Frenemies(53)

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” I said, suddenly fascinated with the cheese-and-tomato omelet. “There was this whole angry denial thing going on, and I thought you’d hate me. If that helps.”

“It really doesn’t.” She shook her head. “I loved him so much it actually hurt me, like it was some separate, tumor-ish thing.”

“I know you did,” I said quietly. “I remember.”

It was horrifying, because really, how did this make me any different from Helen? The point of the divide between women like Helen and women like me was that women like me weren’t supposed to do the kinds of things women like Helen did without blinking. Crushes—particularly long-term epic crushes like the one Georgia had had on Henry—were sacrosanct. I might as well have slept with her college boyfriend, given the amount of emotional energy she’d put into Henry once upon a time. It didn’t matter that it had been completely unrequited. Betraying that required the same level of self-absorption on my part.

“Henry Farland was the archetype for all the Jareds,” Georgia said dryly. “Beautiful, lethal, completely amoral … I haven’t forgotten, even if you did.”

“You must hate me,” I said in a small voice.

“The part of me that will always be nineteen years old and struck dumb by her first sight of Henry when he sauntered into that party, all tan and beautiful?” Georgia shook her head. “She hates you. She might even have cried a little bit. The good news is that she’s been crying over Henry for about a decade now, and she hates him, too.”

“I would hate me.” It was true. I was all about bringing the hate. “I’m really sorry, Georgia.”

“I should hate you,” she agreed, “but I’m running out of best friends this month.” She settled back into her chair. “You’re off the hook. Henry ruined his own myth for me years ago.”

“When did he do that?” I asked. It could have been the barely-legal stripper he’d dated that one time. The infamous rumor campaign he’d instituted against poor Felicia, the girlfriend who’d had the temerity to leave him when he was twenty-three. Or his ability to be snide under any circumstances, particularly when it hurt. I hadn’t realized that something had happened to make Georgia get over him. I thought time had simply passed.

“The whole time he was in law school I was able to keep the crush intact,” Georgia said, with a faraway look in her eyes. “You know, because I figured he would go into corporate law, make a ton of money to match the ton of money he already had, and I would yearn forevermore.”

“He’s a lawyer just like you,” I said brightly. “Yearn away.”

“He’s a lawyer, but he’s not like me,” Georgia said, almost sadly. “He spends the bulk of his time trying to shut down my clients. He works for a pittance and usually out of the kindness of his heart, like he’s the personal version of the ACLU. I can’t stand him.”

It was funny when perception changed. It was almost as if I could feel my vision shatter, and then alter so much it was as if the way I’d seen before had never been. It had happened to me once before, quite violently, in Henry’s kitchen that night, and I had the inkling it was happening again in that café with Georgia.

I had to blink a few times. No wonder he’d said I didn’t know him at all. There was a caricature called Henry that I carried around in my head, but he had no relation whatsoever to the real one. The real one was a complete stranger to me—although I was pretty sure I’d glimpsed him for the first time in that hallway the day of the sleigh ride.

“You look shell-shocked,” Georgia said, with a grin. “Don’t worry, Gus. I really do forgive you. Hell, with that body? I’m jealous. I wouldn’t touch his wussy do-gooder ass with a ten-foot pole, mind you, but I’d encourage you even if he was the devil.”

“Speaking of which, I don’t get why you went along with the whole ‘he’s Satan’ thing,” I said, frowning at her. “When you knew he was practically the Mother Teresa of the legal community.”

“First of all,” Georgia said, “I am always available to mock, vilify, and tease. Why? Because it’s fun. Whatever certain dentists of my acquaintance might think.” She sniffed. “And anyway, I adored Henry from afar for years, which he knew and did nothing about. What am I, radioactive? He had it coming.”

She forked in a mouthful of her French toast and eyed me as she chewed.

“What?”

“You and Henry,” she said. “Are you … ?”

“I can’t even think about Henry,” I said. “I wouldn’t know where to begin, anyway. Stuff just keeps happening, and he’s off-limits—”

“If you mean because of me, he’s really not. You can have him.”

That didn’t make me feel any better. I blinked. “And anyway, there’s the Nate thing,” I said instead of thinking about Henry any further.

“Jesus Christ. Not again. Not still.”

“It’s not what you think,” I assured her.

“Oh, good. Because I think you’re chasing around after a guy who treated you like shit.” She pursed her lips. “A subject I happen to know something about.”

“Well, okay, yes,” I admitted. “It might resemble that kind of thing. But the truth is—”