I didn’t see any point in correcting her.
“The thing is, Em, you don’t know if you struggled with the depression because of your circumstances or if it’s a chemical thing. You might have to deal with it again. So you do everything you can to keep yourself well, whether that means meds or counseling or … whatever.” She threw up her hands. “Vigorous exercise … I don’t know.”
We both laughed. Lily knew I didn’t like to talk about my depression, but whenever we did, she always made a tremendous effort to affirm me, and my choices. Another reason to love her.
“What do you think about the supernatural?”
She frowned. “You mean like werewolves or ghosts?”
“Maybe, but more like superhero stuff—special abilities like mind reading or precognition.”
Or manipulating time.
Raising one eyebrow skeptically, she asked, “Did you walk away from your drink last night? Did somebody slip you something?”
“Lily, I’m serious.”
She chewed the nail of her pinky finger, silent for a moment, frowning. “I don’t have an opinion.”
“You have to have an opinion,” I argued. “Are you really going to tell me you haven’t ever thought about it?”
“No, I haven’t. And I really don’t want to think about it now,” she said firmly.
“Hey, it’s cool.” I’d never seen Lily react that way to a simple question. “I just wondered.”
“When do you see Delicious again?” Lily shifted on her stool, folding the cloth in her hands in half.
“He’s going to meet me here so we can go talk to Thomas. He wasn’t very happy his little sis spent the night out.”
“Does your brother have a gun? If so, get Delicious a bulletproof vest. That boy is way too pretty to have a big hole in him.”
“No,” I said, laughing at the thought of my straightlaced brother with a firearm. “Thomas doesn’t have a gun. I’m sure everything will be fine once we explain.”
At least I hoped it would.
“Explain about how you just lost track of time,” Lily said. “Right?”
“Um … right.”
I had been keeping my own counsel for years. I didn’t know what it was like to truly confide everything in a friend, and here I was, wishing I could tell Lily all of it. There were too many secrets in my life.
The bell jangled again as someone entered the coffee shop. I knew it was Michael when my energy level jumped ten notches. He walked up to the counter, smiling at Lily.
“Michael,” I said, “this is Lilliana Garcia.”
Lily, usually articulate and poised—the perfect example of grace—just sat on her stool and giggled.
“Nice to meet you, Lilliana.”
“Call me Lily.” Her voice did the Marilyn Monroe thing, and I wondered if Michael had that effect on every girl he met.
“Nice to meet you, Lily.” He flashed another smile, and I heard her whimper under her breath. When he looked at me, his expression softened. “Em, you ready to face the music?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Lily stared at Michael as if she would scale Mount Everest and swim the English Channel if he asked. I snapped to get her attention. “Lily? Lily? ”
“Yes?” She dragged her eyes away from him and cleared her throat before she spoke. The husky voice was wasted on me anyway. “Yes?”
“Unless Thomas locks me in my room, I’ll see you tomorrow.”