I reach for my phone and look at the time, not expecting it to be noon. I sit up immediately, wondering why he let me sleep so long.
“Get up,” he signs. “We need to get Maggie’s car and drop it back off here before we head back to Austin.”
I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “We need to go to the medical supply store first,” I tell him. “I want to see if they can give her a generator until hers gets repaired.”
Warren signs “okay” and walks to the bathroom.
I fall back against the couch and sigh. I hate how this whole trip has gone. It’s left me with an unsettled feeling, which, funny enough, is exactly what Sydney was hoping for. I smile, knowing she got her way and she doesn’t even know it. I haven’t spoken to her since all the fighting between me, Maggie, and Warren last night. I open my texts to her and notice she hasn’t texted since we talked last night. I wonder how her night with Bridgette went.
Ridge: Heading back soon. How was your sleepover?
She begins texting back immediately. I watch the text bubbles appear and disappear several times until her text comes through.
Sydney: Apparently not as eventful as yours.
Her text confuses me. I look at Warren, who is walking out of the bathroom. “Did you tell Sydney about the argument last night?”
“Nope,” Warren says. “I haven’t talked to either one of them today. My guess is that they’re hungover and still in bed.”
My chest tightens because her text is unlike her.
Ridge: What do you mean?
Sydney: Check Instagram.
I immediately close out my texts to her and open Instagram. I scroll down until I see it.
Son of a bitch.
Maggie posted a picture of us. She’s making a silly face up at the camera and I’m next to her. In her bed. Asleep. The caption reads, “Haven’t missed his snoring.”
I fist my phone in both hands and pull it to my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut. This. This is why I should have stayed home.
I stand up. “Where’s Maggie?”
Warren nods toward the hallway and signs, “The laundry room.”
I walk to her laundry room and find her casually hanging up a shirt like she didn’t just try to sabotage my relationship with Sydney with her petty Instagram post. I hold up my phone. “What’s this?”
“A picture of you,” she says, matter-of-fact.
“I see that. But why?”
She finishes hanging up the shirt and then leans against her washing machine. “I also posted a picture of Warren. Why are you so mad?”
I roll my head and throw my hands up in frustration. I’m confused why she did it in the first place, and now I’m confused as to why she’s acting like it isn’t a big deal.
She pushes off her washing machine. “I didn’t realize we had rules to this friendship. I’ve posted pictures of all of us for six years. Are we catering our lives to Sydney now?” She tries to walk toward the door, but I step in front of it.
“You could show a little respect for our situation.”
Maggie’s eyes narrow. “Are you serious right now? Did you really just ask me to show respect to the relationship you’re in with the girl you cheated on me with?”
That is not fair. We’re past that now. At least I thought we were. “You could have posted any picture of me, but you chose to post one of me in your bed. A bed I was in because I stayed up for hours to make sure you were okay. Using that as an opportunity to throw my mistake back in my face is not fair, Maggie.”
Her jaw hardens. “You want to talk fair? How fair is it that you’re the one who had an emotional affair, but I’m the one who has to be sensitive about what I post on Instagram? How fair is it that I’m the bad guy for eating a Twix? I wanted a fucking Twix, Ridge!” She pushes past me, so I follow her. She spins around when she reaches her living room. “I forgot how I’m never allowed to have any fun when you’re around. Maybe you shouldn’t come back, because this is the worst day I’ve had in months!”
In all my years of knowing her, I’ve never been this mad at her. I don’t know why I thought this could work. “If you have an actual emergency, let me know, Maggie. I’ll be here for you. But until then, I can’t be friends with you.” I walk to the front door and swing it open, then face Warren. “Let’s go.”
Warren is standing in the living room, frozen, at a complete loss as to what to say or do. “What about Maggie’s car?”