99 Percent Mine

“Who’s that?”

“My secret fake lover,” she drawls, tucking the phone in her back pocket. She could have a real lover if she wanted one. I watch her expression and realize that she’s got a secret; it’s caught in the upturned corner of her lip and the spark in her eyes. Someone’s been thrilling my Truly.

“I’ll let you keep this secret a little longer. Then you’re gonna spill it.”

“I’m sure I will. You’re hard to lie to.” She’s the second person who’s said that to me tonight. I stitch and try to not notice how my bottle of wine has a sexy cold bloom on the glass.

“I’m going to give your number to a girl I work with, Holly. I think she’d be good at this. I think it’s time you got yourself a more reliable drone than me.” I begin again. Stitch five times, knot, clip. “And I’ll get a new phone. Come and get me next time.”

“Sorry. I just freaked out and started sewing.” Truly’s voice is drowsy.

“If you ever double-sell again, I’ll draft the email and cancel the orders. I’ll be your faceless management asshole. They can deal with their disappointment.”

“I kind of need the cash,” Truly says, which is very unlike her. “If I want to scale up, I need to get a loan. This looks good in my account.”

We sit together for a long time in silence, Truly’s eyes closed. I begin a new anchor. “Tom’s in town. The renovation is starting.”

Truly’s mouth tips downward. “That means you’re leaving, doesn’t it.”

“No, I’m going to stay for the renovation. I’m going to work on the house.” I sigh in a big grandiose way so she doesn’t know I’m about to be serious. “My stupid way of trying to apologize to Jamie for breaking his financial heart. And I want to make sure the house turns out how I want it.”

I think about money for a bit. I don’t like to. But how can I get more for Truly? Jamie works in a bank. “Maybe Jamie’s got a contact who could help with your loan. Or”—I perk up—“once the house is sold, I could—”

“No.” Truly shakes her head, eyes closed. “No connections. No Barrett savior. I’m doing it on my own.”

“Jamie would hardly be a savior if he gave your name to a colleague.”

“I meant you.”

“Me.” I laugh and reach over to the wine bottle. The dewy glass wets my hand and it makes me recoil. I can’t risk getting even a single cotton thread damp and screwing this up for Truly. I wipe my hand on my leg.

“You were my start-up capital, back in the day.”

“You paid me back for that.” I have a twinge of embarrassment in my stomach.

“You do all the photography and don’t charge. You sew on five hundred miniature anchors—”

“I’ve only done five.”

She won’t hear my protests. “You get my groceries and unbend my fingers. You’re the best.”

“I’m human flotsam.”

“You’re the best,” she repeats until I smile and I don’t need that wine bottle anymore. “So how’s Tom? Still a hot dork beefcake?”

“I have to put a muzzle on myself every time he walks past me.”

“Just like high school.” Truly sighs. “Your brother’s big shadow has always gotten you like that.”

“I thought I wasn’t that obvious. Well, here’s news. The wedding is off.” I count my stitches carefully. I wait for her exclamation of shock.

“I’m not completely surprised.”

“I was so surprised I pulled the cabinet doors off their hinges in my kitchen. They’re just in a big pile on the floor. Then I told him to get in my bed.”

“Ha,” Truly barks with her eyes shut.

“It’s not a joke. I told him to . . .” I trail off and swallow the big lump in my throat. “I told him to get in me.”