Page 67 of Familiar Things New

Edwin furrowed his brow. “What hat?”

“‘What hat?’ he says,” Agnes remarked with a roll of her eyes. “Why did you even ask if you could help if you weren’t going to listen to my reply?”

“I was listening. But then I started thinking about . . . things.”

Agnes raised an eyebrow. “Boy things?”

“If you mean ‘boy falling hopelessly in love with another boy’ things, then yes,” Edwin said with a soft laugh, heat blooming on his cheeks. Groaning wearily, he sat in the free chair next to her. “I’m besotted with Andrew, Agnes. Jesus, I can’t believe I’ve broken my own heart like this.”

“Why’s it broken?” she asked, her expression turning serious. “I thought you said that the two of you came to a sort of understanding about what your relationship had to be like.”

“I think I may have been a little overly confident in that.” He crossed his legs, resting one foot atop his opposite knee. “It seems I can’t manage to keep things as . . . pure as I’d hoped.”

Agnes’s eyes bulged. “Great heavens, what happened?”

“Agnes, you are my sister, and I cannot—will not—provide the sordid details.”

“But there are sordid details,” she said with a sly smile.

“Yes. There are.” Edwin nodded emphatically. “Definitely, there are. Let’s just say that my curiosity got the best of me. And now Andrew must think I’m extremely selfish.” He pursed his lips and hummed, furrowing his eyebrows. “Or selfless maybe. Selfless, but strange? I’m not sure.”

Scoffing lightly, Agnes picked up the half-finished hat from the side table.

“If you’re going to speak in riddles, then keep your thoughts to yourself and work on the damned hat.”

She threw it onto his lap, and Edwin chuckled as he uncrossed his legs.

“Sorry,” he said. “I feel like I have to talk about it. But I can’t talk to you. Not about this.”

“Perhaps you can talk to William,” she suggested, returning to her sewing.

“Oh. Uhm.” Edwin’s stomach sank. “William and I aren’t speaking right now. Temporarily.”

His muscles tensed as he waited for her response. Agnes was sure to want to know why. And Edwin would have to be honest with her. Earlier, he had hurt Andrew. And now, he’d have to hurt Agnes, too.

“You and William aren’t speaking?” Agnes asked, looking up from her needlework. “But . . . I thought you must have seen him this morning when you went to the conservatory? At least at the end of your shift?”

“Ah, no, because I went early.”

“How early?”

Cringing, Edwin eked out, “Five?”

“Five in the morning?! You were walking the streets by yourself at five in the morning?!” Agnes gasped. “Or were you somehow lucky enough to catch one of the horse trolleys?”

“No, I walked,” Edwin replied sheepishly. “But it’s not as risky for me as it is for you. It’s . . . I mean, it’s a bit safer for me now than it would have been before, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” she grumbled. “What are you two even fighting about?”

Leaning forward, Edwin buried his head in his hands.

“You,” he replied, his response slightly muffled by his palms.

“Me?!”

Sighing, Edwin sat back and let his hands fall to his lap. Dammit, why had William put him in this position? Being in the middle of William and Agnes’s constant flirting was one thing, but being the one to essentially end their relationship, that was something else entirely. Still, Edwin couldn’t not tell her, could he? Dammit, he wasn’t even sure what the morally or socially right thing to do was in this sort of situation. Regardless, Agnes expected honesty. Hell, she deserved it. And if William wasn’t going to be honest with her, then Edwin would.

Shifting his weight, Edwin folded his hands over the half-finished hat and began.