Page 96 of The Way I Hate Him
“You have?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah, for some reason, Instagram thinks I like to see videos of you. I was scrolling and stumbled across it. I watched because, well, I was hoping you fell off the stage or something—”
“Liar,” I say, causing her to chuckle.
“Anyway, I thought it was good.”
“Just good?”
She sighs heavily. “Fine, more than good. But the acoustic version is my favorite, if you need to know.”
“I do need to know. I need to know everything you think about my music.”
“I think Maggie told you enough.”
“Not nearly enough,” I say, loving that she’s being playful now. “Did you have me under a secret playlist because you didn’t want your family to know you like my music?”
“Exactly, but I’m pretty sure Cassidy knew. She never said anything, but she’d mention one of your songs every once in a while and give me a knowing look.”
“Did you have a secret poster of me as well?”
“No,” she scoffs. “I liked a few songs, that’s it.”
“Sounded like more than a few songs.”
“We can move on from this. We’ve already talked about it, so there’s no need to rehash it.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll never let it go since you were so adamant about hating my music. Calling it swill.”
“Well, now you know the truth, so drop it.”
I chuckle. “Fair enough. But did you have any posters of any crushes on your wall?”
“No,” she answers. “I was never really like that. You know, we were raised in a single-parent household. Dad never let us fantasize, especially Ryland and Cassidy. When he was at work, working extra shifts, they were taking care of me and Aubree. There wasn’t much room for dreaming.”
“You didn’t dream at all?” I ask.
“Not about crushes. I dreamed about what I wanted to do when I got older.”
“What was that?”
“When I was younger, I wanted to own a coffee house, which is so silly because I didn’t even drink coffee, but I just thought it was this romanticized notion, a place where all the fun happens. I blame it on all theFriendsreruns I was addicted to watching on TBS. I wanted my very own Central Perk. As I grew older, I held on to that idea, so I went to school for business. But the coffee dream faded as I spent more time at The Almond Store with Cassidy and helped her create every vision she had for it.” She grows quiet and then looks out the window again.
“Everything okay?”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s not, but nothing I want to talk about.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, shutting down quickly, which clarifies one thing. Whatever she was crying about earlier has to do with Cassidy. I don’t want to push her, though. She normally doesn’t shut down like this, despite our on-and-off friendship—if that’s what you want to call it. She hasn’t been shy about talking or holding back. Whatever is bothering her, she truly doesn’t want to share.
I’ll respect that.
For now.
* * *
“Adam Sandler,”I say, breaking the half hour of silence. I couldn’t take it any longer.
