Page 67 of Top Shelf

I groan, pulling the comforter over my head, but it’s no use. The knocking doesn’t stop. It gets louder, more insistent, like whoever’s on the other side of the door doesn’t give a damn about my plans for a Friday morning lie-in.

“I swear to God,” I mumble, throwing the blankets back and blindly feeling for my glasses before sliding them onto my face.

Still half-asleep, I drag myself to the front door in my oversized sleep shirt and fuzzy socks, grumbling under my breath the whole way. The incessant knocking pauses just as I reach for the handle, and when I pull open the door, I’m convinced this is a dream, and I must still be sound asleep in bed.

“Surprise!”

I blink repeatedly, uncertain if I’m actually seeing Dylan Callahan—my best friend—standing at my door.

“Dylan?”

She grins, standing there in pajama bottoms, a hoodie, and with her hair scraped back, her face free of makeup. She looks like she rolled straight out of bed, climbed in the car, and droveall the way here. She’s holding two large coffee cups and a pink box that I recognize from the bakery down the road.

“Well? Are you going to let me in or gawk at me in the hallway all day?”

Still dazed, and not entirely convinced this is real, I launch myself at her, arms winding tight around her neck as the coffee and pastries threaten to topple.

“Careful!” she laughs, juggling the box.

But I don’t let go. I squeeze her tighter, tears pricking at my eyes and clogging my throat. I didn’t realize how badly I needed this—needed her—until she was right here in front of me.

She hugs me just as tightly. “Missed you too, Wren.”

Pulling back, I blink up at her, barely holding myself together. “I thought you weren’t coming until tonight.”

“Changed my mind.” She shrugs. “So you better skip class and cancel any plans you have, because you and I have a pastry date in your bed.”

I scoff. “Like I have any plans.” Stepping back to let her into my apartment, I ask, “Did you drive all the way here in your pajamas?”

Dylan lifts the cups in her hands. “What would the point in getting dressed be when I knew I was getting straight back into your bed?”

“What if you’d broken down or gotten into an accident?”

She gestures at her much-loved, checkered navy pajama bottoms. “It’s not like I’m wearing some skimpy lace nighty. Who am I going to scandalize in these old things?”

A laugh breaks out of me. A real one.

We settle into my bed with the coffee and pastries between us, legs tangled beneath the comforter. It doesn’t take long before Dylan’s filling me in on everything: campus gossip, how she’s getting on as captain of the Steelhawks this year, plus herguys’ rookie season with the Timberwolves and all the dumb things they’ve already managed to do.

“Finn shaved a mullet into Jax’s hair after losing a bet,” she says, snorting into her coffee. “I had to physically restrain Griffin from jumping in with clippers of his own.”

Leaning in, she shows me a range of photos of the mess, the guys grinning, and Jax looking less than impressed with his new hairstyle.

It’s easy. Effortless. Like no time has passed at all.

It makes me homesick for what was. Even though I feel like I’ve started to find my footing here, and can admit that things aren’t terrible, it’s just…not the same. I don’t have any humorous stories of my own to share. No crazy antics. I don’t even have anything nice to say about my internship.

It’s been the same over texts and phone calls the past few weeks. Dylan talking, and me being as vague as possible, assuring her everything is fine. However, Dylan isn’t stupid. She realizes how one-sided the conversation is, and it isn’t long before the inevitable question arises.

“So...are you going to keep pretending everything’s fine or are you finally going to tell me what the hell is going on with you?”

Pulling at a loose thread on the blanket, I ignore her penetrating stare. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Wren. You’ve been dodging my questions for weeks. You tell me everything’s good, your internship is fine, classes are manageable...but you don’t say anything real. Not like you used to.”

I open my mouth to argue but can’t find the words.

Honestly, I’m tired of pretending everything is okay. I’m tired of keeping all of this in. I don’t have anyone I can truly talk to here, and it didn’t feel right to bring it up over the phone, but now Dylan is here and…I’m sosodone.