Frenemies(41)

I’d received the call a little before six—in the morning, I wish I was kidding—on Saturday. I staggered over with breakup CDs in hand and chocolate in my bag, and proceeded to hold her hand for most of the day. Amy Lee turned up after her office hours were finished.

“I don’t want to be mean,” Amy Lee said from her position slumped against the foot of the bed. “But enough with these guys, Georgia. This guy was a clown from the get-go and you know it.”

If that was her new version of the speech, it sucked. I glared at her. She only shrugged, and set her mouth in a stubborn line.

“I can’t help the way I feel!” Georgia cried. Very Tori Amos, with the arms flung out and the hair everywhere. I made a soothing noise, and patted her leg again.

Amy Lee just sighed, and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t look at all soothing, or even sympathetic. She looked annoyed.

“Well, I can’t!” Georgia threw at her, actually sitting up as she did so. I interpreted that as progress. “You fall in love with the person you fall in love with. You can’t control that!”

“Maybe that’s true,” Amy Lee agreed, but she sounded impatient. “And you’re saying that you were in love with this guy after what? Two weeks?”

“Almost four,” Georgia snapped at her.

“Oh, four weeks.” Amy Lee rolled her eyes. “My mistake.”

“Hey—” Georgia started, moving as if to lunge in Amy Lee’s direction, but Amy Lee raised her hands, palms out, as if to ward her off.

“Okay, relax,” she ordered. “I told you, I’m not trying to be mean.”

“Try harder,” I suggested. She didn’t even look at me, she was too busy staring at Georgia—no doubt willing her to refrain from throwing a punch.

“Then what are you trying to do?” Georgia asked. But she sat back.

“You hardly know this guy,” Amy Lee said, in what she probably thought was a gentle tone. “You’re never even in town, Georgia, so how much could you possibly have seen of him in four weeks?”

“Does that really matter?” Georgia demanded. “You want me to justify how I feel?”

“I want you to think about what you really feel,” Amy Lee countered. “You claim you’re in love, but I’m sorry, I don’t think that’s true. Gus and I sat at a table in the Park Plaza and watched you the night you met him, and we were able to tell that he sucked from across the room.”

Georgia’s eyes slid to me, a betrayed sort of light in them. I had the intense urge to dissent, but thought better of it. At that moment, I didn’t know which one of them I feared more, and seeing that expression on Georgia’s face made me sick to my stomach.

“He seemed a lot like all the other ones,” I said, shrugging. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s a carbon copy!” Amy Lee exclaimed. “And on some level, I know you know that, Georgia. So I’m wondering why you keep doing this to yourself.” She opened her arms to indicate the rumpled bed, not to mention Georgia’s puffy eyes and general state of disarray. “Aren’t you sick of this yet? Because I think you deserve better, and I’m running out of ways to say that.”

The silence, then, stretched out between the three of us. Aimee Mann crooned intelligent despair on the stereo and I snuck glances back and forth between the two of them, wondering what might happen next.

Eventually, Georgia sighed. It was as if a cloud moved away from the sun—her face cleared, and she tilted up her chin.

“You know what?” she said, a little unevenly. “I think I am sick of this.”

I was so proud of her, I thought I might burst. If Georgia could stop the bad-boy madness, surely anything was possible.

“Okay then,” Amy Lee said, her voice hushed.

Georgia smiled. It was a little watery, but it was there.

“Oh good,” I said then, in a rush. “Because I’m dying to talk about Chris Starling. I think you should consider him.”

“Are you kidding?” Amy Lee asked me. She looked disgusted.

Georgia blinked at me. “Consider him how?”

“Consider him as your next boyfriend,” I said, in a ringing sort of tone.

Again, a long silence.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Georgia said, scraping her hair back from her head and twisting it into a knot at the nape of her neck. “I think I’m actually sick of you, Gus. And Chris Starling. Creepy Chris Starling.”

“He’s not creepy at all!” I was outraged on his behalf. “He’s totally cute!”

“See what I mean?” Georgia asked Amy Lee. “She’s obsessed with Chris Starling.”

“Creepy,” Amy Lee said, “but an improvement on Nate Manning.”

“Mark my words, Georgia,” I said grandly, choosing to ignore Amy Lee. “You’re going to marry that guy. He’s—”

But I had to stop mid-prophecy, when she tried to smother me with one of her down pillows.


The next day I woke up early again, only this time it was from stress. Or a sense of impending doom. Or both—either way I was wide awake and kind of wishing Georgia had succeeded in smothering me.

At 2 p.m., we were all expected to assemble for a winter caroling party in further celebration of the holiday season. There were any number of reasons this was stressful. For one thing, Henry would be there, and I was somewhat worried that Georgia would be able to sniff out my second, sober, and thus far more serious betrayal of her on the winter air. Not to mention, I was worried about facing Henry after the phone incident. For another, Helen would also be at the party, no doubt prepared to lord her continuing relationship with Nate over me, knowing nothing about the Night of Seven Voice Mails.