Page 2 of Connectio
“Oh, Libby Mermaid…” Carly’s lips flatten, just like my mum’s did before she told me Santa Claus wasn’t real.
I bite back my half-smile at one of her nicknames for me—The Little Mermaid is my favourite Disney Princess—and snap out a, “What?”
“It saddens me to tell you this, but, yes, you’re right, Prince freakin’ Charming doesn’t exist.” She leans over the benchtop, her chin propped in her hands. “What’s wrong? Something’s really bothering you. I can tell.”
I divert my gaze to our pastel-pink Smeg kettle. “There’s nothing bothering me.”
“I call bullshit.”
“You can call whatever you like.”
“Libby, what aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing!” My face flushes with heat.
“Lies!” she yells, pointing at me and nearly taking out my eye. “Your cheeks are as red as your taco.”
Gritting my teeth, I snatch up my handbag and head to my room.
“Where are you going?”
I don’t answer her; there’s no point.
“Wait! Lib, come back. I’m just kidding. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Again, I don’t answer. I’m just not in the mood.
“Fairy tales, princes, and princesses are all real,” she calls out. “I promise. Now come back.”
“Have a good time tonight, Carly,” I say as I close my bedroom door behind me.
Tears sting my eyes, but I wipe them away with the back of my hand. I’m not going to cry over him. Not again. Not a second longer. He’s stolen enough tears from me already, and I refuse to let him steal any more. Tears aren’t like rain; you shouldn’t just let them fall.
Blowing out a long, slow breath, I blink my eyes dry just as Sasha—Carly’s eight-month-old golden retriever pup—scratches at my door. I turn the handle and let her in, and she bounds into the room like a sun-kissed whirlwind.
“Hello, baby girl.”
Bending down, I knead my fingers into the base of her ears. She smiles, which makes me smile.
“Did your rude, inappropriate mummy take you for a walk today?”
Sasha barks and whips her tongue across my face.
“My guess is that’s a no.”
She goes for a second tongue-whip, and I scrunch my nose but laugh. “Who needs men when we have dogs like you, huh?”
She barks again.
“Exactly! Men are jerks.”
Sasha rolls onto her back and kicks her legs in the air, so I sit on the ground next to her and scratch her belly, her leg twitching like crazy.
“Oooh yeah.” I scratch harder. “That’s the spot.”
My phone sounds an incoming message, so I abandon Sasha’s belly and reach into my handbag, pulling it out to find a text message from Oliver.
Oliver: I’m sorry, Lib. Got caught up. Raincheck?
