Page 118 of The Situation
“She should,” I say, nodding.
“That’s what I told her. Oh, and Phil was in. Remember him? He brought tuna salad in a margarine container and ate it while he waited.”
My stomach recoils at the memory. We couldn’t get that smell out of here for a week.
“You know how we thought Phil had a thing for Barbara?”
“Yeah …”
“We wereso right.That’s unproven right now, but I heard it from an excellent source.”
I laugh, the brick on my chest lifting just a bit.
Jamie watches me, trying to decide whether it’s safe to test the waters on my drama. I still don’t want to talk about it, but she is my best friend, and I could use an honest opinion.
I sigh. “Tate and I got into our first fight. Well, I don’t know if it was a fight or not. We had a robust disagreement. How’s that?”
“What about?”
“He wants things to get super serious, super fast.”
“How do you feel about that?”
I get to my feet and slowly pace the salon. So many nights I’ve walked these floors trying to work something out. A marriage. A divorce. Rumors and financial issues. Bruises and heartbreak. The list goes on and on.
If the walls could talk in this place, the stories they could tell.
“I feel awful,” I say, my heart squeezing at the look in his eyes when I left. “He’s a great guy and means nothing but the best. I wouldn’t have to pick between the bear or the man because Tate would slaughter them both for me.”
“Great answer. Wrong question.”
“Huh?”
“I asked you how you felt about him wanting to get serious, and you answered that you felt bad and he was a great guy. That wasn’t what I asked you.”
Oh. I take a deep breath. “I haven’t told him this, but I love him.”
Jamie flinches.
“I know. That’s wild coming out of this mouth,” I say, laughing sadly. “But I do. There’s nothing not to love about him. It’s crazy when I think about it because every time someone has told me they’ve fallen in love this fast, I’ve laughed at them. And now, here I am, knowing what love feels like for the first time and doing it in record time.”
“Another great answer to the wrong question.”
I spin around to face her. “What do you want me to say?”
“How. Do. You. Feel. About. Him. Wanting. To. Get. Serious?”
“You don’t have to be a dick.”
She points at me. “You’re emotional, so I’m going to let that slide.”
“Sorry,” I say, heaving a breath. “I feel …”
How do I feel?
I pace again, this time faster. I make a figure eight around two pillars on either side of the building.
“Talk it out,” she says. “That’s why you’re here. You could’ve thought quietly in your car.”
