Page 45 of Revenge Cake

He pulls me into his arms and I cry silently against his chest, loathing myself for doing it, but having no willpower to stop.

“Lani,” he says into my ear. “How could you of all people be worried about this? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you a question that you didn’t have an answer to.” I hear a smile in his voice. “It’s shocking sometimes what you come up with, like you’ve had a year to think about it.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Lightly, he grips my upper arms to shift my body back, as if to give himself a better view of my face. “What then?”

I move away from him to collect my thoughts. “It’s all the other stuff. Talking about my drive from Santa Barbara, as if I don’t want to die of boredom just thinking about it. Looking at the pictures on their desk and telling them their ugly children are cute. Laughing if they tell stupid jokes. I didn’t sleep at all last night worrying about this interview. I’m too exhausted to fake social graces. I’m not good at them as it is.”

His concerned smile makes me realize that I’m pacing again. I stop and fold my hands stiffly in front of me, as if I can force them to keep still.

“You should just give them the ‘I’m awkward manifesto’ you gave me the first night we went out. I thought it was pretty cute.”

“They don’t want cute! This is a fucking PhD program. I’ll be their peer when it’s over. They’re picking a future research colleague. They’re picking someone they have to spend hundreds of hours with over the next five to seven years. They want someone they could go get a beer with after class.”

He frowns. “Are you out of your mind? Who wouldn’t want to get a beer with you? People get PhDs in fields like yours mostly because they wanted to have interesting conversations with interesting people. You might be bad at laughing at dumb jokes, but you’re a magician at interesting conversation.” His smile is so kind, I wish I could find it comforting. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

I shake my head.

“Okay, I’ll help you. We’ll practice having small talk right now.”

I fight the urge to groan. That is so how someone without anxiety tries to fix anxiety. “Just do this,” they always say. Oh, so you’re saying I should just calm down? Excellent advice. I don’t know why I never thought of it before.

“Fine.” I turn toward him, taking an inventory of his appearance. “I would tell you I like your shirt, except I don’t think I could say it with a straight face.”

His brow furrows before he looks down at the Iron Man logo on his chest, as if he forgot what he was wearing. As he lifts up his head, he grins. “That’s my girl. Maybe you should just be yourself. It always works on me.”

Anxiety makes me two people. A girl deep within me feels comfort at his gentle acceptance of my shortcomings, but her voice is silenced by the raving lunatic pacing this room right now.

I’m calling our campus health services tomorrow. I need a therapist. I can’t stand for him to see me like this.

Suddenly, I need him gone. I can’t handle having him see me like this. I stop in my tracks to face him and take a deep, steadying breath. “I won’t need you to drive me today.”

His eyes widen as he steps into a straighter posture. “I thought we were going to the beer garden at California Adventure afterward to celebrate.”

I shake my head. “I’m too exhausted to do anything fun. Plus, I doubt that there will be anything to celebrate, and I don’t need the extra pressure. I’ll just go by myself.”

His tone is much more serious when he says, “We don’t have to go anywhere after, but you should let me drive you. If you go alone you’re going to torture yourself with these thoughts. If I go with you I can distract you, or better yet, you can sleep in the car.”

I meet his eyes, resolved. “No. I’d rather go alone.”

As he crosses his arms over his chest, I can see that he’s angry. He thinks that I’m purposely putting distance between us, closing myself off yet again. Partially, he’s right.

Mostly though, I’m not ready to admit out loud even to myself that I’m bailing on a graduate school interview today.

CHAPTER 17

Present Day

Leilani

Item 1—Makeover

Item 2—Lure him back

An icy breeze stirs the branches of the sidewalk trees. I hug my arms to fight the cold as we walk to the entrance of Test Pilot. Dean’s hand lingers on my shoulder as we step inside, and the thought that Logan might be watching it sends a delightful chill down my spine. Brenna guides us to a small open couch in the back of the bar. We cram so tight I’m practically sitting on Dean’s lap. Brenna smiles wickedly as she leans into my shoulder. “He’s going to die,” she whispers.

I certainly hope so.

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