She nods again. Getting to her feet, she sighs. “I get that. I really can’t argue it.”
“Right? There’s nothing to argue. And with Peck … he’s a great guy,” I admit sadly. “If all we can be is friends, then I’ll take it. I’d much rather have that then try to embark on some journey that’s doomed before it even starts.”
Navie throws her arm over my shoulder as we head to the cash register.
“If there’s one thing I know for sure about Peck, it’s that he’s not disappointing.”
“Not yet. But everyone will disappoint you at some point.”
“Hey,” she says, shoving me gently. “I take offense to that.”
“I didn’t mean you.”
“You better not have.”
I place my items on the counter and return the attendant’s smile. She rings me up, and I hand her my credit card.
“There is an alternative,” Navie says.
“What’s that?”
“I could hire an assassin.”
I laugh. “She’s kidding,” I tell the woman working the register. “Thank you.”
I take my credit card and receipt. Navie grabs my bags. Together, we head into the early afternoon sun.
The air is not too warm and not too cool. The sun is bright as if luring me into happy thoughts.
“You need to stop overthinking everything,” Navie says. “You just think and think and think, and before you know it, you’re worrying about situations that you’ll never even encounter.”
“Overthinking prepares me.”
“No, overthinking ruins you.” She steps away from my trunk as it pops open. “You’re so used to being the adult. You’ve parented your mother and your siblings your whole damn life. Just … be a twentysomething for a while. Cut yourself some slack.”
She tosses my bags in, and I close the lid.
“I don’t know how to do that,” I admit. “It seems … irresponsible.”
“You know how to take chances. You moved here on a whim, basically. You danced on a bar last night. You moved in with a man you just met.”
“True …”
“So why don’t you take chances when the result could make you really happy?”
“Living here does make me happy.”
She glares at me. “Not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“Don’t write people off just because you had a bad similar experience. So Charlie didn’t pick you. Seriously—good for you. But that doesn’t mean it’ll always be that same situation with every guy you meet.”
“So I’m not the proverbial rebound girl?” I grin. “I’m not the time-killer?”
“Just … shut up.” She laughs. “What’s wrong in that head of yours?”
“A lot. And on that note, I gotta go. I have a bunch of errands to run today.”
“Like what?”
I think back through the list of things I need to do. “Well, I need to run to the post office and drop off some envelopes. I need to do some non-foods and non-clothing shopping.”
“What do you need?”
“Bathroom stuff. Notepads. Dish soap.”
She nods. “There’s a place on the other side of Merom. Follow this street to the right, and you’ll see it in a couple of miles.”
“Perfect.”
“I work tonight,” she says. “Come see me if you get bored.”
I climb in my car. “Thanks for coming by today.”
“I was no help, but you’re welcome.” She heads across the parking lot. “See ya.”
“Bye, Navie.”
She walks away like she has no care in the world, but that’s not true. She has more cares and problems in her life than I do.
No one knows that, though. She hides things so well. In some ways, we are so similar.
I came to Linton to support Navie, not just because of the Logan business, but because I knew she needed me. But now I think we simply needed each other.
Daily phone conversations, watching movies and then calling each other to rant or rave at the best parts, and planning trips together we’ll never take helped us stay close when she moved here. And while I’ll never be grateful Logan hurt her or that my family and Charlie about broke me, those things did get me here. Thankfully.
I close the door and turn on the engine. Instead of pulling out, I turn up the radio. An old country song that I remember my nonna playing, about a man loving a woman forever and ever, flows through the cab.
Relaxing back in my seat, I listen to the words.
Is that possible anymore? Or is it always the survival of the fittest?
My phone dings beside me. I pick it up and smile.
Peck: Dinner at seven. Be hungry. ;)
Me: I’ll bring dessert.
I laugh.
Almost typed I’ll be dessert.
I toss my phone in the cup holder and head across town.
Nineteen
Peck
“All right. Let’s not fuck this up,” I whisper.
The items I bought at the grocery this morning are spread on the table. Packets of steak, giant potatoes that I’ll smash with butter and bacon and cheese and chives, and the requisite salad fixings are all displayed in a neat little line for my dinner with Dylan.