Page 39 of The Seemingly Impossible Love Life of Amanda Dean

He just laughed. “It’s fine. I kind of threw you a curveball.”

A curveball was an understatement.

“So, what do you think?” He tightened his grip on Mandy’s lower back, pressing her body closer to his. Why did that always feel so good? “Just for lunch or something. Nothing big. She just wants to meet the girl I keep talking about.”

He talked to his mom—about her? Had Mandy even mentioned Theo to Mom? Oh god, she felt like the biggest asshole. He pressed his cheek against hers again.

“Yeah. Sure. Of course,” she said.

“Really?” His voice sounded so hopeful.

“Yes. If you want me to meet your mom, then I want to meet her.”

Theo leaned back to gaze into Mandy’s eyes. “What did I do to find a girl like you?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” Did that sound as narcissistic as it did in her head?

“God, I love you.”

The needle didn’t slide across the record and make that screeching sound, but it did in Mandy’s head. Sure, they were good together. Sure, they’d been having fun. And it was easy being with Theo. But love? Was Mandy there? And how could Theo sound so sure?

“I love you, too,” Mandy said anyway, because what else was she supposed to do?

Chapter Twenty

September 2005

Would it ever stopfucking raining? Mandy had gone to London to soak in the culture, but for approximately seventy-two hours, all she had gotten was soaked. Like the clouds were crying for her since she couldn’t cry herself anymore. This trip had been her dream, and then it became their dream—Isa and Mandy’s—but she was alone in her room, missing Isa and feeling sorry for herself.

Maybe she should go home.

She could apologize.

She could grovel, even.

But Isa wouldn’t be there. She probably would never talk to Mandy ever again. Mom and Dad were home though. And so were her own bed and pillows—ones she didn’t feel as bad sobbing into.

At least she had a private room in the house she was staying in. This way she could wallow in her own misery without anyone else there to watch her. It was a quaint house too—just off thebeaten path but close enough to cafés and shops. A woman by the name of Beatrice owned the place, and from their correspondence, Mandy had expected an older woman with gray hair who likely enjoyed an evening of knitting and crossword puzzles. Mandy was extraordinarily wrong. Beatrice, as it turned out, was a vibrant woman with fiery ginger hair in her early fifties who loved leather, her motorbike (as she liked to call it), and her two cats, and had visible tattoos along her arms and legs, and a number of not-so-visible ones she had told Mandy about with a smirk. Mandy didn’t mind the cats and wished they would visit her room, but that would mean opening the door once in a while, and, well, that wasn’t happening.

This would be—more or less—Mandy’s home for the next couple of months while she explored and studied at an artists’ program in the city. She was lucky to enroll in a couple of classes. Not a full load or anything, but it was enough to bide her time as she tried to figure out what she really wanted. At least that had been the plan. Now Mandy was too sad to do anything. She lay in her four-poster bed staring at the ornate antique furniture and old books lining the shelves of the little bedsit (that’s what Beatrice called it) with her suitcase still packed next to the door. At least the bed was comfortable enough.

But Mandy couldn’t help thinking back to just weeks ago when Isa had stayed the night and the two of them were still in bed—because it was summer, and that’s what summers were for, sleeping in.

Mom had gently knocked and peeked her head in. “I’m going to run out for a bit,” she said as Mandy lifted herself onto her elbows—Isa didn’t stir. “I’ll grab some bagels on my way home. Blueberry, okay?” Blueberry was Isa’s favorite.

“With strawberry cream cheese,” Mandy said.

Mom nodded like that was a given. “Don’t spend the whole day in bed, you lazybones.” She closed the door.

Mandy lay back down and stared at her ceiling. She was too awake, too aware of the girl sleeping next to her in nothing but a tank top and sleep shorts. They had stayed up most of the night talking and kissing—and at some point, Mandy must have fallen asleep.

A few moments later, there were the telltale signs of Mom’s car pulling out of the driveway.

Isa spun around. “I thought she would never leave.”

“Have you been awake this whole time?”

“As soon as she knocked on the door, yeah.” Isa did that one-eyebrow-raise thing, and the message was received loud and clear.

---