Page 55 of How to Date a Younger Man
Within twenty minutes, nineteen of which I spent staring helplessly at the wall, Wren is knocking sharply on my door. When I open it, she barrels inside, attacking me with a monstrous bear hug and nuzzling her face into my chest.
“Hi,” she says, her voice muffled in the fabric of my shirt.
“Hi.” I cough, the wind nearly knocked right out of me.
She takes a step back, looking me over as if to assess the situation. Me being the situation.
“Sit down,” she says, gesturing me to my own couch.
Okay.
She hurries away to the kitchen, and I hear the burners clicking and the tea kettle rattling from a distance. I chuckle. Wren would hate to be called a busybody, but she’s honestly the worst kind. The kind that thinks tea solves every problem. Lord.
In two minutes, she’s sitting next to me, handing me a steaming cup that smells earthy and dark, like ginger and cardamom. Not my tea. I wonder if she brought her own tea bags. It wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility.
“Tell me everything,” Wren demands, leaning back into the couch with crossed arms.
I sigh. Here we go.
I tell her about the interview a few weeks ago, about how I thought I nailed it but didn’t hear from them until this morning. I tell her about the job offer, and all the strings attached. I tell her about my reluctance to move to New York, so far away from this city I’ve come to love. All the while, Wren sits there, patiently waiting for me to finish.
“That’s it,” I mumble, my hands clasped loosely around the now lukewarm tea. I look up at Wren, expecting her to have a lot of opinions. Instead, she has an odd look on her face.
“What?” I ask.
Her look melts away into a beaming smile. “Congratulations on the job!” she cries, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I know it’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“Yeah . . .” I awkwardly pat her back with one hand. Did she miss the part where I’m not sure if I’m going to take it?
“Don’t worry about the details. It’s all going to fall into place. I’ll help you pack up your stuff, and we can take the weekend to get everything in order. I’ll be there every step of the way, I promise.”
I rub my suddenly stiff neck with one hand. “I don’t know if I even want to go, though.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re going. And if you’re worried about being lonely, then I’ll come with you. I’ve always wanted to live in New York City, anyway.”
Fuck me. No. “Wren, you’re not dropping everything to move to New York with me.”
“Why not?” she asks, her face suddenly a few inches too close for comfort.
Goddammit. I thought we’d been through this.
“Because that’s crazy. You have a life here.”
“You’re more important,” she murmurs, her gaze soft.
I stand up in an effort to break the awkward tension she’s determined to build between us.
“What?” she blurts out. “We used to talk about living together all the time.”
“In high school, sure. When we didn’t have any idea what our lives would be like.”
“Sure, back then. But we’re still friends, best friends, so we must have done something right. I want to start over with you in a new place.”
“Wren . . .” I groan, scrunching my eyes shut in frustration. “When did this become about you? This was about me, not thirty seconds ago.”
“And I want to come with you.”
“I don’t even know if I want to go!”
“Why?” she asks, throwing her hands up dramatically. “New York City is amazing. Why wouldn’t you want to move to a new, exciting place and take advantage of this incredible job opportunity?”
I glare at her. “You know why.”
“No, Griffin, I don’t.”
We stew in silence for a moment, me standing against the wall and her sitting uncomfortably on the couch.
“I think something might actually be happening between Layne and me,” I mumble.
As soon as the words leave my lips, I realize how young and stupid I sound. This is embarrassing as hell. It doesn’t feel great when Wren outright laughs at me, either.
“You’re going to turn down a job because of Layne? That’s ridiculous,” Wren says, stretching her long legs across the couch. “I won’t let you do something that stupid.”
“I don’t need your permission to live my life the way I want to,” I snap, and Wren’s eyes go wide. “I just mean that I was hoping for your insight.”
“And you have it. I think you should take the job in New York. Fuck Layne.”
“Don’t say that.”
“What? Fuck Layne?”
“Wren . . .”
“Fuck—”
“Okay, you can leave.”
I stalk over to the door and open it wide for her. Wren narrows her eyes at me. I don’t budge, even though my stomach is in knots.
Eventually, she stands, walking past me and out of my apartment. “I just don’t want you to sacrifice everything for a woman who doesn’t care about you.”
