If It Makes You Happy(89)
Sara snaps her fingers in my face. “Stop thinking,” she says irritably. “Tell me what’s on your mind. Out loud.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Oh, but you tell Cliff everything?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t tell him every—”
“Yes, you do. I had to find out through him how you feel about me.”
I disentangle my forearms from her grasp and cross them over my chest, leaning back in my chair. “What are you even talking about?”
“You never tell me how much you love me.”
I stiffen. “I say it all the time,” I say breathlessly.
“Three words is nothing compared to what he told me. He said that you think I’m … a ball of sunshine? Which I had no idea you even could think something like that.” She scoots her chair closer to mine. “He even said that I’m your favorite person in the world. Though”—she tsks—“I think I’ve got stiff competition with Cliff now.”
I laugh and shake my head.
“He also said … well … how were you able to get here? Stay at the inn, I mean. Your job let you, right?”
I swallow. “Of course they did.”
“It didn’t … set you back or anything?” I can’t find words fast enough before Sara slouches. “Why did you do that?”
“You need to graduate. Mom needed this.”
“And you have a life you’ve worked for.”
“And I love you more than any of that.”
Sara shakes her head, her eyebrows turning in. “You deserve to be happy. You should talk to Cliff.”
“It would never work,” I answer.
“You don’t even wanna try?”
I reach up and twirl my earring. “We live on opposite sides of the country …”
“So?”
“I just got divorced.”
“So?” she repeats with more emphasis.
“He’s not a guy I’d normally go for.”
“Because marrying a fancy doctor worked out so well for you.”
I shoot her a warning look, and she groans.
“You’re so difficult. But whatever.” Sara flings her hands in the air. “Do what you want. It’s your life. What do I know?”
“You know a lot.”
“I know; it’s terrible being smart and pretty,” she says with a teasing smile.
We’re silent in the kitchen with only the sound of the humming refrigerator and my tapping nails on the table.
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
“Don’t know what?”
“Anything. I …” I clear my throat. “Cliff appeared in my life and never seemed to go away. And at first, I hated it. He’s … so frustrating. But he doesn’t make me be someone I’m not.”
“So … you like him,” she says.
“Yes.”
“So …” She rotates her palm in a circle, as if coaxing me on.
I side-eye her, then exhale. “Yes, he means a lot to me, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“God, you can’t say anything out loud, can you? Say you’ve got feelings for him, Shells.”
I can’t. Because saying that I have a crush on Cliff—not simply thinking it—will only put something out there that I can’t take back. What would it accomplish anyway?
“Well, for what it’s worth,” Sara says, “I think you’d be good together.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“I mean it.”
A little smile breaks onto my lips. “Thanks.”
“Can we have a sleepover?” she asks. “Like old times?”
I laugh. “I’m thirty.”
“So? We can even get Rocket in on it.”
His eyes look between us. Absolutely not.
I laugh. “I don’t think he’s into it.”
Sara’s nose scrunches. “He’s really vocal for a dog that doesn’t talk, isn’t he?”
“Very,” I agree. “He’s not half bad though.”
And I think, from the corner of my eye, I see Rocket wag his tail.
“Shells?” Sara whispers.
“Hmm?”
“If you say it, I won’t tell anyone.” She holds out her pinkie. “I promise.”
I can feel the strings of my heart pulling taut. My arms want to tuck closer to my chest, like I’m protecting myself. The truth is, I’ve tried to keep a small piece of me locked away from everyone.
Exhaling, I turn the key and whisper back, “I really like him, Sara. And I don’t know what to do.”
CHAPTER 28
Michelle
“All three of us can’t fit in a bed.”
“Ooh, but we could sing campfire songs while we’re going to sleep!” Sara teases.
Dad peers over the Wall Street Journal. “Could be fun.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Sara laughs, loudly slurping her coffee. I’m not laughing at all.
We overbooked the inn. I had a feeling it would get crowded for Thanksgiving, but part of me assumed people would want to celebrate with their families in the comfort of their own home. Turns out, at least three people didn’t care to discuss politics or religion with their crazy uncle or abrasive grandma. Now all three guest rooms are full, which leaves only my king-size bed for me, my sister, and my dad with a bad back.