Chapter 16 Episode 16

“Seriously, there’s no need,” I tell her, holding up my hand. “No, there is,” she insists. “I was… emotional last night. I was lonely and I was stupid to drink so much.” “No judgment. Like I said, we’ve all been there.” She gives me a grateful nod. “Thanks, Jessa.” An awkward silence follows. Before either of us remember that we barely know each other and get super weirded out by what’s happening, I say, “You mentioned last night that you moved here from England recently, right?” She nods, her ponytail bouncing prettily. “Three weeks ago, to be exact. I lived in a cheap motel for the first ten days before I found this place.” “It’s a good building. I think you’ll be happy here.” She looks skeptical for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s not what I’m used to.” “Then it’s just a matter of getting used to it,” I tell her. “Give yourself a couple more weeks.” “You’re right,” she says. “And maybe I’ll try acclimating sober this time.” “There’s nothing wrong with going out and indulging once in a while,” I point out. “But self-medicating with alcohol is never the answer. In my experience, at least.” I shrug. “Yeah, I’m a whole lot better with giving advice than taking it.” Freya grins mischievously. “Sounds like there’s a story there.” I smile and blush, turning my face away from her. “A depressing one. But maybe I’ll save it for another day.” She looks curious, but she doesn’t push me to share with her. “How about some breakfast?” she asks instead. “That sounds nice,” I say. “I’m just gonna go back to my apartment for a bit. I think I need to change and shower. I’ll be back in like twenty minutes.” “Perfect,” Freya says. As I head to the door, she eyes my clothes with interest. “That’s a beautiful dress, by the way. Where’d you get it from?” I finger the silky fabric of the blue slip. I should burn this thing to a crisp, then burn the crisps. But for some reason, I’m finding myself reluctant to do that. “Um… it was a gift.” “Well, whoever gave it to you has great taste,” she says. I grin and head out the door, feeling guilty for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on. I should have changed the moment I got back home, but Freya had shown up before I could do anything. I get into my apartment and make sure the door is locked before I head into my bedroom. I remove the blue slip and lay it down on the bed. It really is pretty. It makes me wonder about the woman who bought it. The woman Anton married. Was she as beautiful as her taste suggests? Was she as classy? As discerning? “I don’t care,” I say out loud. It doesn’t sound convincing, so I try again, emphasizing a different part of the sentence. “I don’t care.” Nope, still not good. “I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.” The last one is good enough. I shower and change, then head back down to Freya’s apartment. When I knock on the door, she trills out, “Come in, it’s open!” in that melodic accent of hers. Frowning, I let myself in. “Are you sure you wanna keep your door open like that? Anyone can just walk in.” She gives me an amused look. “Paranoid much?” “Kinda,” I admit, without telling her why. She laughs and walks around her kitchen counter with two loaded plates in hand. “I’ve got bread rolls, sausages, and cheesy eggs. Fair warning, though: I’m not the best cook, so eat at your own risk.” I take a plate from her and stare at the one lone beanbag on the carpet. “Carpet or beanbag?” she asks me. She nods and we sit down together. “Sorry about the lack of furniture. I just don’t know how long I’ll stick around. Furniture seems so… permanent.” I raise my eyebrows and dig my fork into the cheesy eggs Freya has made. They look a little watery, but otherwise edible. “Has California really made such a bad impression on you?” “This is more my problem,” she says. “I left home because I needed a fresh start, but I’m not sure I put a lot of thought into where I was going. L.A. was just the first place that popped into my head.” “How is it?” Freya asks as I chew. I swallow the bland ball of food in my mouth. “Good.” She giggles. “You’re a bad liar.” “It’s not bad,” I chuckle. “Maybe a little more salt next time.” “Damn it. I always forget salt.” “I take it you don’t cook too much?” She crinkles her nose, and I take note of how attractive she is. Her amber-blue eyes are striking, especially against her dark hair. “Not really,” she admits. “Other people always did the cooking. So I guess I never learned.” “Well, you will now. Or just live off Chinese takeout. No judgment either way.” She gives me a grateful smile. “You’re really nice. Different than all the other people I’ve met in L.A.” “Probably because I’m not a native. I moved here with my parents when I was seventeen. My dad retired. He wanted a change of pace.” “Was it a hard move for you?” “A little, but I was only a year away from starting college anyway. So I didn’t have to stick around too long.” Freya regards me with interest, like she’s paying rapt attention to every single word I’m saying. “How come I haven’t seen you around before?” She shrugs. “I may look like a bad drunk, but I keep my wits about me. Do I get to hear this long story or do I have to beg?” I open my mouth to politely decline. But as I do, I realize that the thought of reliving my nightmare so soon doesn’t really scare me the way I thought it would. As I’ve learned, there are way scarier things in life than a cheating fiancé and a b***h of a best friend. “So, three days ago, I was supposed to get married.” Freya’s eyes seem to hit the roof of her forehead. “Seriously?” “Wow. Okay, so the fact that you’re sitting here on the floor with me means that things didn’t exactly work out, huh?” “Oh God. Don’t tell me he didn’t show?” “He was in the building,” I say with a small sigh. “Holed up in one of the rooms… with my maid of honor.” Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. “What?!” I nod. “And based on what I saw, that wasn’t the first time they’d done that kind of thing.” “Jesus. Darling, you’re a saint. I’d be in jail for double homicide right now.” “It was a close call,” I admit with a laugh. “But I just wanted to get away. I spent the evening of my wedding day sitting on the beach in my dress, trying to figure out how I could have been so damn blind.” Freya looks at me with deep, genuine sympathy. “God, Jessa. I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be,” I say, forcing a smile on my face. “I’m glad it happened that way. Better that than after I signed on the dotted line. Or after we had kids, moved in together, any of that.” “Oh, f**k yeah,” she agrees. “It’s still sad, though. You didn’t deserve that.” “I’ve got some bad karma, but not that bad,” I joke. “You and me both. So, what did you do after that?” she asks. I hesitate. I haven’t known her long enough to trust her with the rest of my story. “I called up a friend,” I tell her. “An old friend. Chris. And I went to his place. That’s where I spent the last two nights.” “He wasn’t at the wedding?” “We’d had a… falling out,” I admit. “He told me that I shouldn’t marry Dane, and I told him to go f**k himself.” She raises his eyebrows. “Sounds like a real friend.” “He is,” I say. “I was the stupid one for not listening to him.” “I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Everyone does stupid things for love.” This is the second time someone has given me a pass based on the justification that I’d been in love. But again, it feels wrong. The word doesn’t fit. “Maybe,” I say. “But I don’t intend on making that mistake again.” “Of course not,” Freya agrees. “Once you’ve been burned, nothing can ever wash away those scars.” “Sounds like you’ve got stories of your own.” “Oh, I do,” she says with a smile. “Maybe one day, I’ll tell you all about it.” I raise my orange juice and we clink our glasses together. “To unexpected friendship,” I say. “Unexpected,” Freya agrees. “But the best things usually are.” I’m in the billiards room. The French doors that look out over the back lawn and pool are thrown open to let in a breeze, but it’s a failed effort. No breeze to be found. Only the scent of freshly-mown grass and stillness in every direction. Then a shadow passes quickly by the doors. I feel my brother’s caution before he even appears in the doorway. He’s steeling himself to face me. He knows he’s f****d up. But when he doubles back to the doorway, his expression is a carefully manufactured mask of calm. “Come in here,” I say as he hovers awkwardly by the threshold.