Thankfully, Amy’s response was almost instantaneous: Yeah, of course! See you soon!
There. Even if her job might not be a constant anymore, at least she knew her friendships were. She, Amy, Nichole, and Hazel had cried together, bled together, survived together.
This bump in the road didn’t have to send her veering off course—and it wouldn’t.
Chapter 11
The scent of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven greeted Bridget before Amy could fully open the door to welcome her inside. Funny how her friend’s house felt more like home than her own apartment.
“Just another few minutes on the cookies,” Amy promised as Bridget bent down to say hello to the animal welcome committee. Darwin wagged his tail slowly and let out that special howl that could only come from a beagle. Amy’s cat, Belle, approached slowly and then rubbed her side against Bridget’s leg while shaking her tail like a wiggling worm.
Bridget turned awkwardly toward her friend while continuing to lavish pets on the animals. “I only texted like twenty minutes ago. How could you possibly have cookies ready?”
Amy waved off the question with a laugh. “You know me. Baked goods are life.”
When Bridget raised herself back to full height, her friend’s expression became more tender. “And I know you. Something’s wrong. Tell me.”
Bridget held her breath as she thought about how much she wanted to reveal, finally settling on, “Rough day at work.”
Amy wrapped her in a hug and swayed them both side to side. “Those are the worst.” It looked as if she might ask for more details, but the oven timer saved Bridget from having to find out for sure.
“How’s the new place?” Amy asked while using a metal spatula to move half a dozen gooey cookies onto a pair of tea plates. She handed one to Bridget and kept the other for herself. Both women, of course, dug in immediately.
“New place is good. The dogs love it,” Bridget answered around a big mouthful of melted chocolate chips and Amy’s signature salty-sweet cookie dough. “It doesn’t quite feel like home yet, though,” she added carefully.
“Have you gotten to know any of the neighbors?” Amy’s eyes closed in delight as she started in on her second cookie.
“Just one. We run the dogs together in the evenings.”
Her friend’s eyes popped open again, a smile crinkling at their corners. “It’s that guy we saw from your window. Isn’t it?”
“What? How did you know?” Something fluttered in Bridget’s chest—the beginnings of an ill-founded crush perhaps, anxiety definitely. She and Wesley had set very clear boundaries on their relationship, and she was fine with that. She didn’t need Amy or any of the others complicating it for her. Making her feel things she knew she shouldn’t.
Amy pursed her lips into a tight bow and widened her eyes. Her blond eyebrows also rose so high that she took on a cartoonish appearance. An owl, maybe. The kind that knew all the forest creatures by name but still insisted on whoo-whooing ad nauseam. “I think the more important question is, Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”
Bridget shrugged. She really didn’t want to play this game—not now, not ever. Not only was Wesley all wrong for her, but this was also the absolute wrong time to add any new relationships to her life. Hobbies, yes. People, no. Always no.
“It’s only been a few weeks, and our relationship is a bit odd,” she tried to explain.
“A few weeks! You’ve been spending time with that cute guy every day for a few weeks and I had to drag it out of you to find out now?” Amy pushed her plate aside and reached her hands across the table to grasp Bridget’s.
Bridget frowned. “It’s not like that.”
“Plenty of people start off as friends. It doesn’t mean you’ll stay that way,” Amy said with a knowing wink, giving each of Bridget’s hands an enthusiastic squeeze.
“No, we’re not friends. He was very clear about that.”
She let go of Bridget and leaned back in her chair with a troubled pout. “Well, that’s weird.”
Suddenly, Bridget felt the need to defend Wesley even though a part of her definitely agreed with her friend’s assessment. “Actually, it’s refreshing. There are no expectations or anything like that. We just enjoy running together.”
Amy balked at this. “Uh-huh. So when can we meet him? Oh, you should invite him to come to the Potluck Club this Sunday. I can bring Trent, and Hazel can bring Keith, so he won’t be the only guy.”
