Truths That Saints Believe (The Klutch Duet 2)

We did the obligatory hugging and the ‘you look good’—which she fucking did—and asking about work—which was booming for her—ordering drinks and getting a bowl of fries delivered.

Zoe had raised a single brow when I asked the waiter—since we only ordered fries in times of crisis or PMS—but she did not ask. That wasn’t her way. So she waited.

“Jay and I are back together,” I blurted. “And we’re getting married.” I timed this to come out right when the waiter approached our table with fries, therefore she had a second to process while he put the fries down and topped up our waters.

She didn’t speak until long after he’d walked away, and I’d started nervously shoving fries down my throat.

“This is intense, babe,” Zoe frowned, leaning forward to grab a fry.

I popped a fry into my mouth. “Yes it is.”

Her gaze was hard. “Intense works good in movies, books, Shakespearean plays. But not in the real world. In the real world, intense is synonymous with dangerous shit, with someone getting hurt, someone getting killed. Well, Shakespeare demonstrated that well, too, but the contemporary version of romance has not.”

I sighed, mostly to hide the slight chill I got from her words. “You really are a cynic, my love.”

She didn’t smile. “No, I just love my friend. And I’ve seen you transform since this man came into your life. Not entirely for the worst, but not for the better. This love is going to make your life so much harder. I can see that already. I’ve seen that and heard it in your voice when you called me from the corner of the world—the one you crossed to try to escape him. He’s going to hurt you. I do not want that for you.”

I took another fry. “I don’t particularly want to be hurt either. Furthermore, I wouldn’t want my life any other way,” I replied. “I know our story isn’t likely going to be inspiring or heartwarming. If it was written down, it would likely tempt people to give up on love rather than believe in it.”

I paused while the waiter offered us more drinks to which both of us replied with an enthusiastic yes before he’d even finished speaking.

“I’m happy,” I continued, voice lower this time. “Maybe not in the way I thought I would be, maybe not in the way I thought happiness looked like. But I’m happy.”

Zoe’s face softened—just a tad. “Well, if you’re happy, then I’ll support you. Even if you were abjectly miserable, I would support you. Not because I wanted to, and I’d lecture you on what a stupid bitch you were being, but I’d support you, nonetheless. Because I love you.” She sucked in her cheeks ever so slightly, telling me she had more to say and was trying to decide whether she was going to say it or not. This was not like my friend. If there was something that needed to be said, she said it.

Zoe’s mantra was “too many women, too many members of my culture have stayed silent because they were forced, because they had no choice. I have a choice. I’m never going to bite my tongue when generations before me never even got to use theirs.”

“Say it,” I told her, grabbing my drink, figuring I’d need it.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s just ... do you really know this man, Stella? Like really know him? He seems like this ghost. This phantom. The mystery, the danger, it’s one thing when you’re in an ... arrangement. It’s quite another when you’re in love. When you’re planning a future.” She crossed her legs. “You want children. He doesn’t.”

I nodded. “Now he does.”

“Now he does?” she parroted. “Just like that?”

I bit my lip. “Not just like that. Don’t forget our long and painful separation.”

Something moved across her face. “Oh, I remember because I didn’t see my best friend for months, barely spoke to her, and when I did, it was like talking to a fucking zombie, trying their level best to act human. I remember it, Stella, because it was only a month ago.”

She spoke softly, evenly, not raising her voice. But the words were sharp, full of emotion, anger.

And the worst thing was, she was right. I’d been little more than a zombie. I’d been weak. Been shattered. In the space of a month, everything had changed. I’d changed. Because of a man. I knew she was going to look at me differently now.

“I know you can’t understand this,” I began, voice low. “Because you are so strong. You would never be so stupid to attach everything you have and everything you are to a man, like a barnacle, unable to pry yourself away.” It wasn’t an accusation, though it came out as one.

She frowned at me. “No, Stella. I have,” she shook her head, her words short. “I fell in to a love like that. Dark, unyielding. All encompassing. And I had to pick myself up out of the wreckage.”