Page 56 of Back to Square One

Rowan nodded, not really surprised that Stevie knew her so well.

“Yeah, we did the same thing yesterday.” Stevie took a seat on the chair across from the couch.

“And last night,” Sara added. She looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes, and had a slightly disheveled look to her. Very un-Sara. “It’s a lot.”

“Why didn’t she tell us?” It was the question Rowan had been holding on to for hours and hours now, and it looked to her like Stevie and Sara had the same one. “I mean, we’re her friends.”

Stevie slowly shook her head as she looked down at her own hands, clasped together and hanging between her knees. “We asked her that, and she really didn’t have a great answer. She said at first, the diagnosis wasn’t complete, so she kept it under wraps. Then she got scared. Then she did what we did: read up on everything, and that scared her more. And then she started thinking about her future and what it was probably gonna look like.”

Rowan’s eyes welled up again, much to her annoyance, as she thought about how terrifying all the information must’ve been for Evie. But then the simmering anger bubbled up a bit, and she enunciated carefully when she spoke. “She broke up with me instead of telling me.”

“Yeah.” Stevie nodded. “She’s not proud of that.”

“Well, I should fucking hope not.”

“Ro.” Sara looked at her with her big, brown, wise eyes. “We talked a lot about that. A lot about her shutting you out. She feels awful about it, but I kind of understand why she did it.”

Rowan’s eyes went wide, she could actually feel them as she gaped at Sara, who held up a placating hand.

“Let me finish.” She smiled, presumably to take any sting away. “We talked a lot last night about it, all of us.” There was an unspoken I wish you would’ve stayed, but Rowan also got the impression that Sara understood why she hadn’t. “She loves you so much.” Sara’s voice was quiet and tender, and just the tone made Rowan’s eyes fill once again, even as she purposely avoided dwelling on Sara’s use of the present tense. “She couldn’t bear what her disease might do to you. The idea of you spending the rest of your life as her caregiver was just too horrifying for her to fathom. But she knew if she told you the truth, you’d insist on staying.”

“Of course I would.” Rowan’s voice sounded loud compared to Sara’s soft tones. “Of course I would. She was my partner. I loved her. And she should’ve fucking told me.”

“I agree. We all agreed. Even she agrees.”

“Well, good for her.” Sarcasm. Because that always helped a tenuous situation.

“You two should probably talk it through,” Stevie said as she glanced at her phone. Sara had stayed standing like Rowan and now crossed to her and wrapped her in a hug.

“That was a great idea three years ago.” More sarcasm. Yup. And Rowan clung to it like a life raft keeping her afloat in a sea of emotion that really, really wanted to drown her. She let Sara hug her—Sara was a fabulous hugger; she hugged with her whole body, made you feel loved and safe—and then sort of sank into it. You had no choice with Sara, truly.

“It’s also a great idea now,” Sara said softly near her ear.

Stevie had moved to the door and opened it, and there stood Evie.

“What?” It was all Rowan could manage to say as Evie stepped into the room and Sara and Stevie stepped out. Rowan met Stevie’s eyes.

“Talk,” Stevie said to Evie. Then she turned and leveled a gaze at Rowan. “Listen.”

Then the door clicked shut and Rowan was left standing there, facing Evie.

Chapter Twelve

“Hi,” Evie said. She smiled, and it was a combination of sadness, nervousness, and joy, and it annoyed Rowan that she still knew Evie’s expressions so well.

“Hey.” Rowan turned away—just looking at Evie’s face hurt right now—and made her way back to her couch, where she busied herself folding up the blanket and fluffing the pillows she’d flattened the night before.

“The house looks different.” Evie wandered in slowly, looking around, taking in the walls, the art, the furniture.

“It does?” Rowan did the same, not quite sure what she meant.

“Yeah, this room was a pale yellow before. Not gray.” She pointed to the painting on the wall of a woman on her back with her feet up, reading a book. “And that’s new.”

Rowan had a sudden flash of painting the wall. Just a quick flicker of an image, but not enough to grab on to.

“You made changes.” Evie met her gaze then.

“I guess?” Rowan shrugged.