The Writing Retreat(38)

“She’s not bothering me,” Chitra called in a singsong without turning around.

“She is very busy,” Yana went on, ignoring her. “And Miss Roza will be unhappy if she is not able to get her work done.”

Chitra muttered something I couldn’t make out.

“Sure. I’ll remember that. Sorry.” I walked to the door. At the last minute Yana stepped aside to let me pass.



* * *



Upstairs, Keira’s door was closed. In the past two days she’d spent most of her time writing in her room. Wren and Poppy’s door was closed too. I pressed my left temple against the wood. Inside, Poppy was exclaiming something and Wren was laughing. Really laughing, that raucous head throw that made you feel like the most hilarious person in the world.

How could she act like that—like nothing had happened, like nothing was wrong?

But Wren did this. With most people, if you pissed her off, she was done and she moved on immediately. I’d returned home to our apartment more than once to find a guy waiting on the steps with a hangdog expression, desperate to talk to her. And once she’d shown me a text conversation, dozens of unanswered gray lines on her phone screen from a female friend trying to make amends.

It had made me uncomfortable, but I’d tried to be empathetic. Wren had some undeniable issues because of her childhood. I did too. It was a silent understanding between us. And even when Wren had exploded at me, she’d always calmed down and apologized. She’d bring me gifts: bagels, books, earrings. I was the one she cared about, the one she couldn’t throw away.

Until she had.

Speaking with Chitra had cheered me, but now I was back to the listless, mourning torpor.

“Hey.”

I jerked away from the door. Taylor watched from her doorway. An amused half smile lit up her face. “You okay there, tiger?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I continued towards her with the plate and she ushered me inside, shutting the door.

“Sorry.” I grimaced. “You must think I’m such a creep.”

“Well, you’re a creep with cheese, so you’re okay in my book.” Taylor grabbed the plate and danced to her bed. She wore flannel-lined jeans with the cuffs rolled up and a black sweatshirt. The rabbit necklace swung back and forth across the white words LET ME LIVE. “I’m assuming you’re willing to share?”

“Yeah, of course.” I followed her and perched on the bed. She’d already dived into the double-crème Brie. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore.

“You get any intel?” Taylor asked, spraying a few crumbs.

“Intel?”

“I’m referring to the extremely obvious eavesdropping I just witnessed.”

“Oh.” I felt drained. After a moment I moved further onto Taylor’s bed. “Is it okay if I sit here?”

“Of course!” She scooted down so she and the plate were next to me.

“I didn’t hear anything.” I leaned against the headboard. “I think I just zoned out for a sec. Wren and I had kind of a fight downstairs. So to hear her laughing with Poppy like nothing happened…”

“You had a fight?” Her sky blue eyes widened, though her chewing didn’t slow. “About what?”

I hesitated, unsure of whether I wanted to tell Taylor the full story.

“Just everything that went down.” I rolled my eyes. “She was mad I told you guys about it.”

“Seriously?” Taylor muttered. “You’re not allowed to talk about your own life?”

“Guess not.” I plucked a grape. “At least, according to her.”

“Listen.” Taylor gestured with a cracker. “Don’t let her get in your head, okay? I know people like that. They make you think they’re great as long as they need you. And as soon as they don’t—like when Wren met this guy—then they drop you. Simple as that.”

It wasn’t as simple as that. Wren hadn’t even met Evan before moving out. But I just nodded. It was the easier narrative. Better to keep it that way.

“Thanks for listening,” I said. “But let’s talk about something else. How’re you? How’s your writing going?”

“Oof. Don’t ask.” She set down the plate and sighed.

“Oh, no.” I knew that feeling. I’d had it for an entire year.

“Yeah.” She stared at the bed, her eyes narrowed. “I brought, like, half a manuscript to this thing too. Thought I’d be able to finish it. And now I get to start all over with something brand-new.”

“That sucks.” It felt refreshing to talk about something other than my issues. “Your new idea is so great, though. I love the setting: the catacombs of Paris. I saw a documentary about them once. They’re so eerie. And they’re just there, right underneath everything going on in the city.”

“I know.” She grinned. “I actually visited them.”

I faux gasped. “With a bartender who turned out to be part of a killer cult?”

“Not exactly.” Taylor laughed, pushing up her sleeves. “But it was with a beautiful woman. It was actually really romantic. At first. After we hooked up down there, we got lost and for a half hour I thought we’d never find our way out.”