She lifts her glass to me. “You are both a social media rock star and a fundraising rock star. Your parents are insanely proud—you know that, right?”
I love when she refers to them in the present tense. She does that sometimes, and it’s because we both try, in our own ways, to keep the memories alive. Bryn’s mom was big on sayings and adages, and Bryn often leans on those in trying times. I try to keep the passions of my parents alive by honoring my dad’s dying wish—to give so much of what he earned as a billionaire businessman away.
Live well and boldly, but give back too, he told me all throughout his life, but also when he knew he was dying.
I choke up briefly as that time seems to smack me out of nowhere. But then, the memory of his advice doesn’t entirely hurt. They are, indeed, words to live by.
“Your mom is proud of you too,” I tell my best friend as I lift my glass to hers and clink across the space between us.
She smiles at me, soft and genuine, then a spark of mischief enters her eyes. “Speaking of perfect timing and Ransom . . .”
I shoot her a curious look, daring her to continue. “What about Ransom and me?”
“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?”
I roll my eyes because that’s easier than digging into the muddy ground of whatever Ransom and I are. Are we anything? Tomorrow might feel like a date to me, but the invitation was to hang. I’d do well to remember that. A hang is not a date.
“Bryn, we’re not dating. We’re not together,” I say, as much to remind myself as her. I need the reminders more and more these days. I need to stay on the straight and narrow.
“I know, but it feels like you could be . . .” she says, trailing off in a happy tone.
A laugh bursts from my chest. “What does that even mean? We could be?”
Setting her glass down, she reaches across the space between our chairs and places her hand on my arm. “I see you guys together. I just do. And I want you to know I’m fine with you going for it. We all are.”
Her permission tugs on my heart. Pulls and yanks on that organ in a way I’m not sure I want to be pulled and yanked. “I know that. You’ve been trying to set me up with him for some time now,” I say, trying to make light of her kind words because I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to face what her blessing truly means. Especially because I don’t know that there’s anything to go for. “But we aren’t really a thing.”
She holds up her hand, moving her fingers together like a mouth. “Blah, blah, blah. Yes, you are.”’
“No, we’re not,” I fire back.
“Teagan.” She says it as cutting as a laser, like she can see through me. And she likely can.
“Bryn.”
“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t explore options with him,” she says. “And I think I am. I think we all are. I know your biggest worry is that dating Ransom might cause our friendship house of cards to crumble.”
The gentleness in her voice makes my throat tighten with emotion. But who is it for? I’m not sure, honestly. I’ve tried to keep emotion at bay for so long. Warding off feelings is safer than having them. When you keep them behind the ramparts, you can’t be hurt again and again.
“I can tell you feel something for him,” Bryn continues. “If you explore that and it goes badly, or if you explore it and it peters out, we’re going to be okay. All of us. Logan and me, Summer and Oliver, Fitz and Dean. We’ll be fine, and we’ll still be here. For both of you.”
Fine.
But would I be fine? And how will I ever know? “It would be awkward. It would be weird,” I say, my voice wobbly, as I try to stay the course.
Living behind the walls is easier. The walls are fortified.
Bryn smiles kindly and squeezes my arm. “Life is awkward. Life is weird. We’ll manage. I don’t want to stand in the way of your happiness with anyone.”
I meet her gaze, seeing so much friendship, so much family in her eyes. It knocks loose some of the fear inside me, casts it aside. Maybe frees up some of my worries too. I don’t know what Ransom wants, but lately I have a sharper sense of what I want. I’m not sure I’m ready to pursue it, but perhaps I will if I can remove this one big obstacle. This fear. The one she’s freeing me of. Maybe I shouldn’t cling to it any longer. Maybe it’s time to let it go. So I ask, “Are you sure?”
