“？‘Paranoid conspiracy theories,’？” I repeated. Had Poppy revealed what I’d told the group the first afternoon? She must have. It hurt like a small needle prick.
“Right.” Now Wren wore a quizzical look, like a child wondering what would happen after she pulled all the legs off a spider.
“Okay.” The hope faded and a dull anger started to roil from below. “So tell me. What exactly are these ‘conspiracy theories’ I’ve been spreading around?”
Wren scoffed. “That I ruined your life. Which is pretty rich, considering what you did to me.” She raised her right palm towards me. The signal for Stop. A thin knot of scar tissue ran down the center.
I blushed; I couldn’t help it. Suddenly I was back to that place of uncertainty and shame. But Wren couldn’t have known my intention in that one tiny move on the steps. If she had, everyone would’ve known about it.
“All because you couldn’t just leave it alone,” she went on. “You couldn’t just move on. You had to show up at that party and make a huge fucking scene.”
I exhaled. She didn’t know of my anger; she just knew of my desperation to talk to her.
“Leave what alone?” I forced my voice to sound calm. “And I didn’t tell anyone you ruined my life, by the way.”
“Good. Because I didn’t. We just grew apart. And I actually didn’t go around telling all our friends not to talk to you anymore. People just did what they wanted to do.”
“Okay. But, Wren”—I leaned forward—“we were best friends for eight years. We lived together. It doesn’t all just suddenly end one day.”
“Sometimes it does.” She shrugged. “It happens all the time.”
“Really? And is that usually before or after one friend eats out the other?”
She froze. Her nostrils flared. This was the part we weren’t supposed to talk about. I felt a sudden pleasure in going there, in forcing her to listen to the words. “Look, it was your idea. And yet you treated me like a leper afterwards. Like I’d done something horrible to you.”
“Alex.” She rubbed her eyes. “Jesus. I was wasted. It wasn’t a big deal. But you took it as a big deal and that was the problem.” I scoffed but she shook her head. “No, honestly, that’s how I knew it was a mistake. I thought you could handle it—I mean, my friends and I hooked up in college all the time. But it just made it clear how broken things were between us.”
“Broken?” It felt like my throat was closing up.
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “We were so codependent. And that was one thing. But I guess I hadn’t realized that you had feelings for me. And, listen, I’m sorry, but I did not have those feelings for you.”
Humiliation surged and, to my horror, tears suddenly blurred my vision.
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry.
“I mean… wow.” I angrily wiped the tears away. “Your narcissism truly knows no bounds, Wren. Thinking everyone’s always in love with you.” I got to my feet. “And I did love you. As a friend. What we did—what you did—was confusing but ultimately it wasn’t something that should’ve ended our friendship.”
She stared up at me, silent and blank. There was nothing there: no kindness, no care.
“But you ruined it,” I went on, a sob wracking my throat. “Like it meant nothing to you.”
“Al.” Her voice was soft and steely. “We need to put it behind us. We’re not friends anymore, and that’s okay. But can you stop going around telling people about what happened? I’m not comfortable with it.”
Anything for Wren’s comfort.
I scoffed, shaking my head. “You know, I was trying to be nice to you today. I really wanted us to have a truce or something. But you’re showing me that the best we can do is just ignore each other.”
“Agreed.” She lifted her hands in exasperation. “That’s all I want.”
“Fine.”
“Are we done here?” She stood.
I nodded. My whole body felt wooden, dead.
She turned and left. The animal heads and I watched her go.
Chapter 14
As I left the parlor, the flat, heavy feeling in my chest began melting into anger. The rage radiated like a burn. Of course Wren would dismiss what had happened. Of course she would make me feel like the irrational and pathetic one.
This had always been a part of our friendship, the darkest part. When Wren got into one of her moods and there was no one else there to pick at, she’d take it out on me. Why did my room smell? Why was I such a bitch to the guys I dated? Why was I still at a job I despised? Why was I so boring?
My teeth were clenched and I rubbed my jaw as I approached the kitchen. I wasn’t Wren’s punching bag any more. I didn’t have to deal with this shit. I had bigger things to worry about, anyway. I’d get a snack and go upstairs and keep banging out my new book.
Because I was going to beat her, goddamnit. I was going to win.
Chitra was in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove. “Hello, love.” She turned and grinned.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.” I stopped short in the doorway.
“Come in, come in.” She waved a hand. “Just starting to get dinner on. Sit down. You here for a snack?”
“Yeah, but I can wait—”
“What kind would you like? Sweet or savory?” Chitra’s English accent and bustling, grandmotherly air—though she couldn’t have been more than a youngish sixty—relaxed me as I dropped onto a stool at the huge marble butcher block.
“Savory would be great.” I hoped she didn’t notice my reddened eyes.
“Okay, then.” She pulled a few plastic-covered containers from the fridge. “How’s the writing going?”
“Good.” That was true, at least.
“Glad to hear it.” She moved with a fluid grace. “You girls have a lot to get done. I don’t know how you’re doing it.”
“Well, I don’t know how you make such delicious meals.” I cleared my throat. “I didn’t get to tell you but the food last night was incredible. Someone brought a plate to me.”
“Roza’s idea.” Chitra winked. “She didn’t want anyone to interrupt you.”
“How long have you known Roza?”
“Oh, long time now. Met her almost twenty years ago. She came into my café.” Chitra’s voice held a smile. “I had no idea who she was. But after she ate she asked to see me. Invited me to come and be her personal chef.”
“Wow. Just like that. And you said yes?”
“Oh, no.” She scoffed. “I grew up in London; never thought I’d leave. But my café burned down less than a year later. The insurance was shit, so I reached out to her. And I’ve been working for her ever since.”
“Your café—it was like the food you’ve been making for us?”
“Somewhat.” She smiled, and there was a sad or wry twist to her mouth. “My specialty was Anglo-Indian. Roza wanted that for a while. But now she prefers more traditionally American dishes. Which is fine. I can do that.”