Love & Other Disasters(76)

“But you—” London sputtered. Their face was pale, dotted with splotches of red. They looked unhinged. “You can’t leave, Dahlia.”

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

“Sure you do!” London released her wrists and threw their hands in the air. “Say you don’t need the ticket. Just wait with me. Wait until I go, too. Then we can—”

London stopped. Understanding that they had never talked about it, how to end that sentence.

“You’re not going to go, London,” Dahlia said, trying to sound proud, not sad, but she knew she was failing. “Not until the end.”

“Then stay until the end!” London begged, eyes wide. “Please. Please, Dahlia. Don’t leave me. I . . . I can’t do this without you.”

Dahlia felt a chill advancing down her spine. Sadness morphing into a touch of anger.

She didn’t want to be angry at them. She wanted to hug them and have them squeeze her tight for the next eight hours, and then kiss her sweetly before she left. She wanted them to soothe her, tell her it would be all right. And then they could both look back at all of this with fondness.

But their desperate panic was causing all of her frayed, embarrassed nerves to snap, to seethe, angry and hot, under her skin.

They were missing the point. They didn’t get to be upset here. They were going to win; didn’t they see? They were going to get the $100,000. They were going to accomplish their mission.

And she was happy for them. She was.

But right now all she was capable of understanding was that she had lost.

Just like Janet always knew. Just like everyone watching at home probably always knew.

She had lost it all.

“God. You’ll be fine.”

Dahlia huffed out a breath, waved a hand in the air. The anger bloomed like a virus in her chest, unwanted but thriving anyway.

She turned and continued flinging clothes into her suitcase. If she kept moving, then maybe she wouldn’t cry. Silence ticked away as she worked, London unmoving behind her.

She could feel them, though, even without seeing them. The tension in their body, the pinched stress in their face weighed down on her shoulders, a load she didn’t know how to handle.

“I quit my job, London,” she said eventually, twirling back around to face them. Dahlia knew her failures weren’t London’s fault. But she needed them to at least bear witness to them here. To acknowledge the difference between them and her. “I don’t know if I’ll even be able to make rent next month. Fuck. Fuck. I am a fucking idiot.”

“Come to Nashville.” London stepped toward her, reaching for her hands. “Dahlia. You don’t belong in Maryland. You’re not happy there. Come to Nashville. You’ll love it, I promise.”

Dahlia stepped away, an icy feeling filling her chest.

“London. No. You don’t get to tell me where I do or don’t belong, okay? This is my life. I’m in charge of it. The whole reason I tried out for this thing was to see if I could be good at something, on my own. To follow you home like a lost puppy . . . ” Dahlia shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “It would be even more of a failure than getting kicked off Chef’s Special.”

London looked wounded.

“I don’t think trying to be with me would be a failure, Dahlia,” they said softly, the hurt in their voice evident.

But something about that hurt slotted inside Dahlia’s brain, felt right in a sickening way. She wanted London to be angry, too. It was so lonely, being angry alone.

“You don’t understand, London. I know you have money, okay? I bet you could probably start that nonprofit no matter what, even without the prize money. But I needed it. You have no idea how humiliated I am right now. That I finally have to face it, what a mess I am.”

“Dahlia,” London said, an edge finally entering their voice. “You’re not—”

“Stop.”

Dahlia needed London to stop lying.

“Okay.” London dropped their hands and took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry. For trying to tell you where you belong. What if . . . what if I come to Maryland?”

“What?” Dahlia shook her head, shuddering at even the idea of that. Why couldn’t they get this? She had lost. She was lost. But they . . . they were going to shoot their shot. They had so much good ahead of them. She’d go back to her life, try to reshape it again, and they’d start their nonprofit in Tennessee. If they threw that away for her, she’d never forgive herself. Or them. “No. No, London. I don’t want that.”

London stared at her, the color that had been in their cheeks fading away until they looked pale and gutted. It was the worst thing Dahlia had ever seen.

“London.” She put her hands on her hips, looking down at the floor. Tried to be the voice of reason, focus back on the here and now. “I have to go, but you have to stay. You can’t let Lizzie win. Okay?”

“Dahlia.” London scoffed. “You have to know that I don’t give a shit about Lizzie right now.”

Dahlia needed to keep moving. She’d been standing still too long.

She was running out of things to say, things that could keep this overwhelming sadness at bay. Nothing was working, and a pressure was building behind her eyes. She knew if this conversation didn’t end soon, or get better somehow, the tears would start. And she didn’t know, if she let them start, if she’d be able to make them stop.