Page 21 of Dash to Me
I laugh, feeling the words bubble up inside me. This is exactly why I needed to see Selena. No one else can make life-changing decisions feel both monumental and completely ridiculous at the same time.
“He asked me to move in with him. And I said yes.”
Selena’s eyes widen, and she nearly chokes on her scone. She takes a quick sip of the coffee and sets it down. “Wow. That’s... big.”
“I know what you’re thinking—it’s fast.”
“I didn’t say that,” she replies, but her expression says otherwise. She reaches for my hand across the table. “Hey, I just want to make sure you’re happy. And safe. And not making decisions based on... I don’t know, nostalgia or that twenty-year crush you’ve been nursing.”
I feel a flash of defensiveness, but this is why I came to Selena. She doesn’t sugarcoat things.
“It’s not just nostalgia. Yes, we have history, but this is different. We’re adults now. We know what we want.”
“And you want to live with him,” she says, not quite a question.
“I do.”
“I care about you. What about wanting to find your own apartment? Your independence? You always said you’d never give up your own space again after what happened with Derek.”
The mention of my ex makes me wince. Derek had gradually taken over my apartment until I felt like a guest in my own home. When we broke up, I swore I’d never compromise my space again.
“Atlas isn’t Derek.”
“And the kid thing?” she asks carefully, knowing how important this is to me.
“We’ve talked about it. He wants them too. Soon, even.”
Selena sits back, taking me in. I can see her brain processing, weighing risks and benefits. “You really love him, don’t you?”
“I really do.” The admission feels both terrifying and freeing.
She squeezes my hand. “Then I’m happy for you. But I’m still going to worry, because that’s my job as your best friend.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I laugh, feeling the tension release. “Now, can I tell you about his mother? Because that woman is a piece of work...”
We fall into our familiar rhythm, and for the next hour, I tell her everything—about Atlas’s family, about our plans, about the ridiculous argument over a king sized bed versus a queen.
Selena laughs so hard her latte almost spills. “A king versus a queen? That’s what you’re fighting about?”
“It’s not a fight exactly,” I say, defending myself. “I just think a queen is perfectly fine, and he’s insisting on this massive king that will barely fit in the bedroom. Says he needs his space when he sleeps.”
“Poor Atlas, dealing with your blanket-hogging ways.” She smirks, knowing my sleep habits all too well from our college days.
“I do not hog blankets!” I protest, though we both know it’s a lie.
Selena’s phone buzzes. She glances at it and frowns. “Sorry, it’s work.”
While she responds to the message, I take a moment to really look at her. There are dark circles under her eyes that makeup can’t quite hide. Her normally perfect posture has a slight slump to it.
“You’re working too hard,” I say when she puts her phone down.
She shrugs. “Residency is residency. One more year and I’ll have almost-human hours.”
“How are things with Micah?” I ask, realizing I’ve spent the whole time talking about myself.
Something flickers across her face—a brief shadow. “We’re on a break, actually.”
“What? Since when? Why didn’t you tell me?”
