Page 22 of Sweet Nothings

I dig out a clump of butter and spread it across the muffin, watching it disappear. Shaking my head, I hand Roe her muffin, then cut into mine.

Once I’m finished with mine, I put the butter back into the refrigerator and look at Roe. The story of Lennon’s surprise proposal sits on the tip of my tongue. I played over this moment, imagining the look on her face when I tell her the richest, most eligible bachelor in Boston has asked me to be his wife. I also imagined the expression on her face when I tell her I turned him down.

Because for me, I know a marriage with Lennon would develop as more than transactional on my part, and the possibility of never being more to him solidified my decision in saying no.

It isn’t until this moment, as I’m biting into my butter-soaked banana muffin, do I realize my fake marriage to David has done more damage than I thought.

Baking truly is therapeutic.

“It’s neither.” I swallow my bite. “Everything is fine. I was simply in the mood to bake.”

“Does this have to do with the other day at work, after that meeting you told me about? The one with Mr. Wright?”

Goosebumps prickle down the back of my neck. I comb over mine and Roe’s texts, wondering if I somehow accidently let it slip about Lennon’s proposal.

His hand on my wrist. His deep voice begging me to be his wife.

Marry.

Me.

I inhale a shaky breath and open my mouth to begin my denial, but she stops me.

“Frederick is going through a lot right now with the firm.” She places her elbow on the counter and cradles her chin with her hand. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it when he said he might have to let you go.”

Relief washes over me.

“You may be right.” With all the uncertainty of Frederick’s law firm, I have considered why I haven’t left yet. It’s almost as if I see it coming down the line. I’m standing on the tracks, watching as the train comes barreling toward me, blasting its horn a thousand times in warning. But still, I stay.

I stay because of my family name. I stay despite the way my uncle undermines my ability to be a good lawyer more times than he’s placed his faith in me. Maybe I’m staying in the hopes I can somehow turn the eyes of the city back onto us with admiration instead of pity.

While swiping my mouth with my napkin, my eyes fall to Roe’s untouched plate.

“What’s going on with you?” I ask her, tilting my head to the side. “Are you and Steven okay?”

She blinks and her eyebrows rise. “Of course. What made you ask?”

I shrug. “I just haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Oh.” She frowns, picking at her muffin. “Right. He’s just been busy traveling, looking for new works and exhibits to buy for the museum.” Her eyes remain focused on her muffin.

I dip my head lower to pull her attention back. “What’s up, Roe?”

When she swings her gaze up to mine, my heart cracks and splinters. With two large, glassy eyes, tears line her lashes, spilling over the second she blinks.

She hiccups as she inhales a splintering breath.

My heart drops. When we were eight, I sat with her as she cried after her best friend told her she didn’t want to play with her at recess anymore. When we were sixteen, she’d climbed into my bed in the middle of the night, sobbing, telling me she’d just given her virginity to her boyfriend, and immediately after, before they both re-dressed, he broke up with her.

But the pain in Roe’s eyes then is a different depth than the one I see now.

“I need to tell you something.” She sniffs. Her chin quivers, and I hold my breath.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“I, um…” Her voice trembles. “I have cancer.”

When the main character in nearly every novel I’ve read hears devastating news or tragedy strikes, they always describe it in great detail. Unsteady and knocked off balance; the world crumbles at their feet. Their vision grows blurry, and the ringing in their ears is so loud, it feels as if they’ve been submerged under water.

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