“So it looks like a date, you mean? No way.” Bridget shook her head vigorously. This was a bad idea all around.
Suddenly, Amy lightened, taking on her normal easy air and letting all the pressure flit away. “You said you’re not friends, but you didn’t say that you’re not something more.”
“We’re not.”
She let a small smile slip across her face, then called it back almost immediately. “Right. Yeah, of course.”
“I’m not bringing him,” Bridget insisted, studying her half-eaten plate of cookies.
Perhaps coming here had been a bad idea. Then again, she hadn’t known Amy would be in prime matchmaking mode today. Should she have told Amy more about the awful talk with Dr. Kate that morning to avoid being harassed about Wesley? She’d sought out her friend for comfort but instead was given the choice of two topics she preferred not to talk about.
And cookies.
At least there were cookies.
“Maybe not this week, but we’ll welcome him in eventually. I just know it.” Amy popped to her feet and sauntered back into the kitchen to grab more cookies. It was a wonder she stayed so thin given her giant sweet tooth. If Bridget didn’t already love her, she’d probably hate her.
“How could you possibly know that?” Bridget asked, trailing Amy to place her empty plate in the dishwasher. No more cookies for her.
“Friendly intuition.” Amy winked again, then thankfully dropped the subject. “Have I told you about the special week I have planned for Olivia later this month?”
“Tell me everything,” Bridget said with wide eyes. Finally, a way to escape her problems by focusing on someone else’s life for a while. She was really happy for her friend, besides. Not only had Amy started dating a wonderful man, but she’d fallen hard and fast for his eight-year-old daughter. She’d be a great mom someday—probably someday quite soon as a matter of fact.
Bridget wasn’t ready to tie her life to someone else’s. She simply had too much to do. But she was incredibly happy that her friends had found their perfect matches. For them, it was easier to pass the love they had for their lost parents to a new recipient. For Bridget, that just wasn’t the case. And perhaps that was okay.
Chapter 12
After spending a few hours at Amy’s, Bridget headed home to spend some quiet time with the dogs before joining Wesley for their nightly run. It also seemed like a good time to catch up on some of the TV shows she’d recorded but hadn’t yet had time to watch.
Although she generally preferred browsing through memes and status updates on the web, she was committed to a couple dramas and sitcoms. She’d once enjoyed losing herself in reality TV but kept getting unwanted spoilers when she couldn’t keep up with the live broadcasts. With the shows she kept on her to-watch list, she simply needed to catch up with a season before its finale to avoid having important plot twists ruined.
This afternoon, she chose one of her favorite Netflix originals, thinking for the millionth time that she would look terrible in orange. Of course, she got so wrapped up in the story line that she lost track of the hour and had to hurry to meet Wesley in the courtyard . . . five minutes late.
Given what a stickler he was for punctuality, she’d expected him to have started their run without her. Instead, she found him waiting with both dogs sitting obediently at his side as they watched the doorway.
She smiled and waved as she jogged with Teddy to catch up. The way her heart quickened upon catching sight of Wesley made her wonder if Amy’s little talk hadn’t
messed with her mind earlier that day.
Just a little blip. It can’t last, she told herself. I’m happy not to miss out on the run. It has nothing to do with Wesley.
“Everything okay?” he asked, glancing from her to Teddy as if in search of physical evidence as to why they were late. His white-blond hair fell forward into his eyes as he bent to greet the Pomeranian with a pat and a scratch.
“Sorry we’re late,” Bridget mumbled, hating the way her body responded to the nearness of his. A little tingle raced through her, and she shivered.
Nope, this was not okay. It also wasn’t what she wanted.
Except, maybe it was.
Stupid Amy.
“Let’s go,” she urged as she pulled Teddy along after her.
Wesley fell into step beside her, and they navigated their route in silence. The whole time Bridget was intensely aware of Wesley and how his body moved. Was she really so weak willed that one little suggestion from a friend could send her headlong into the world’s most ill-timed crush?
