Page 81 of Dear Pink

Do I confess? I’m a fraud . . . Gabe’s not attracted to me . . . he’s attracted to my dead best friend. I’d be forced to tell them Libby's story. Ugh. I sound insane even in my head. Maybe Franny can tell them everything after I leave. I should definitely go.

As if reading my mind, Gabriela says, “Don’t go.” She stretches her hand to hoist me off the couch, but I’m stuck between the two giant cushions I buried underneath.

Gloria grabs my other hand. “Yeah, Hannah, don’t go.” She grunts, tugging my arm out of its socket.

Geez. I’m really stuck. This night is beyond embarrassing.

“Ahhhh,” I scream, falling on top of them after they finally dislodge my butt from the couch. “Sorry,” I say, disentangling my face from Gloria’s cleavage. Yep . . . class act.

Gloria laughs, getting to her knees. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I shouldn’t involve myself in your relationship. What happened between you and Gabe is your business.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“No, I confronted you. My intrusion wasn’t fair.”

“Enough apologizing, you two,” Gabriela interrupts, getting to her feet. “This is supposed to be a beauty party.”

Gina interrupts with a giant bowl and towels. “Let’s get started.”

After homemade avocado facials, a recipe Ghita read in a fashion magazine, we file and buff our nails. I stink at painting nails and am relieved when Gina volunteers to paint mine.

“Now, put these toe separators in,” she instructs me. “This will keep the nail polish from smudging onto the other toes.” I laugh at her professional demeanor and do what she says.

“Use the cotton candy pink on Hannah,” Giovanna says, handing Gina the bottle. “Gabe says it’s her favorite color.”

My breath catches in my throat at the sound of his name. He told her I love the color pink? It’s no secret, but the fact he told his sister feels intimate.

“Ooh. This color is good enough to eat,” Gina says while she paints.

I peek at my toes. They resemble yummy candy. Javier, the foot fetish dude, would love to suck on these. I giggle at the thought.

“What’s funny?” Gina says, moving onto my fingernails.

“Oh, this art dealer who sucks on—”

“What’s cooking? The house smells odd,” says a male voice from the foyer.

Shit. I jerk away, and Gina paints a long pink stripe along my arm.

“Hannah,” she yelps. “Stay still.”

“Why does it reek of paint and avocados in here?” Gabe asks, walking into the living room pinching his nose.

He looks incredible. My stomach drops, and vomit rises to my throat. I sense the room tilting sideways. I scoot backward hoping an escape hatch lurks behind the sofa.

“Stop moving.” Gina follows me with the nail polish remover and a rag in her hand. “Let’s get the paint off your arm.”

“Sorry.” I grab the rag and vigorously wipe my arm but only manage to smear the paint more.

“Hannah?” Gabe stares at me, mouth agape.

“Uh . . .” I stop shuffling. There’s nowhere left to hide anyway.

Gina cranes her neck in Gabe’s direction and jumps to her feet. “Oh, Mom’s calling. Let’s help her in the kitchen.” She makes eye contact with her sisters, who froze in place as soon as Gabe entered the room.

“Yeah . . . I hear her too,” Giovanna says, heaving Ghita and Gemma to their feet.

“I’ll help Mom,” Gabe blurts and makes a move for the kitchen.

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