Page 153 of Say Yes to the Nemesis
“Oh,” she says. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
We stand there for a moment, separated by about five feet of kitchen tile that might as well be the Grand Canyon. The silence stretches between us, heavy with all the things we’re not saying.
I can feel her presence even when I’m not looking. She’s making tea. The same kind we had on the terrace at the villa, vanilla and honey that smelled like paradise.
“How was your meeting with Elena?” she asks finally.
“Fine. Yours?”
“I haven’t had one yet.”
“You will.”
She nods, turning back to whatever she was doing at the counter. Her movements are mechanical, precise. Like she’s concentrating very hard on not falling apart.
“Wren…”
“Don’t,” she says without turning around. “Please don’t.”
“I just…” I swallow. My hand grips the counter. “I couldn’t walk past you like you weren’t everything.”
“I know what you wanted to say. I don’t want to hear it.”
Her voice is steady, controlled. But I can hear the tremor underneath it, the effort it’s taking to keep herself together.
I want to cross the room and pull her into my arms. Want to tell her I’m sorry, that I fucked up, that she means more to me than I’ve ever admitted to anyone, including myself. But I can’t. Because she’s made it clear that’s not what she wants.
So I grab a water bottle from the fridge and leave without another word.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of forced normalcy. Dinner with the group, where Wren and I sit at opposite ends of the table and carefully avoid looking at each other. A movie night in the living room, where she curls up in the chair farthest from mine and stares at the screen without really watching.
The other contestants notice. How could they not? The tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife. We’re both doing a shit job of hiding it.
“You two are being weird,” JacqLyn observes during a commercial break.
“Weird how?” I ask, though I already know.
“Like you can’t stand to be in the same room together.”
“Maybe they had a fight,” Divya suggests with barely concealed glee.
“We didn’t fight,” Wren says quietly. It’s the first thing she’s said all evening.
“Then why do you both look miserable?”
“I don’t look miserable,” Wren lies.
“Honey, you look like someone ran over your dog,” Nikki says gently.
Wren’s face flushes, but she doesn’t respond. Just gets up and mumbles something about being tired before disappearing upstairs.
The remaining women all turn to look at me expectantly.
“Don’t ask,” I say.
“Come on,” Heidi presses. “What happened between you two?”