It wasn’t just that she didn’t want a relationship; she didn’t even want a new friend. When they reached the courtyard, she planned to make a quick excuse and then disappear before doing their cooldown stretches. She could tend to those in her apartment or just skip them for the night, since she doubted anything she did could slow the pounding of her heart.
Unfortunately, escape would not be possible, given that her friend Nichole sat waiting on the little bench right in the middle of the courtyard. She raised her hand in greeting and shouted hello.
“She here for you?” Wesley asked with a confused look, his icy eyes boring into hers.
“Yup, that’s my friend Nichole,” Bridget said with an exasperated sigh. Nichole’s sudden arrival couldn’t be a coincidence, not when Bridget had just spent the afternoon with meddling Amy.
“Hi, Bridget. Hi, Teddy. Who’s this?” Nichole asked with a smirk that suggested she knew exactly who it was and that he was part of the reason for her visit this evening.
“This is my running . . .” Friend? Buddy? Ultimately, she settled on “partner,” because it didn’t imply they had any connection beyond exercise. Because, really, they didn’t.
“Wesley,” he introduced himself with a nod but no smile. It had taken Bridget many encounters with Wesley to earn one of his rare smiles, so it was only fair that Nichole didn’t get one for free.
“Okay, well, see you tomorrow.” Bridget turned and motioned for Nichole to follow her up to the apartment.
Teddy barked his head off until Nichole bent down and scooped him into her arms for a tight cuddle.
Bridget gave her friend the leash and then raced up the stairs, thighs sore from tonight’s run but not quite burning.
Nichole was several paces behind, and Bridget felt as if she were waiting forever for her friend to catch up. When they were both inside, she shut and locked the door, turning on Nichole for some kind of explanation.
“Amy sent me,” Nichole said, confirming her suspicions. “She says you had a hard day but wouldn’t open up about it with her. So she sent in the pro.”
After greeting Baby and Rosco, Nichole marched to the kitchen and grabbed a yogurt and Diet Coke from Bridget’s fridge. “Want anything?” she offered before digging in.
Bridget always found it odd when her friends offered up things that already belonged to her, but it seemed they were just raised differently. “No, I’m okay.”
Nichole let out a sarcastic little huff. She was the master of sarcastic little huffs—always had been. “No, you’re not. That’s why Amy sent me, remember?”
Bridget groaned and sank onto the couch. All three dogs jumped up, each vying for the seat of honor right in the center of her lap, within prime face-licking distance.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to dig it out of you?” Nichole asked with a raised eyebrow as she spooned a bite of yogurt and fruit sauce into her mouth.
“Why does it matter so much? And don’t you remember the rule we made at the hospital? Each of us is supposed to be able to grieve her own way, no judgment.” A third heart-to-heart in the space of a single day? No, thank you. She needed to get Nichole to leave before the last dregs of her patience disappeared.
“One, it matters, because you matter a whole heck of a lot. You know we love you, B, so just accept that and move on.”
Nichole swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing. “Speaking of moving on, we’ve all noticed that your way of grieving is avoidance. It’s why the rest of us have healed, and you . . .” Nichole made a wavy gesture with her hand and frowned.
“I what?” Bridget demanded. The only thing she hated more than meddling was trailing sentences and implied conversations. If Nichole had something to say, then she could say it and leave.
Nichole’s brow pinched in sympathy. “You seem to be backsliding.”
Chapter 13
Backsliding. That word stung, largely because Dr. Kate had implied the very same thing earlier that day.
Yes, lately Bridget’s life had become hard . . . or, hey, maybe it had always been that way. And apparently everyone saw that things were tough for her at the moment. So then why wouldn’t anyone give her a break?
Lots of people in their early twenties had trouble finding themselves. At least Bridget was trying. She hadn’t disappeared into addiction or allowed herself to get washed out by an unhealthy, draining relationship. She’d been there when her family and friends needed her; she also worked hard and had a plan for the future.
