Page 134 of Role Play
“Speaking of secrets,” I say, desperate to redirect the conversation away from the knot of pain in my chest, “when were you going to tell me about law school?”
Daphne’s eyes widen, her hand freezing halfway to her wineglass. “How did you?—”
“Forrest slipped. He begged me not to tell you. What happened to us never letting a man come between us?” I give her a gentle nudge, trying to inject some lightness into my voice.
“I didn’t mean to tell him. I hadn’t even decided?—”
“You’ve decided,” I interject. “And you made the right decision.”
She hangs her head. “It’s not Columbia Law. Can you imagine me in Lincoln, Nebraska? Cows, corn, and a whole lot of country boys.”
I shrug. “I’m partial to country boys now. And look, if it’s not the dream, then we change our dreams. Gut the vision board and rebuild it. I’m not a bestselling author. Doesn’t mean we keel over and die. Our job is to make it make sense.”
She looks down at her wineglass, tracing a finger around its rim. “Pep talks are my job.”
“They should be my job too.” Guilt washes over me, cold and harsh. “Is that why you didn’t tell me? Have I been that selfish? So caught up in my writing and my problems that I made no room for yours?”
“No,” she says firmly. “That’s not why I kept it to myself.”
“Then why?” I lift my gaze to meet hers.
“Because things are changing, Sora. For both of us. And that’s really scary.” She tucks her legs underneath her, downing the rest of her glass and setting it down with a decisive clink. “I can’t wait tables and bartend forever. Law school was always the plan, you know that. Life just…got in the way for a while.”
“Life, or me?” I ask quietly.
Daphne shakes her head, her blond hair catching the glow of the fireplace. “Not you. My own fears, maybe. It was easier to help you chase your dreams than to face my own. Safer. But now it’s time to grow up and be brave.”
“Time to grow up,” I echo, letting the words sink in. “Is that what you think about my writing? That it’s like waiting tables or bartending—just a placeholder until I decide to grow up too?”
“Not a chance.” She squeezes my hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “Growing up doesn’t mean giving up on your dreams. It means being brave enough to pursue them no matter what.”
“Like becoming a lawyer, even if it isn’t your first-choice school?”
“More like talking to Forrest about how you really feel, even though it terrifies you,” she counters.
I close my eyes, letting the truth of her words settle into my bones, uncomfortable but necessary. “I’m afraid if I tell him how I feel, I’ll lose him. And if I don’t tell him, I’ll lose myself.”
Daphne laughs softly, the sound warm in the quiet room.
“What?” I ask, a little surprised at her reaction to my profound admission.
“The irony. You know that’s a line right out ofLovely? You’ve written those exact words before, Sora. I know because I specifically remember highlighting and tabbing that paragraph. Now, you’re living out the words you wrote. Sweet poetic justice. This was an experience you were always meant to have.”
“When did you get so wise?” I ask, nudging her with my elbow.
“It’s the wine,” she replies with a wink. “The alcohol unlocks my powers.” She shrugs. “I’m not the coolest superhero in the world, but I’m useful at times.”
“Maybe if I had opted for wine instead of edibles that night, I would’ve made better decisions.”Stupid gummy bears. Those bitter little fruit bites are what got my heart all tangled up into this mess to begin with.
We both laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in my chest. For a moment, it feels like old times—just Daphne and me against the world, figuring it out as we go along.
“So, law school in Lincoln,” I say, genuinely proud. “When do you start?”
“Next semester. The accelerated program.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that betrays her nervousness despite her casual tone. “The workload is going to be a bitch.”
“Well, be a bitch right back,” I say, the reality of it sinking in. “Go conquer Nebraska as fast as you can, and then come back to me, okay? We have big plans for matching rocking chairs and bifocals right on that stoop.” I jut my thumb toward the front door. “Don’t you dare bail on me.”
“Never.” She smirks. “We’ve come a long way since NYU freshman year, huh?”
