The Speed of Light: A Novel(31)

I set my cup down on the small wooden coffee table between our chairs. “I don’t know, Nik . . . I’m not sure I can take that kind of leap anymore.”

Nikki’s eyes narrow. “Is this about your illness?”

Her words twist like a knife. “I’m just saying I can’t give up a stable job with good health insurance.” I swallow. “And I can’t forever be your third wheel. Claudia doesn’t deserve that, and neither do you.”

She leans back as if I’ve struck her. “Neither of us think that. You know we don’t.”

My voice softens. “I know. I just . . . I don’t want to hold you back.”

She shakes her head in exasperation. “Hold me back? Dude, I’m trying to tell you that I’m ready to move forward.”

“What do you mean?”

She sets her cup down, runs her hands through her hair, blows out a breath. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

My eyes widen. “What’s wrong?”

Nikki rolls her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong. But . . . do you remember that pact we made in college?”

I wrinkle my nose. “I tried pot brownies at your Halloween party a few years ago, remember? It made me so paranoid—please don’t make me do that again.”

Her mouth twitches into a smile. “Not that one.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh God. We need to hide a body? Who?”

Nikki sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, remember junior year? You’d finally broken up with that asshole who thought he was so smart.”

“Ugh, Chad.” Then my eyes bulge. “You killed Chad?”

“Jesus Christ, Simone, nobody is dead.” Nikki rubs her face before shooting me an exasperated look. “We got drunk that night and promised each other we would always be honest about the people we were dating—especially whenever we got serious about someone.”

I nod. “Oh yeah. I remember.”

“Like, if we got to the point where we wanted to . . . you know, marry someone, we would make sure the other one approved.” She stops then, staring at me expectantly.

There’s a beat of nodding, processing—then I gasp, beautiful realization washing over me, and I throw my arms around her neck. “Nikki!” It all makes sense—moving to Minneapolis for a better job opportunity is what you do when you settle down and get married. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God, you’re going to marry Claudia!”

She pulls back, chuckling at the raised eyebrows of a group of students passing us. “Shh, yes, I mean, I want to. I’ve been saving up money.”

I cover my mouth with my hands, then pull them back and shake them as my eyes start to well up. My Nikki—independent, carefree Nikki—is saving money to propose.

“Don’t do that shit,” Nikki chastises, but she’s wiping her eyes, too. “So? I mean, it’s going to be months before I can afford a ring, so please do not say anything. But . . . do I have your blessing or what?”

I level her with a look. “Are you kidding me? You know I love Claudia.”

“I know, I just . . . want to be sure.”

There’s a vulnerability in her eyes that she usually doesn’t let peek through, and I lean forward to take her hand. “Well, let me be absolutely clear: you ask that girl to marry you, or I will ask her myself.”

Nikki bursts out laughing and we’re hugging again; all is right with the world. But a wave of sadness, hot and quick, washes over me, scalding me with reality. Everything is changing. There’s a bright, beautiful future ahead for Nikki and Claudia.

But what does my future hold?

I don’t have an answer. The pain in my chest pulses, but I push it back, shove it down, hug my best friend tighter—because she is positively glowing with happiness. And in this moment I vow that no matter what the future holds for me, I will do everything in my power to make sure she gets the happily ever after she deserves.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

We’re on our way back to the office, discussing everything from dresses to DJs, when Nikki’s phone buzzes. “Well, that’s typical.”

“What?” I ask.

“Stan. He’s not going to make it to the blood drive. Called to a last-minute meeting with the president.”

I wince. “That can’t be good.”

She shakes her head. “I got copied on an email from Chet the other day—God, he was pissed. Apparently Stan told them we were organizing a promotional video, so they got a bunch of students together, and no videographer showed up.”

My eyes widen. “I didn’t know anything about that. Did you?”

She laughs. “Stan tried to blame it on the company he contracted with, but I’d bet money that he never actually scheduled it. He and Chet went back and forth for about five more emails, pointing fingers. Chet was like, ‘Is this even a good use of campus resources, if budgets are so tight?’”

“Yikes.” I grimace. “You think that’s what this meeting is about?”

She shakes her head. “Who knows? Could be that he screwed something else up.”

My brow furrows, remembering the tense phone calls he took during the residence hall tour. “Does it seem like he’s making more mistakes than usual lately? Like, is something going on with him at home?”