Page 65 of Crush
I found Chloe at the kitchen table, poking around on her iPad with buds plugged into her ears.
“Morning, Chloe.”
She didn't answer. I tapped her shoulder and she pulled the headphones out.
“What?” she asked. Shea was right. She was mad.
“I said, good morning.”
“Oh. Hi.”
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“Pretty crummy. I slept awful since I was up so late crying.”
I frowned and set my hand on her shoulder. “Chloe, I'm so sorry to hear that—”
“I bet,” she said as she shoved the earbuds back into her ears.
“Hey, wait, do you want any breakfast? I'm about to cook.”
“Dad already cooked breakfast since you weren't up. There should be a plate in there for you.”
“Okay.”
In the fridge, there was a plate covered with plastic wrap. A handwritten note was taped to the top of it.
“Brynn, Sorry for leaving without saying bye. I didn't want to wake you. Thanks again for staying with Chloe. Hope you enjoy breakfast—but be warned, I'm not a good cook like you are! Shea.”
I wondered if this false pretense that everything was fine and dandy was our new normal. Were we supposed to just forget about the things we'd done last night? It was impossible, of course—if either one of us thought that things would ever be normal again, we were in for a rude awakening.
I crumpled the note with the plastic wrap and tossed them both in the trash. I sat across from Chloe and ate my breakfast in silence while she tapped away at her iPad in her own little world. She wouldn't even look up at me. I knew she was mad, but I wasn't going to grovel for forgiveness. When she was ready to talk, we could talk.
I'd finished my meal and was about to leave the table when Chloe caught my eyes and smirked.
“When I asked how the gala went, you didn't tell me aboutthis.” She spun her iPad around to show me the screen. Someone on Twitter had shared a photo of Shea and I, gala king and queen, during our slow dance.
I forced a smile. “That's because it's not really a big deal.”
“Huh.” Chloe examined the picture closer herself. “You sure? You look pretty happy. So does Dad. And you guys are dancing pretty close for being 'just friends.'”
“Chloe …” I groaned. I didn't know what to say. Ireallydidn't want to go through this again—especially now that Chloe's suspicions had come true. I couldn't act oblivious anymore.
“What?” Chloe asked. “What's wrong, Brynn? Are you going to run off and tell my dad that I'm getting my hopes up again?”
I smiled and bobbed my head. “Ah-ha. Okay. There it is. Let's talk this through, Chloe.”
She stamped her foot under the table. “I can't believe you told him all that! Do you know what he wants to do now? Send me totherapy. All because you told him that I thought you guys were flirting with each other.” She pointed at her iPad screen again, with the damning picture of Shea and I staring into each other's eyes. “When youclearlyhave a thing for each other. So, that's cool. Send me to the loony bin becauseyou'rethe ones living in denial. Thanks a lot, guys. I really appreciate it.”
Chloe could be so dramatic sometimes, it was hard not to laugh—but that only incensed her more.
“Why are you laughing?!” she yelled.
“Becausetherapy isn't aloony bin,Chloe. Lots of perfectly normal people go to therapy. Talking to a trained professional about your problemscanhelp, whether you've got big problems or tiny ones. Look, I went to therapy for years, so I know firsthand how much it can help.”
Her anger was displaced by a sudden curiosity. “You did? What'd you have to go to therapy for?”
“My divorce, for one. Also for my body image issues, and the damage I did to my health because of it. And it helped me a lot.”
