Page 15 of Rush

I hear the shuffle of her footsteps now in house slippers.

“Elena,” she breathes when she sees me, her hazel eyes widen, full of concern.

I don’t have to look up to know what’s in front of her. Me…in tattered clothes from days ago. Bags under my eyes. Hair tangled in loose, greasy waves down my back. Tear tracks dried tight on my cheeks.

Philippa sets her bag down silently, along with a paper bag, then lowers herself beside me, tucking her legs under, ready to stay as long as I need. She looks like the picture of perfection—then again, when doesn’t she? Her hair is perfectly blown out into chestnut waves, and she’s wearing a relaxed, caramel-colored two-piece suit. She must have come from work.

“I saw the news. Montgomery PR saw it first.”

If they saw it, that meant my father had too.

The thought made me sick. He probably couldn’t wait to rub it in my face and sayI told you so.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I...wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”

I swallow hard, throat raw from crying, though somehow the tears still rise.

And here I thought I was all dried out.

“I should be the one apologizing for being a shitty maid of honor, I should be helping you instead of this.”

“Don’t even…Elena, that’s what wedding planners are for. I want you to be happy and be okay.”

“It’s okay…I’ll be okay,” I lie, barely audible—even I don’t believe it.

Philippa doesn’t push. She reaches over, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear in that way that reminds me too much of my mother and fresh tears threaten to spill—how I wish she were here right now.

“I know you didn’t like him,” I whisper after a long stretch of silence.

“No. I didn’t.”

Her honesty stings.

“But not because I didn’t see what you saw in him,” she sighs. “I did. He’s handsome, exciting. And for a while, I think he made you happy. He gave you something you needed. I...” she hesitates, “knew he wasn’t going to be careful with your heart.”

The tears spill over then—silent, but heavy.

“I really like him.” My voice cracks. “I never said it. I couldn’t. It was too soon, but...I think I did. You know?”

Philippa takes my hand, threading her fingers through mine like we were kids again, hiding from storms under the covers.

“Sometimes,” she says gently, “we have to let ourselves love the wrong one before we believe we deserve someone better.”

Was that it?

Was I so desperate to prove I was lovable that I handed my heart to the first person who made me feelseen?

I sigh, glancing at her. “Did you?”

She gives a small, sad smile.

“I’m not a prude Elena. I’ve dealt with my fair share of jerks,” she says. “There was this one—total douchebag. I was stupid, obsessed. We were on and off for almost a year. He made me feel like I had to fight for every scrap of his attention. Like if I could just be perfect enough, he’d stay.”

She winces at the thought. That deep insecurity of hers, buried in something old. Something broken.

When Mom left her behind, Philippa had taken it like a flaw in her. Like if she’d been better, maybe she wouldn’t have been left. And so she hardened herself. She made herself infallible.

I frown in disbelief. “Really?”