If It Makes You Happy(88)

They’re having a good time.

Are they dancing around the good-night kiss?

Is Cliff slowly walking her back against the side of a house, like he did to me on Halloween?

I stand from the sofa and push through the kitchen door at the same time the front door keys open and Sara walks inside.

I freeze, and there’s a moment or two of awkward silence with the clock in the kitchen ticking and Rocket’s tapping claws on the linoleum.

“Michelle?” Sara whispers. “Are you awake?”

I nonchalantly set my coffee cup down, clear my throat, and whisper back, “Yeah. Hey. I’m in the kitchen. I got caught up with work. Lost track of time.”

The kitchen door swings inward. I notice that her updo looks intact. Her pink lip gloss doesn’t look smeared either.

“How’d it go?” I ask, swirling the bottom of the mug on the counter.

She glances at the empty counter. “You got caught up with work?” she asks with an edge of suspicion.

I also eye the noticeably paperless counter. “Yes,” I lie.

She narrows her eyes. “Were you waiting up for me?”

I attempt a casual laugh. “No. Of course not. You’re an adult—”

“And I’m also on a date with your friend.” She takes a seat at the breakfast nook and brings both legs up to cross in the chair.

“Oh yeah, how’d it go?”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and eyes me from top to bottom. Staring. Squinting.

“You know, it went really well actually,” she drawls with a satisfied smile, sinking deeper into her seat. “Like”—she closes her eyes and sighs—“really well.”

A knot tightens in my stomach.

“Oh yeah?” I ask shakily, taking another sip of the cold coffee and grimacing. “That’s great.”

“It wasn’t simply great,” she says. “It was spectacular. He’s … well …” She looks at the floor and exhales a heavy breath before snapping her eyes to mine again. “He’s a really good kisser.”

Without my consent, my butt lands in the chair across from her. The gut punch is harder than I thought. My vision is blurred at the edges.

“Oh … oh, really?” I ask weakly, but I can barely register my own words.

“Yep,” Sara continues with a grin, blinking up at the ceiling like she’s thanking God for such a night. “We tried to wait until we were out of the restaurant, but he couldn’t help himself. Cliff is not the gentleman you think he is.”

The walls are closing in on me.

“That’s great,” I whisper.

I think I’m getting tunnel vision. Sara is all I can see, but I swear I can hear the distant, joyful laughter of Cliff next door—the laugh of a man who had an amazing date. I wanted that for him.

Didn’t I?

I force a smile, but I need to lie down. I did this to myself. I told him to date her. And now they’re gonna be together and—

Sara suddenly slings her purse across the table. It skids to the opposite side, bumping into my arm before plunking on the floor.

I flinch back. “What the hell are you—”

“God, I’m so pissed at you,” she hisses.

“Pissed at me?”

“You like him!”

I blink. “What are you talking—”

“We didn’t do anything!” she whines, throwing a defeated hand in the air. “I lied. Because I needed to see you squirm for a teensy second.” She leans forward with her forearms on the table. “Shells, he talked about you all night. All. Night.”

“No, he didn’t,” I breathe in disbelief.

“Yes, he did.”

“So, you didn’t kiss?”

“Are you joking me?” she asks with a laugh. “He didn’t even look at my cleavage, which, for the record, is incredible. I put glitter on the girls.”

I stifle a laugh. “He didn’t look at your sparkly boobs?”

“He didn’t,” she says with a flat stare. She smacks my arm. “Cliff likes you, Shelly. What are you doing?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” she says, enunciating every single word. “That man would jump off a bridge if you told him to, except, whoops, he’s already jumped, and he’s now down the river, waiting for you to tell him what to do next.”

I scoff out a laugh. “Sara—”

“He’s hot. He’s nice. He’s funny. He opened doors for me. He heard me blab on about art school and actually listened. Guys don’t do that. Trust me.”

“Sara …”

“Do me a favor,” she snaps.

“What?”

“Go get laid.”

I blink to myself and sit taller. “What are you talking about?”

She slides her arms across the table and grasps my hands. “Be happy with the stupid, amazing man next door who is stupidly obsessed with you.”

Cliff is obsessed with me?

The thought feels so ridiculous. He likes me—or liked me at some point. But that’s it. A crush. Nothing more. But the knot in my stomach grips tighter, and I feel like I’m lying to myself.