Page 44 of Cashmere Ruin

I put May down in her crib and start moving around the kitchen to make tea. Petra leans against the back of the couch, inspecting her nails with a carefully casual air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do. All the lying awake at night, the sneaking suspicion that you should’ve splurged for therapy while you still had the chance.”

“Therapy is for cheerleaders.”

“… staring at the ceiling and wondering just how hard it’s going to be…”

A shrug. “Can’t be too hard ifyou’redoing it.”

“Ouch.” I fake-stab myself. “Really hurt my feelings there,Petya.”

Ah-ha.I knew that nickname would be the ace up my sleeve. Her face burning like a stoplight is all the confirmation I needed. “Shut up.”

“Why? It’s so sweet.”

“It’s just Yuri being informal.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling pet names now?”

Before I know it, the water’s boiling. I pour us two cups and set some cookies in the middle of the table. “C’mon. Don’t pretend you’re not starving.”

“I hate you,” Petra mumbles around a mouthful. “You’re just trying to fatten me up.”

“And make you gain another half-size? Heaven forbid.”

“You say that now, but I’d like to see you without your emergency living mannequi—WAH!”

My head snaps towards the sound. At first I think Petra’s burned herself with the tea, but then I follow her line of sight straight into her lap and?—

“Oh, you’ve met Buttons!”

“What is this thing?” Petra panics. “Why is it sniffing at me—bozhe moy, is that an eyepatch?!”

I try to hide my snickering, but fail. “Oh my God, your face.”

“Myface?” she balks. “How abouthisface?!”

“He’s a Persian mix.” I shrug. “That’s just how they look.”

“He looks like his mother had an affair with a pug and a weedeater, in that order.”

I can’t help it then: I laugh. Worse—I fall over the table and just honest-to-Godlose it.

Petra watches me with her trademark RBF. “Ha-ha, very funny. Yuk it up.”

“I can’t…!”

“Your cat is a scurvy-riddled pirate, but somehow,I’mthe ridiculous one.”

“Help…!Help…!” It’s a good handful of minutes before I manage to collect myself. “Sorry,” I wheeze at last, drying literal tears from my eyes. “I think I needed that.”

Petra’s face softens then. Her manicured hand reaches for mine over the table, the other scratching idly behind Buttons’s half-bitten ear. “April… how are you holding up, really?”

My first impulse is to deny:Everything’s fine. I’m okay. Just haven’t been sleeping that well.

But just thinking about it is exhausting. I’m so tired of it. Tired of lying, of hiding, of this web of deception we ended up weaving around each other.

For once, I just want truth.

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