You Have a Match(45)

“How is Leo, by the way?”

I glance out the window of the main office, wondering if I’ll spot him on his way to the kitchen so I can wave him over to say hi, but no luck. Truth is, I was worried Leo might be mad after what happened with Savvy, but even he agreed her reaction was out of proportion. In true Benvolio form, though, he has stayed fair to both parties, hanging out with us each individually without bringing it up.

“He’s good,” I say. “He and Mickey have been doing these little cook-offs after dinner every night and letting me and Finn be celebrity judges.”

“So you’re basically living out Leo’s Chopped fantasies?”

“Or nightmares. Last night he accidentally dumped an entire container of cinnamon into the pork sisig Mickey was trying to teach him to make. She said that’s what he gets for going off script on her family recipes.”

“I wish I could be there,” says Connie. “I’m missing out on everything. It’s like Thanksgiving break all over again.”

I manage not to wince thinking of the BEI, which either means I’ve made progress, or have done enough humiliating things to eclipse it since. “Don’t worry. You’re not missing much,” I tell her. “I haven’t tried to fling myself at Leo again. I got the message on that loud and clear.”

I’m expecting her to laugh, but there’s silence on the other end of the line—enough that for a second I think the call was dropped.

“That was a joke,” I add quickly.

“Yeah,” says Connie, with a weak laugh. “Besides, what about Finn? He sounds nice.”

I shrug. “I mean, yeah. But I guess after the whole thing with Leo … I dunno. Even if I did like Finn, doesn’t seem worth the risk of humiliating myself again.”

I don’t know why I’m being so frank. I guess because it was rare for me to get Connie alone when we were back at school, and now it’s only the two of us, so I can say whatever I want. Or maybe I need to do it to prove something to myself. Like if I admit I had feelings for Leo, it means I’ve moved on enough that it can’t embarrass me anymore. Like it’ll lose its power over me, if I take some of it back.

But there’s muffled movement on the other end, like Connie is holding the phone away from her face. When she’s back, she says in this careful voice, “Abs … do you like Leo?”

“What? No,” I say, going so red that I stare down at the floor as if she’s in the room with me. “It doesn’t matter. Leo doesn’t like me. You asked him yourself.”

There’s a beat. “I think I messed up.”

I press the phone closer to my ear, trying to read her tone, not wanting to believe the thought currently racing through my brain. “Messed up how?”

“Messed up like—I—I wasn’t entirely honest with you. About … what I said about Leo not liking you. The truth is we never talked about it.”

My mouth is open for a few seconds before it remembers to form words. “Then why did you say you did?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

She’s trying to be funny, but I’m afraid if I give in and laugh I might never stop. “Do you like Leo?” I ask instead.

“No. No, it’s not like that,” she says, the words tripping over each other. “I did it because—honestly, Abby, I thought it was a blip. You looked so freaked out, and I wanted to smooth everything over, so I said what I could to get you guys to move on from it.”

“But I didn’t move on,” I say through my teeth. “I was … oh my god, I’ve been so embarrassed, every single day I’ve looked at him since.”

“I didn’t realize you—”

“Why are you only telling me this now?”

Connie takes a breath like she’s steeling herself. Like she’s wrestled with telling me this for a while.

“Leo said something before he left about missing out on a lost chance. And I tried to ask him about it, but he kind of shrugged it off. I thought maybe it had to do with the DNA test stuff, but I think—Abby, I think maybe he was talking about you.”

The conversation has shifted so fast that it feels like whiplash. I’m breathing too hard, as if I’m trying to outrun it, like I’ve been running all this time. It casts new colors on every interaction I’ve had with Leo in the past few months, on every feeling I’ve worked so hard to press back inside myself, on every embarrassment I’ve felt in the moments I failed.

“I’m sorry, Abby. I really am.”

This is the part where we’re supposed to talk it out, and I forgive her. The part where I’m supposed to say something to save this awful moment, this swooping feeling in my chest.

But it feels like this whole summer has seeped rot into the foundations of all the things I thought I could depend on. My parents lied to me. Connie lied to me. And those lies may have been quiet, with the best of intentions, but they’re all imploding the order of my stupid universe.

“I’ve gotta get back to camp,” I say, barely getting it out without the words choking in my throat.

“Abby.” She says my name like a plea. I pretend I don’t hear it. My heart’s beating so loud that it’s hard to focus on anything else.

Click.