Page 72 of The Apparent Trap

“I think you’ll be shortening her lifespan for other reasons,” Georgia jokes.

Thankfully Tate, with all his bad jokes, at least enjoys self-deprecation. “Yeah, I imagine my constant home-renovation hobbying is going to make her want to kick the bucket sooner than she otherwise would.”

The two of them are laughing, and Carmen is trying to join in, but I can see she’s not as focused as she normally would be. It’s hard for me to watch, knowing what must be going through her mind.

“Well,” Georgia says, “I guess that’ll be a good reminder to us all to keep our dating age range on the apps in a much narrower band. Now, onto the next topic: Do we have a new Christmas toy craze coming up?”

I walk out of the control room as Georgia gets started on the next segment, her work in this particular instance accomplished.

I go back to my desk and breathe deep.

I shouldn’t be so affected by watching this play out. This is what I want. Am I really such a people pleaser that I can’t even take a little bit of joy in watching someone else point out what should be obvious?

But it’s not so simple anymore. I know so much more. I know the parts of Carmen that overlap with my personality—someone who gets scared but is determined to push through. Someone who had to soldier through life without one parent. Someone whose flaws no one sees because she’s so good at putting on a competent facade.

It’s harder to view this as black and white.

And I really hate that the guilt feels even more poignant when I admit to myself how glad I am that Lee wasn’t here to watch.

Chapter 22

That evening, I’ve settled in to watch a movie when the buzzer rings.

I open the door to Georgia, with a bag in each hand. “I got bagels from Tal, and I’ve got those mochi doughnuts from Papa D’Amour.”

I grab for the doughnuts. “Do you have a thing for showing up unannounced with circular carbs?”

“I have a thing for showing up at my best friend’s apartment when she doesn’t return my texts even after I flawlessly pulled off a plan.”

“The whole thing makes me uncomfortable,” I admit, and her face immediately softens.

“Not mad?”

“Not mad,” I confirm, quietly. “I just feel sort of icky over the whole situation.”

She nods, my avoidance now understood. So instead of saying anything else, she waltzes into my apartment, grabs the remote, and plops down onto my couch.

“Fine. Should we have a nineties rom-com evening?”

I still, the idea bothering me for reasons I don’t want to explore.

“How about a nineties action movie?” I hedge. “Con Air is the perfect level of absurd.”

But she’s already turning on The Wedding Singer. “I think serenading on planes trumps hijacking planes.”

“Those two things are not comparable,” I sigh.

“Fine, but I’m still going to insist on Drew Barrymore. You choose—Never Been Kissed or Ever After?”

“Both are ridiculous. I’d say the teacher in Never Been Kissed is just as much a villain as Anjelica Huston in Ever After,” I say, trying to convince her. “He should not be into her.”

Georgia just rolls her eyes. “It’s a movie. Who cares? So what if on paper he’s not supposed to like her—it’s cute!”

My buzzer rings again, and I get up to press it. Since obviously I didn’t know Georgia was arriving with doughnuts and bagels, I already ordered a different circular carb—the old standby classic of pizza. I’m grateful it’s come so fast.

“Some things are wrong both on paper and in real life,” I say back to her, waiting for the delivery guy to make it to my apartment. When I hear a knock, I fling open the door.

But instead of the Don Antonio guy delivering me my spinach and ham pizza, it’s Lee.