Page 79 of The Breakup Artists

Once again I feel the dissonance between knowing I should find a way to end this conversation and wanting to comfort her.

“You deserve better than Amber and—” I cut myself off before I say Justin’s name, shocked by my own directness and attributing it to the beer I drank. This definitely isn’t Tiny’s strategy or any strategy we’ve ever used; this is August and it’s not appropriate. “Sorry, Scorpio, I overstepped. I’ll just be using that bathroom now,” I say, my heart beating like a beast.

For a quick second she searches my face, but then just as fast her gaze moves past me and she says, “All yours,” again, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Before I can turn around, Justin starts speaking with an alcohol-affected slur. “Baaabe, there you are.”

I make my way into the bathroom, imagining Tiny reaming me out for almost screwing that up. And the truth is, I don’t know why I did it other than maybe I care too much, which I’m definitely never admitting. Because Justin reminds me too much of Kyle, because it’s possible Ella has helped me more than I’ve helped her, and I want to repay her kindness. Because maybe on some level I understand why Tiny always wants me to take the central role on cases—it’s hard when you get attached.

I quickly use the toilet, wash my hands, and splash water on my face, taking a long look at myself in the mirror. But just as I’m about to walk back into the hallway, I hear Ella’s and Justin’s voices through the door, and I pause.

“You taste like tequila,” Ella says.

“Derek,” Justin replies by way of explanation. “Want some?”

She laughs. “Not tonight. Idohave to go home at some point. And my parents will be pissed if I come in stumbling.”

“Tell them you’re staying at Leah’s. And then just stay here. My parents are gone.”

There’s a pause.

“I have to write in the morning,” she says hesitantly, and it almost sounds like she knows it’s not going to land.

“You can skip a day.”

“I can’t, though. I have a deadline.”

“It’s a stupid blog.”

Another pause.

Justin grunts. “What’s that look for? Lighten up. You write anastrologyblog. It’s not like you save lives.”

And I’m instantly pissed. Despite the fact that a couple weeks ago I thought astrology was ridiculous, it’s important to Ella; it’s the thing she shared with her grandmother; it should be important to anyone who cares about her.

“That’s a crappy thing to say and you know it,” she says.

“You know what else is crappy? That you never put me first,” he retorts.

I stood in front of Des’s cracked door, my hand raised to knock. After Dad left, I only occasionally said good night to Mom, but I never once missed saying it to Des. And it had become important in a way I didn’t expect, like Des was my touchstone to knowing the world was still an okay place to be. But before I knocked, she started talking.

“Can’t,” she said. “Maybe this weekend.”

“You can’t take care of everyone all the time, Des,” Kyle said.

I rolled my eyes. It was always Kyle these days. He was starting to annoy me.

“Says you,” she replied, and I could hear her smile.

“Have another sip of beer.” There was a beat, and he continued, “How about this... You come out for one hour. Just one teeny-tiny hour. No big deal.”

“I have work tomorrow,” Des told him.

“I’ll help you wake up,” Kyle countered.

Des laughed. “Like I believe that one.”

Another pause.