Page 85 of Expecting an Argument
I glanced up at Ashley’s monitor and watched a clip of a tracking shot of the green-tiled fireplace at Miss Kaye’s house. Ashley’s camera captured the shiny glaze of the tile, then the clip jumped to the wooden mantle that held Mom’s ashes.
The clip changed to a wide shot of the white room at Miss Kaye’s, right as Beau handed me my snack plate. He kissed me on the cheek and my stomach twisted as I watched my face harden and my lips form the words, “We aren’t together.”
Beau’s shattered spirit flashed across his face before he slipped the mask back on and walked away. I shut my eyes, refusing to see any more.
Another contraction rolled through my abdomen—a more painful one, that time—and I couldn’t help but think I deserved it.
I let out a miserable groan and Ashley took off her headphones. She swiveled around in her blue chair and rested her elbow on the corner of the double bassinet that was crammed between her desk and my nightstand.
“That one hurt, huh?” she asked.
“Still just Braxton Hicks,” I muttered. As much of a pain as they were, they didn’t come at a measurable pattern. It was all just senseless misery.
Ashley glanced to the floor but then looked back up at me. “Liv, I’m tired of seeing you like this. Just talk to him.”
I shook my head against the pillow. Despite the temptation that gnawed at my fingertips every time I reached for my phone, I had refused to reach out to Beau.
“No, he needs some space to get over me,” I said dully. “Heneeds to hate me, maybe find someone else out of revenge, and hopefully move on.”
Even if the idea of him with someone else made me want to fall to my knees and cry, Beau deserved to finally have happiness in his life.
Ashley’s mouth thinned at my response. I knew that look.
I furrowed my brows. “What? He’ll find someone better than me. I know you think I’m great, but you should have seen those gorgeous women at the gala who looked at Beau like he was a god descended from the heavens—”
“Remember when I sold Valentine’s Day candy grams for student council freshman year?” Ashley interrupted.
I blinked. What did high school have to do with this? “Um, sure?”
Ashley pulled her legs into her chair. “I was in the hallway, shilling those lollipops tied to balloons to anyone who passed, when Beau walked up and demanded to know if anyone had bought one for you. He was a complete asshole about it.”
I ran a hand down my belly and smiled as I remembered. “Oh yeah, you bought me five of those candy grams just to spite him!”
Ashley nodded. “As soon as Zach Wilson walked into Geometry class and handed you all those balloons, Beau gotpissed.He started furiously scribbling in one of his notebooks like he was writing a manifesto or something.”
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought it was just a one-off, but Beau kept harassing me about you—if you had tricked a poor soul into being your boyfriend, if you managed to find a date for prom, or if you were actually going to college or were just going to slum it around Elren for the rest of your life.”
I rolled my eyes. “God, I forgot how much of a dick he used to be. I wanted to strangle Mr. Garza for making Beau sit behindme in English class junior year.”
“But that’s the thing,” Ashley said as she leaned forward. “Mr. Garza never had assigned seating.”
I blinked. That’s right. Beau had whined in the car months ago that I had annoyed him in class, but he chose to never move.
“And it wasn’t just junior English either,” Ashley said, “Beau always sat near you if he could. You never noticed because you always sat at the front, but I did because he was so damn tall that I would have to lean on the edge of my chair just to see the whiteboard!”
Maybe Beau had a fascination with me, but didn’t that come hand-in-hand with the nature of the competition between us?
“We were academic rivals, Ash,” I said. “He probably just wanted to keep tabs on me—know thy enemy,and all that.”
Ashley folded her arms. “You only think that because you don’t know what he asked me before the reunion.”
“Wh-what? What did he ask?”
“He asked if you were married.”
I blew out the breath I had been holding in. “Well, of course. He was planning to hate-fuck me.”
She shook her head. “If that was really what he wanted, he would have asked if you were single. Or he would have just messaged me the question.”
