If I didn’t know he was sick, I wouldn’t be able to tell. I did the basic Google thing when Mom first told me about his diagnosis. He’s in the early stages of multiple sclerosis, so he might be experiencing vision loss, numbness and tingling, or fatigue. Or maybe not. His legs are propped up on the coffee table and he relaxes fully into the sofa in a way that I can imagine him doing every day for the last ten years. And now he’s still doing it, only everything is different. My heart pangs for him, and maybe even a little for Harrison too.
“Hey, Sweets! Come meet my friend Tyson. Tyson, this is my talented and beautif—”
“Mom!” I roll my eyes, desperately thankful that Harrison is not here for this. I know him approximately 0 percent, but I’m willing to bet he’d scoff at my mother’s deluge of compliments. I assume it’s an only-child thing. If I had siblings, Mom would have to spread some of her lavish praise and compliments among the group. Unfortunately, all she’s got is me and I have to fill the role of talented and beautiful and whatever half-truths she’s prepared to sprinkle all over the floor like glitter. Obnoxious, hard-to-get-rid-of glitter.
“This is Paige.” She smiles indulgently. But not for me. She’s smiling for Tyson, I realize with a start.
“Hey, so I think I’m gonna go out for a bit. Check out the city,” I say.
“Paige, I don’t know. It’s freezing out there, and you don’t know your way around.”
“Mom.” I plead with my eyes. This is what I make them say:
This is my first day in New York.
This is my chance to finally do something interesting with my life.
The boy I’m in love with might know that I’m in love with him, and he doesn’t love me back, and our entire friendship might be falling apart right this very second.
“Take Harrison with you,” Tyson says before taking a sip from his mug. Steam rises from the top, and he closes his eyes, savoring the hot liquid.
“Yeah—about that …”
“Did he say no?”
I shrug in response as Tyson groans. “I’m sorry, Paige. Between us, his girlfriend dumped him last week, and he’s been having a rough time.”
“Oh.” Is there no escaping sad boys with wounded hearts? I glance to Mom for help.
“Maybe we could …” She glances at Tyson, who winces and shakes his head. She turns to me. “I’ll come with you,” she says with a forced smile, and it’s obvious she’d rather spend her evening on the couch with her old friend.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll go unpack. It’ll be fine. I mean fun. Where are we staying?”
“You’ll be in Harrison’s room,” Tyson says.
I blink. “Where’s he sleeping?”
“In my room, across the hall. His is the last door on the right, next to the bathroom. If every surface is covered in books, you’re in the right place. I tried to make as much space for you as possible, but—” He laughs. “The kid has a thing for books. Who knows where he gets it from. I tried to pass on my record collection but he wasn’t all that interested.”
“So, I’m, uh—sleeping in his bed?”
“Sorry it’s not a bigger place,” Tyson says. “Your mom has the guest room, but I thought you would want your own space. The sheets are new, at least.”
“Don’t apologize. We’re so happy you invited us here for Christmas,” Mom says.
As I walk down the drab hall, I can’t help but wish for the garland and the twinkle lights and the stockings inevitably hanging in the Wildings’ cabin. I also sort of hate myself for listening to Magic 8. Which defeats the whole purpose of the app. It’s supposed to free me from paralyzing doubt, and yet. I found my way here anyway.
Turns out I can’t outrun my problems, not even in the greatest city in the world. I nudge open the door at the end of the hall and prepare myself for an avalanche of books. Instead, I find Harrison lounging on the bed.
Molly! You made it!
My body has an immediate, visceral reaction to Whit’s words. Warm anticipation is replaced with icy disappointment.
“I’m not Molly.”
“Huh?” Whitney Farnsworth struggles to keep the spoon of baby food away from the squishy girl in the high chair in front of him. She giggles and screeches as she tries to snatch it from his hand. Orange mush is splattered across everything in an eighteen-inch radius.
“I’m not Molly,” I repeat, louder this time.
Whit looks baffled. He has indistinct, brownish-blond hair, a slight receding hairline, and a unironic ugly Christmas sweater. “I could have sworn Fitz said he was bringing his girlfriend.”
I shrug, like, no big deal. My heart plummets out of my body, like, really big freaking deal.
I told you this would end badly, SIM whispers in my ear as he scrawls a list of everything wrong and bad and scary about this situation.
Before I can make sense of anything, Fitz’s middle sister bounds down the stairs. Her beachy blonde waves bounce and her diamond nose stud glints in the light. “Hi, Paige!” She reaches the bottom step and squeezes me in a quick, friendly hug. She’s ten years older than Fitz and was already out of the house by the time Fitz and I became friends. She lives in Colorado with Whit and their kids, but I’ve met her a few times.
“Wait. You knew this wasn’t Molly?” Whit addresses Meg as he points to me.
“We’ve both met Paige,” she tells him. “At his baseball game a couple of years ago? And last year on the Fourth of July?”
“My memory sucks,” he says to me.
“Ignore my husband. Please. How was the drive? Where’s Fitz?”
“Getting my stuff.”
“But you are the girlfriend, right?” Whit asks, struggling to keep up.
“Nope. Just a girl. And a friend.” My face heats in eternal embarrassment from which I’ll never recover.
“We don’t have to worry about scaring you off, then. Fitz gave us this whole lecture about being on our best behavior because his girlfriend was coming, but I guess that doesn’t apply now.” Whit plucks the baby out of her seat and takes her to the sink to wash her off. She splashes happily in the water.
“Whit. Seriously, stop talking,” Meg orders.
“No one tells me anything!”
“I tell you; you don’t listen!”
Fitz appears at the door, my bag in his hands. He takes one look at my face and groans. “What’d they say?”
“What happened to Molly?” Whit interjects. Meg looks like she wants to murder him.
“Whit. Back off,” Fitz growls. He turns to me. “Ignore him. Everyone does. Come on, we’re staying downstairs.” He nods toward the stairwell leading to the basement. “The light switch has been broken forever, so watch your step.” I follow him down the first step and then hang back, eavesdropping on Whit and Meg.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but his text said he was bringing his girlfriend, Molly—”
“I know,” Meg interjects.
“And now he shows up with a completely different girl, no warning? Is this the one who was all over his Instagram last Halloween?”