“Ditto.”
“I mean, the way he was watching you like a hawk at the wedding and the reception, the way he has always watched you as if you are his and only his and he is protecting you from all the world’s evil—it’s beyond infatuation. It’s like, I don’t know . . . borderline obsession. Then he just straight-up bails without so much as a word—with another woman! That plus the not calling you when he was back in town, this pregnant lady’s patience is running slap out.”
I smile because Robyn is so . . . Robyn. If she’s your friend, she is one hundred percent committed. She is angry on my behalf and I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy hormones or what but I’m pretty sure she’s angrier than I am.
I don’t even know if I’m angry. I’m just sad. Hurt. Confused.
The show was beyond incredible. It was one of the best nights of my life and I felt so alive. All I wanted when it was over was to see him, to wrap my arms around him and celebrate my euphoria from performing. I wanted to tell him that I was ready for the band to get things going because I finally feel like me again.
But he was gone. Just . . . gone.
“This isn’t okay, Dixie,” she says, a warning edge to her tone as if she thinks I don’t realize this. “I see you over there working up a million excuses, but it’s time for him to grow up. He needs to understand that he can’t just pick you up and set you down whenever he feels like it.”
“I know,” I mumble, closing my eyes and burrowing back down in my covers.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
I’m expecting it to be something about Gavin so I’m confused when it’s not.
“Have you ever thought of moving into the master bedroom? I mean, all the upgrades to this house are beautiful and this room is nice and it’d make a great guest room. But it’s your childhood bedroom, love. You’re a big girl now and the big bedroom is just sitting empty.”
I glance around my room. Faded lavender walls sparsely adorned by white weathered wooden shelves my grandmother refurbished to match my headboard. Old desk my grandfather gave me to do my homework on.
“Huh. I guess I never really thought about it.”
“Can I tell you why I think that is?” Robyn looks nervous, like she’s worried her answer might hurt my feelings.
“Shoot.”
She takes a deep breath and I can see her mentally organizing her thoughts the way only she can. I suspect all information in her brain is color-coded and cross-referenced.