This Is What Happy Looks Like(29)

But mostly, she was trying to figure out why—at the time—she’d thought it would be a good idea to invite him over to her house for dinner tonight, and the fact that he’d actually said yes. Now the list of everything she needed to do before he arrived was running through her head like some sort of unending news ticker, and she was trying hard not to panic.

It seemed impossible that this might turn out well, but if there was even the slightest chance that it could, she’d need to make sure Mom left on time for her book club (for once), that the kitchen was clean (for once), and that Bagel got enough exercise beforehand so that he’d act like a beagle instead of a banshee (for once). And that was just for starters. There were about a thousand ways this could go horribly wrong. Hopefully there would be enough food in the house to make something resembling an actual meal. Hopefully Mom didn’t have inventory from the shop all over the living room. Hopefully the air conditioner had miraculously fixed itself while she’d been out.

Hopefully.

The road curved downhill, and she let the momentum carry her faster, her sandals slapping the pavement as she wondered what she could have been thinking. It was just that she couldn’t imagine going out to eat with him in town tonight; not with the photographers there, not after what happened with Quinn just the night before, not with everyone she knew keeping an eye on them. And so when he’d suggested the Lobster Pot again—half joking, she knew, but still—Ellie found herself inviting him over instead.

“I can’t promise much in the way of gourmet food,” she told him, “but I can guarantee there won’t be a lobster in sight.”

“Wow,” he’d said. “You really know how to sell a place.”

But he’d accepted. He was coming over. To her house. In one hour.

Ellie was already halfway up the driveway before she realized, with a start, that Quinn was perched on the porch swing, using one foot to rock back and forth as she examined her nails.

“Hey,” she said, looking up at the sound of footsteps. “Where’ve you been?”

“Out for a walk,” Ellie said, sitting down beside her. The swing creaked beneath their combined weight, and she remembered the two of them coming out here with blankets when they were little. They’d huddle together, pretending the bench was a boat, closing their eyes and letting the waves down the street complete the illusion that they were out at sea.

“Where to?” Quinn asked.

But Ellie knew that wasn’t what she really wanted to know. “With Graham,” she said quietly, looking at her sideways.

Quinn shook her head. “It still seems kind of unbelievable, doesn’t it?”

Ellie could think of nothing to say to this; it was true. The whole thing was nothing if not unbelievable.

“So I have about a million questions,” Quinn said, tucking her legs up beneath her on the swing. “How’d he first start e-mailing you? And really, how could you not tell me you were writing love letters to someone? I mean, even if you take Graham Larkin out of the equation, that’s still something I should know. I’m your best friend.” When she paused to consider this, her face darkened slightly. “Seriously, El. When did you become the kind of person who keeps secrets?”

Ellie looked away, unsure how to respond. Quinn had no idea that she’d gotten right to the heart of the truth about her. She didn’t realize that for the whole twelve years they’d been friends, Ellie had been doing just that: keeping secrets; at first, out of a promise to her mother, and then later, when they were older, out of habit or instinct or maybe both, a muffling of something too big to say out loud.

“I’m not…” she began, but trailed off. “I was going to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Quinn asked. “When?” There was a sudden hardness behind her eyes now. It was as if she’d known she was upset about something, but hadn’t until this moment been able to pinpoint just what it was.

“Soon,” Ellie said, swiveling to face her more fully. “I swear. I just didn’t know what exactly this was, or if it would turn out to be anything at all. I thought it was just some random kid on the other side of the country who I’d probably never meet.” She sighed. “I guess I didn’t know if it was real.”

“And now?”

She glanced down at her hands. Her thumb was smudged with gray from where she’d picked up the pencil Graham used for his drawing earlier. She fought the urge to take the piece of paper out of her bag and examine it again.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

Quinn raised her eyebrows, and Ellie shook her head.

“Or maybe not. I mean, he’s Graham Larkin,” she said, but even as she did, she was thinking the opposite. That he hadn’t seemed like Graham Larkin today. He’d seemed like that random kid on the other side of the country.

Behind them, the screen door opened, and Mom stuck her head out, using her foot to keep Bagel—who was constantly attempting a jailbreak—inside the house. “I thought I heard someone,” she said. “What’re you guys up to?”

“Ellie was just telling me about—” Quinn began, but stopped abruptly when she noticed Ellie’s widened eyes.

“I was just seeing if she wanted to stay for dinner,” Ellie said a bit too quickly.