Page 45 of Never the Best

By the time I climbed into bed, I was pleasantly tired.

I was just about to turn off my lamp when my phone buzzed with a call on the nightstand. I picked it up, and Rhett’s name flashed on the screen.

I answered immediately. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and warm. “I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“No, it’s fine.” I settled back against my pillows. “What’s up besides you and me, that is?”

Was Josie not with him?I knew from the grapevine that they weren’t living together. Josie was still at her parents’ place, since she’d sold her place after Rhett proposed to her. The rumor was that she’d been ready to move into his house, but he’d told her he wanted to wait until they were married. The other rumor was that Josie wanted the whole house overhauled, renovated, and updated, which was why she hadn’t moved in.

“I just finished chapter three.” I could hear the faint smile in his voice. “You were right. I’m wrecked.”

I giggled. “I warned you. Steinbeck doesn’t hold back.”

“So, you’re going to have to pick the next book for us to read when we’re done withThe Grapes of Wrath.”

Given how I felt about him, I shouldn’t have encouraged this friendship. But…there was nothing wrong with being friends with an engaged man—as long as we kept it platonic, right?

“Have you readCatch-22?”

“Major Major?”

“You have!”

“A long time ago. I don’t mind rereading it if you don’t. I’ve forgotten so much.”

“How could you forget Doc Daneeka telling Yossarian that there was a catch?” I teased.

“Words to the effect,” he stopped as if recollecting. “If you’re sane enough to not want to fly, you must. If you’re crazy enough to want to, you can’t.”

“Ah, so you do remember.”

“You know what Ireallyremember? How reading the book made me feel. I was laughing a lot at the beginning, but then I started to realize how messed up everything was. By the end, it hit me—none of it was funny. Not Nately’s whore, not Yossarian standing in the lineup naked—none of it.”

I was surprised that he not only had readCatch-22but he had also reflected upon it. “I think it’ll be good to read that book with you.”

Stop this, Pearl. You’re falling for this guy again. Nothing good is going to come out of it.

For a while, we talked about Joseph Heller’s only great book—Rhett’s thoughts on the characters, and my memories of reading it for the first time. But the conversation drifted, as it always seemed to with Rhett, to other things.

He told me about a client he’d met that day, someone who reminded him of one of Steinbeck’s Joads, and I told him about dinner with Aunt Hattie.

“What did you make?” He didn’t make a big deal out of me cooking, just asked a natural question.

I told him, and added, “It wasn’t anything fancy, but it felt…good.”

“It sounds good,” he said, his voice soft.

For a moment, there was silence, the kind that felt heavy with things unsaid.

“Pearl,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I…I’m happy we’re talking again. That we’re friends.”

“Me too,” I said, my chest tightening.

But as the call ended and I set the phone down, I couldn’t ignore the way my heart ached. Because no matter how much I tried to tell myself we werejust friends, the truth was I wanted more.

And he wasn’t mine to want.

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