, and I’m almost annoyed with myself at this point.

Carol crosses her arms. “No, I’m not doing this anymore.”

“Doing what?”

“Seeing sad-sack Clifford.”

Lars laughs so suddenly that he coughs through his bite of doughnut.

“I mean it,” Carol says, absentmindedly clapping my best friend’s back. “You were sad with Tracy for years. And she was awful—”

“Hey, that’s the mother of my children.”

“So?” Carol snorts. “She’s also your ex-wife, who nobody liked.”

I swallow, my chest tightening. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on,” Carol groans. “We put up with her because she was Trace. But, God, we all knew she didn’t deserve you. We all watched it happen. I got a front-row seat, and I hated every moment. But you’re my brother, and you said you were happy, so I went with it.”

“We all knew though,” Lars says, punching a fist against his chest as he coughs once more.

Carol sighs. “I understand the scenario you were in, but you were fighting for your life, trying to get people to like her. You were her only redeeming quality.”

“Carol, let’s not—”

“No. I’m gonna say my piece, and you can shut up for once, big brother.”

It’s quiet. Deadly quiet in the otherwise noisy kitchen, which is filled with the sounds of the Smashing Pumpkins on the radio and a lone cough from Lars.

Lars looks between us. “Uh, am I … should I go …”

Carol barrels on. “You deserve better. And Michelle’s a total knockout. She’s the kind of woman Tracy wanted to be. Except this woman likes you. For you.”

I scoff. “In no reality would she ever like me.”

Lars coughs, “Bullshit,” into his fist.

“Do you need some water?” I ask.

Carol groans. “You’re very likable, Cliff. And Tracy sucked and made you think you weren’t. And if I could punch her for it, I would.”

Another quiet moment follows, where Lars rolls up the napkin in his fist and smacks his lips. “Well, I guess I’m gonna go run a restaurant now. This wasn’t relaxing at all.”

“I’m sorry for getting heated,” Carol says, but she’s not talking to Lars. She’s lifting an eyebrow at me. “But I’m not sorry for what I said.”

Around then is when the oven dings, alerting us to the new rosemary-scented pastries.

Carol darts her eyes to the oven window. “Puff pastries? Who are those for?”

I tongue my cheek, at a loss for words, and she immediately grins.

“Just a friend, my ass.”





CHAPTER 16





Michelle




The inn is packed. With two days before Halloween, people were bound to travel here. And not only the honeymoon couple, but two other families as well. There are only three guest rooms in the whole house, but they’re at the most capacity we can manage.