Page 77 of Written in the Stars
Darcy clutched her phone, staring at her contacts. No.Notno one. She had the phone pressed to her ear before she could second-guess herself.
“’ello,” Elle’s voice came through the line, so vibrant and happy it made Darcy ache inside. “Darcy?”
She sniffed as quietly as she could, covering the receiver. “Hey.”
Her voice quivered, but held, flimsy but unbroken.
The line was quiet, the sound of Elle’s breathing a near-silent whistle. “What’s up? Let me guess, can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”
Darcy laughed, the edges of her self-control fraying, thinning, split in too many directions. Elle had no idea how right she was. “Something like that.”
“You know, this is the first time you’ve called me.”
Darcy took a shallow breath. “I hate talking on the phone.”
Elle chuckled. “And yet you called? You could’ve texted.”
She scrunched her eyes shut. “I hate talking on the phone but I—”
Wanted to talk to you. Elle was the exception to so many rules it made her head spin.
“Darcy?”
“Sorry.” She had to clear her throat. “I just— My mom’s here.”
She could hear Elle shift, fabric, a blanket maybe, rustle. “Right now?”
“No, I mean,yes. She’s in town, but she was at my apartment. She just left, but she’ll be here through Christmas. She’s, um, she’s selling my grandmother’s house. No questions, just like that. She’s selling the house and she got rid of the Christmas decorations and... and I just wanted to...”
She trailed off, not because she didn’t know what she wanted but because she did. She knew what she wanted but she didn’t have the slightest idea anymore what she needed. If they were one and the same or polar opposites.
Elle cursed quietly beneath her breath. “God, Darcy. Are you okay?”
“I’m—” It was there, on the tip of her tongue.Fine. Darcy always had to be fine, always had to be okay, because if she wasn’t, who would be? She always had to hold it together, be strong, keep her chin up. But she wasn’t. She was anything but fine. “Not really.”
Two words and she split straight down the middle, her voice breaking and her chest cracking open, all the feelings she’d kept compartmentalized, carefully tucked inside boxes set neatly on a shelf deep within herself, spilled out. Messy overflowing feelings seeped out in the most inopportune places, eyes leaking and nose running.Fuck.
“Darcy—”
“Sorry,” she said, hating how her voice quivered. “I didn’t mean to call and dump all over you.”
“You didn’t.” Elle sounded sincere, vehement even, her voicea firm contrast to Darcy’s weakeverything. “You didn’t dump all over me. I swear.”
Nice of Elle to say that, but it wasn’t true.
“Still.” Darcy swiped a hand across her face, the heel of her hand coming back smeared with mascara and smudges of brown and cream eyeshadow mixed with her concealer. “It’s getting late. I just couldn’t talk to Brendon about this and I—” She needed to stop. She had no business making herself more vulnerable than she already was and especially not to someone like Elle, someone who Darcy had no guarantee would be a permanent fixture in her life. She’d make herself vulnerable, crack herself open, and... then what? “You know, I should let you go. I should...” Darcy scrunched her eyes shut, shoulders bunching by her ears because this was awkward as hell. “Bye.”
“Wait, Darcy, don’t—”
Darcy pressed end and let her phone fall against the floor, her head knocking against the door with a muted thud.
Ears ringing, Darcy played over everything she’d said, her memory unfortunately practically perfect. Mortification set in, her skin itching and stomach churning.
Perhaps Elle would pretend this hadn’t happened. Perhaps they could act like Darcy hadn’t called and gone all soppy, spilling her guts all over the place. Perhaps Darcy could change her name and number and move to a small village in the south of France. She could eat enough butter and wine that the humiliation wouldn’t matter.
Changing her identity might take some time, but she could get a jump start on the wine. Rolling to her knees, Darcy stoodand filled a fresh glass with the cheap, cloyingly sweet boxed rosé because it made her think of Elle and apparently, unbeknownst to her until nearly her thirtieth year on this planet, Darcy was a masochist. The more you know.
***
