Page 122 of The Design of Goodbye
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, thinking back to all the times she’d asked how I was doing. I’d always responded with a lie—it wasn’t her fault I’d never opened up. “You’ve always been there for me.”
She smiled softly. “I’m glad you think so. I wish I would’ve tried talking to you more, especially when I knew how sad you were.”
“I wouldn’t have talked. I lied to everyone about where she was. Until—”
“Until Liam.” She grinned. “Why did you tell everyone she was in Paris, though?” she asked. “Why not tell the truth?”
The streetlights turned on, surrounding us in a warm glow. “I was worried if people found out she’d left because of me, they’d realize I wasn’t worth it and eventually leave me, too.”
“I hate you thought that.” Her eyes glistened. “What’s the strongest hand stitch you know?”
“A backstitch,” I answered easily. “Why?”
“That’sus. It would take a lot to break us apart.”
My vision blurred. “Comparing our friendship to a hand stitch was super cheesy.”
“It was,” she said proudly, nudging my shoulder with hers, “wasn’t it?”
“I loved it.”
“I thought you would.” She hesitantly asked, “So, now that you know where your mom is, are you going to do anything?”
I had a plan. It’d been going seamlessly all day, except for one thing—which Taylor could help me with.
“I already e-mailed her,” I said. “As a prospective client for a custom design.”
“Very deceptive,” said Taylor. “I like your style.”
“But I need your help.”
She grinned mischievously. “Anything.”
“She wants to talk in person before setting up the appointment. She’ll recognize my voice.”
“Give me her number,” said Taylor, excited to be in on the deception. “I’ll call her right now.”
chapter forty-one
“Are you going in?”
Taylor had parked in the Rockstar Diner lot five minutes ago, but I hadn’t been able to get out of the car. The past twenty-four hours had been a blur of excitement, but now my stomach churned with anxiety.
“Yes,” I responded.
“You need to get out to do that,” Taylor joked lightly. Her humor was a welcome addition to my nervous energy.
I took a few deep breaths and unbuckled my seatbelt. “I’m going in.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked.
“I want you to,” I admitted, “but I need to do this alone.”
“I get it.” She waved her phone. “Remember, if you need me, text the word—”
“Thread.” I got out of the car and then peeked my head back in. “Thanks for waiting.”
“That’s what friends are for,” she said. “Good luck.”
