Does she ever relax? Wear normal clothes?
She slowly turns her head to face me, like that girl in The Exorcist. For a minute I’m actually worried she’s about to spew hot green liquid at me.
“I was,” she says, staring at me.
I’m tempted to ask her what changed, but I’m not dense. I know she’s referring to before I woke up and made my presence known in the house. Instead, I just smile harder at her.
I add some cream and sugar to my coffee, then grab a croissant from the island before making my way to the exit.
“Oh, my friend Shelly is coming over shortly. We’ll stay out of your way, but I just wanted to let you know in case you hear another voice coming from my room.”
“Did Mr. Hayes okay that?” she calls after me.
“I didn’t ask him. I didn’t think I needed to since it’s my day off.”
“Miss Silver.” I hate the way she says my name, dragging out the S sound for emphasis. “Whether you want to accept it or not, this isn’t your home. This is the Hayes’ home. You are a guest so please treat it accordingly.”
There are so many things wrong with her statement, but I don’t care enough to argue with her. I just give her a nod of understanding and make my way back to my room.
* * *
Twenty minutes later Shelly is on my bed, already making me double over in laughter as she tells me about how two giant rats broke into the coffee shop yesterday and caused complete mayhem.
“So then Terry is freaking out because there’s at least eight people in line for coffee and these two rats that are legit the size of a chihuahua go running across the floor through their legs and back through the kitchen!”
“Oh my God.” Tears are pricking my eyes as Shelly acts out how people were jumping like pieces of popcorn to get out of their way.
“Needless to say, we got the rats out, alive mind you. I was not about to let him murder them in there.” She shakes her head and takes the last bite of my leftover croissant. “These are amazing. We should sell them at the café.”
“Niles, the chef, makes them fresh every weekend. I’m shocked I haven’t gained ten pounds.”
“You guys have a private chef here?” She rolls her eyes. “Oh, to be the one percent.”
I gave her a quick tour of the house, at least the parts I felt comfortable showing, the parts I go into. I didn’t show her the yard. I knew she’d want to go for a swim, and I can’t exactly be in a swimsuit right now. Not with Graham’s love bites marking my body.
“Well, this isn’t my real life, you know. As Miss Perry likes to remind me, this isn’t my home and I’m just the hired help.” I let out a sigh, not wanting to admit my reality to myself. For as much as I know this thing with Graham is just a fling, probably a way for him to avoid dealing with the loss of his wife, a tiny little fairy-tale part of me still hopes that it could somehow turn into something more.
“So what’s going on with you and Hank?” I finally ask and I see her mood instantly change.
Shit. Did something happen since last night?
She grabs a pillow and holds it over her face, muffling a dramatic scream. I reach over and pull it down, expecting to see her laughing, but instead, there are tears in her eyes.
“Shit. What happened, Shell?” I reach over and touch her knee.
“I think I’m in love with him,” she finally says, burying her face in her hands as relief washes over me.
“What? That’s wonderful, Shell. Why are you acting like this about it?” This was not at all what I was expecting her to say and I’m still just taken aback.
“Because, Margot, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to live this next year floating around the city, guy to guy, living out my craziest fantasies and kicking ass. Now I’m just some mopey, emotional loser who can’t stop thinking about this guy and imagining marrying him and having his damn babies!” She flails her arm, tossing my pillow across the room in the process, and I burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny? This isn’t funny, Margot!” She slaps my leg, and it just spurs me on.
“I never thought I’d see the day when Shelly Prescott fell in love. Can I tell you something?”
She looks over at me. “What?” she says nervously.
“Don’t be mad, but Hank reached out to me the other day. We met for drinks last night. He was terrified that you were ghosting him. He said you guys hit it off, the sex was great, blah, blah, blah, and you made plans for a third date, and then you got weird.”
She hangs her head.
“He’s not mad; he’s crazy about you. He was worried that when he told you that he saw himself falling for you it scared you off… and I told him it probably did.” I laugh.
“You’re both right. It did scare me because I was having those thoughts myself, but I figured it was just the whole butterflies, honeymoon phase thing and he didn’t feel the same way. We just connect, Margot,” she says, drawing out the last syllable of my name. “Oh my God, it’s so good. He makes me laugh and feel so relaxed and I can be myself. And the sex. Oh God, the seeeex!”
I clamp my hands over my ears. “I don’t want to hear about it; he’s like a brother to meeeee!” I sing and she pulls my hands down.
“So are you going to be mad?”
“Mad? About what?”
“That your two best friends are dating and like in love or whatever.”
“Are you kidding me? I think it’s amazing. At your wedding I’m taking full credit for this shit.” We both laugh. “But seriously, all I care about is that you guys are happy. Well, I care more that you’re happy first, then him, but yeah, it won’t be weird. Just don’t go making out and getting all handsy around me all the time.” I wink at her, and she pulls me in for a hug.
“You’re like the sister I never had, babe.” She pulls back and looks at me. “Seriously, I love you so much.”
“I know. I love you too, Shell.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon together. We venture downstairs where Niles makes us custom-ordered wood-fired pizzas that are out of this world. Finally, Shelly leaves around four p.m. to head back to the city.
Graham still isn’t home, and I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. I feel like if I were to see him, I’d be embarrassed. I don’t regret what happened last night, but I was certainly the one that took things in the direction they went. Mostly, I’m worried he regrets it and is avoiding me.
Around six p.m., Eleanor returns home from her grandma’s house, fed and bathed, with Muffin in tow.
“Look, look, look what I made Muffin,” she says with excitement, holding Muffin up so I can see the friendship bracelet she has around her paw that matches the one on Eleanor’s wrist.
“That is beautiful,” I say as I take Muffin in my arms.
“I made you one too,” she says, reaching into her tiny pocket and holding one out to me.
“Oh, thank you, sweetheart.” I hold out my wrist so she can slide it over my hand.
We sit on the floor of her bedroom as she tells me everything she did at her grandma’s house today.