Page 98 of The Prime-Time Experiment

Removing Declan from her life had been intended to create distance. Instead, it had made the shape of the absence impossible to ignore.

“I need sugar,” Dee announced as she kicked the apartment door shut behind them.

Riley paused in the doorway and watched her. “Need is a strong word.”

“I’m stressed about my bank application,” Dee replied without hesitation. “That qualifies as a need.”

Riley considered that for a moment before nodding. “That is a reasonable argument.”

“Thank you,” Dee said, already crossing toward the freezer. “I appreciate your support during this difficult time.”

She pulled the door open and immediately brightened. “Good. Emergency ice cream.”

“You purchased ice cream specifically for emotional distress?”

“Of course I did.” Dee looked over her shoulder as if the answer should have been obvious. “You prepare for emergencies before they happen.”

Riley accepted that logic more easily than she probably should have. “Besides,” Dee added, retrieving the tub, “if I’m going to have an existential crisis waiting to hear, I’d rather not do it without dessert.”

Dee grinned faintly and disappeared into the kitchen before returning with a tub of ice cream and two spoons. She tossed one toward Riley, who caught it automatically. Neither of them bothered with bowls. They settled side-by-side on the couch instead, passing the container back and forth in a rhythm so familiar it required no discussion.

After several minutes, Dee nudged her shoulder lightly. “We should watch something.”

Riley glanced across at her. “What genre?”

“Comfort.”

“That is not a genre.”

“It is tonight.”

Riley considered that. “Pride and Prejudice,” she decided. “The good one.”

Dee nodded. “See? You knew exactly what I meant.”

The film was predictable and easy to follow after being forced to watch it with Dee so often. Riley found herself paying less attention to the romance than the structure beneath it, the invisible rules governing every interaction and the expectations each character seemed to understand without needing them explained. She began to recognise that entire conversations unfolded through implication rather than direct communication, which she had never been able to observe before.

Her attention eventually drifted toward Mary Bennet. She wasn’t unintelligent, quite the opposite. She observed, analysed and participated exactly as she believed she should. The difficulty was that she never seemed to arrive at the same conclusion as everyone else at the same time.

Riley watched her for longer than she intended. Mary wasn’t excluded; nobody pushed her away. But every interaction seemed to require a small adjustment from the people around her, a pause to account for the difference between what she meant and what everyone else expected.

Something in Riley’s chest tightened. Beside her, Dee shifted comfortably against the couch cushions, entirely at ease within the social currents Riley had spent most of her life learning how to navigate manually. Riley’s gaze flicked toward her for a moment before returning to the screen.

Dee never seemed to require translation, most people didn’t. Riley understood the rules, too. The difference was that everyone else appeared to understand them instinctively, while she arrived there through observation, pattern recognition and effort.

Her grip loosened around the spoon. The thought lingered long after it should have disappeared.

It followed her from Mary to Dee, and from Dee to Declan, pulling together memories she had been trying very hard not to revisit. Every moment somebody rephrased a question, every conversation that required additional explanation. Every situation where someone quietly adjusted themselves to accommodate her.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly. The film blurred slightly. Riley blinked and looked back at the screen, but the feeling remained.

She thought about Dee, about all the times Dee had softened an interaction before Riley had even realised it needed softening. The pressure behind her eyes arrived so suddenly she didn’t recognise it until a tear slipped free.

Dee muted the television. “Hey.”

Riley stared down at the spoon in her hand. Her chest hurt in a way she couldn’t properly categorise. “Riley?”

She shook her head once. “I think I am a negative variable,” she said quietly.