It could be so much worse.
But then, it could also be so much better.
Bridget shrugged and turned her head away so that Nichole couldn’t see the glassiness that had overtaken her eyes. She would not cry, especially not in front of Nichole, who would only try to help even more.
“I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” Bridget muttered. She glanced out the window, looking for something to distract her, calm her, but could see only sky and brick from her position on the couch.
“Say something. Say anything. Let us help you. You don’t need to do it all yourself.” Nichole had deep, dark circles under her eyes, almost like bruises. Why was she so fixated on Bridget when clearly something was wrong in her life, too?
“Do what?” Bridget tried her best to focus on making this confrontation as short as possible. Maybe if she showed Nichole that her worries were unfounded, the other woman would back off and find some other project to keep her busy during her off-work hours.
“Come to grips with your mom’s death. It totally sucks that she’s gone, but she’s not coming back. You, however . . . you need to come back.” Nichole’s mouth made an exaggerated circle around the word you, calling Bridget’s attention to her chapped and peeling lips.
Oh, so she was deflecting. Nichole had problems of her own but clearly found it easier to focus on Bridget’s. How fair.
“I haven’t gone anywhere,” Bridget mumbled into Baby’s silky fur.
She hated confrontation, especially when Nichole was on the other end of it. Her social worker friend saw right through any attempt to rationalize or explain away one’s behavior. That made her an annoying adversary. Strange that she’d decided the best way to help Bridget was to start a fight with her, and it would only escalate if Bridget shared her suspicions about Nichole avoiding some kind of personal trauma of her own.
“I agree,” Nichole said, surprising Bridget. “You’re running and you’re running but you’re not going anywhere.”
“That’s called a treadmill,” Bridget muttered sarcastically, flashing a lopsided smile. “Lots of people like using one for exercise.”
Nichole tossed her yogurt container in the trash and popped the tab on the can of soda she’d taken for herself earlier. “Not a great way to live life, though, and you know that better than any of us. Also, sarcasm not appreciated. I’m trying to help you here.”
“I didn’t ask for your help. I
n fact, if you’ll recall, I asked for Amy’s when the dogs and I got kicked out of my last apartment, and helping me ended up hurting her.”
She hated the way that episode had played out. If Bridget was the busy one, Hazel was the bossy one, and Nichole was the direct one, then Amy had always been the nurturer. It had only been natural for Bridget to seek out Amy’s help before turning to the others.
Unfortunately, Amy had a hard time putting herself first—so much so that she hadn’t even mentioned there was a problem when Bridget and her rambunctious dogs destroyed her house and almost ruined her fledgling relationship with Trent.
All the more reason for Bridget to just handle her problems herself—or not. Whatever. Everyone had struggles. At least she could identify hers. Avoid them.
Nichole nodded thoughtfully. “I remember that, but it doesn’t mean that you were wrong to ask. Amy needed to learn a lesson about saying no, and you need to learn the same lesson for different reasons.” She looked so tired; even her hair seemed to fall more limply against her shoulders. Bridget needed to get her back home for Nichole’s own good as much as Bridget’s.
Still, she couldn’t help arguing in her own defense. “That doesn’t make any sense. Amy and I are in completely different places.”
Nichole scrunched her mouth and scoffed. “Oh, please, Bridget. You may have yourself fooled, but you can’t fool me. In case you’ve forgotten, this is my job. I help people dealing with trauma all day, every day—or at least for eight hours of it. You think I don’t see the signs of unresolved grief in my own best friend?”
“I don’t know what you see when you look at me, but I never asked to be ambushed with your psychoanalysis.” Bridget tried to be patient, compassionate, to understand that this was just the way Nichole did things, but her tolerance for this intervention—or whatever it was meant to be—was wearing thin.
“What are you hiding from?” Nichole pulled out a dining room chair and took a seat, leaning forward with both arms resting on her knees as she studied Bridget.
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