Page 68 of Don't Be in Love

Beatrice reached over her armrest and stole the phone from Evelyn.

“I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean but that boy’s hands arelow.” Beatrice lowered her glasses.

“You’re sure these are from October? Maybe they’re old photos,” Cora hoped. It reminded me of what Dorian had said:You sure know nothing about a fake headline for someone working in marketing.

“Cora, he’s wearing the same clothes Addy saw him in that night,” Dotty deadpanned.

“I liked him,” Evelyn sighed.

“I still like him!” Iris raised her hand.

“Me too!” Lottie raised her hand too.

Dotty rolled her eyes.

“Time’s up!” I announced, pushing out of my seat and taking the magazine—back.

At least last time I only had to see a few photos. This time was hell.

Roughly twenty-five dark, blurry images of Dorian and Victoria outside of her apartment scattered in thisonearticle. I could see the paint on his fingers from our night out.

The image turned over the contents in my stomach. Her hands in his hair. His hands on her waist. Her hands. His hands.

The same hands that were on my lower back last weekend on Halloween.

Even now, the frames of his and James’s palms were still nailed into my thighs.

Last weekend was an omen. A wakeup call. I was getting too close. Too involved.

The filing cabinet in my brain that took notes on everything about him had been shifting to a Mason jar, relocating to my chest. It was filling itself with colorful notes scribbled with words he liked to use and postcards on stories he told me and scraps of fabric from the clothes he wore the most. Jam packed with private things I shouldn’t know about him.

He was building. No longer just a single-layered person, but a scrapbook-stacked human whose habits I was memorizing.

These pictures were good for me. Tonight was good for me. Dorian not showing up for tutoring all week put me on edge, but it was probably for the best. James showing up to walk me home this week made me feel worse somehow.

Between thinking about Dorian and refreshing the Beverly Careers page every twenty minutes, this unresolvable anxious knot wouldn’t stop twisting in my chest.

“Maybe it’s because you turned him down!” Jane reasoned.

“Yes!” Lottie liked that idea. “Did you tell him you like him yet?”

“I do not like him!”

“Don’t act like we didn’t notice how smitten you were when he was saying how smart and beautiful you are,” Beatrice responded.

“He did not say beautiful.” He had saidpretty. Lampshades were pretty for God’s sake.

“So you do remember!” Beatrice pointed her knitting needle at me.

We were currently knitting socks. Evelyn just found out she’d be a grandmother and believed the baby would grow up with a poor immune system if they didn’t have enough socks.

For reference, I had no idea how to knit, but I was trying like my life depended on it. I didn’t half-ass a craft.

“That means nothing, Beatrice.” I pointed back at her, droopy loops of yarn hanging off my needle.

“Do you remember Reginald?” Dotty spoke up.

“How could I forget? He was in our flat for a month,” Iris complained.