What I Should’ve Said
Chapter 6

Tuesday, August 3rd

Norah

A dark shadow hovers over me, and every muscle in my body locks on itself as I scream. Shrill and terror-ridden, the sound of my shout could shatter bulletproof glass, but my psychotic sister responds with only a laugh.

“Chill, it’s just me.”

My breathing is erratic as she shifts to the side and into the moonlight streaming in from the window of her guest room. I’m still drowsy, body heavy with sleep, but the power of her smirk compels me. I sit up quickly, dragging the sheet up over my air-chilled chest.

“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Instead of speaking, she moves from the space in front of me, silently but with purpose, and I instantly know why when the bright overhead light pierces me directly in the eyeballs. An evil sister doesn’t warn a person before she gives them an instant migraine—she just does it.

I grimace and reach down to pull the comforter over my face. “This has to be the worst wake-up call I’ve ever experienced.”

“Yeah, well, I tried to be gentle, but since you still sleep harder than a bear during hibernation, I had to take a different approach,” my sister rebukes without guilt and yanks the comforter away from my face. “Rise and shine, buttercup. You have fifteen minutes to get dressed.”

“Dressed for what? A midnight thrill? Even the sun is still sleeping.”

“Camille called off this morning. I need a barista.”

I blink several times. “What are you even saying?”

“I’m saying it’s a little after five, and since I have to get the shop opened by six, you need to get your ass in gear.”

“You want me to come work at your coffee shop this morning?” My jaw nearly unhinges. “You tried almost impossibly hard to turn me away three days ago, and now you need me?”

“I need a body. And you need a bed to continue whining about waking up in. Seems like a match made in heaven, doesn’t it?”

CAFFEINE is Josie’s life’s biggest accomplishment. Which begs the question, why would she want me anywhere near it? I always got my coffee from someone other than myself in New York, and let me tell you, there was a reason.

“Josie, I know nothing about being a barista.”

“And I know nothing about having a squatter in my house. Looks like we’re both dealing with some challenges.”

“I can’t be a squatter when you invited me in.”

“Invited you?” She cackles. “You showed up unannounced at my front door with your designer suitcase that’s worth more than my car, looking like some vagabond fashionista and begging for a place to stay.”

Technically, Lillian’s suitcase is worth more than her car. I don’t have a suitcase. I don’t really own anything anymore, truth be told. But I have a feeling now is not the time to get into that.

“You owe me. Big-time. And that starts today, with you being my barista.”

I’ve only been here a few days, and besides her showing me the guest bedroom and handing me a bowl of leftover fettuccini for dinner on the first night I was here, we’ve barely spoken two words to each other. She’s even left the house multiple times without mentioning it to me. But before Josie’s and my great divide, she was there for me more than anyone I’ve ever known—Jezzy, my mom, my dad, and my grandmother included.

She’s right. I owe her. But taking this as payment is not in her best interest.

“Josie. Seriously.” I sit up enough to rest my back against the headboard. “I’m all for helping you out since you’re helping me out, but unless you have a Keurig at your coffee shop, I am not barista material. I don’t even drink coffee that often. I’ve always been more of a hot tea or cocoa kind of gal.”

“You were always a straight A student. You’ll figure it out. Especially since your current place to stay is counting on it.” She flashes the kind of fake, overly sweet grin that could serve as a sugar-free substitute for the supposed coffee I’m going to be making and heads back out of the guest bedroom and into the hallway.

I run a hand over my face and groan as I snag my phone off the nightstand. It lights up with one tap of my index finger and text notifications that must have come in last night while I was asleep clutter the screen.

Thomas: We are going to talk, Norah. You can’t avoid it.

The first one I see is more than enough to ruin a mood, and there are at least twenty more where that came from. But I’m not much for being a masochist at five in the morning or wasting my time on horrible human beings, so I ignore them and focus on the one message that’s from a sender I like.

Lillian: I have GREAT news! I am in possession of ALL of your belongings and currently trying to make arrangements to get them to Red Bridge. Thomas is on some kind of business trip, and Donna let me inside.

Donna is Thomas’s housekeeper-who-used-to-be-my-housekeeper until everything turned to shit and I left town.

After I walked out on my wedding, but before I left New York, I had to play a shell game of sorts to keep my distance from Thomas and my mother and pretty much everyone other than Lil.

Obviously, that made it impossible for me to go back to my—Thomas’s—apartment and get my stuff, so Lillian has been working on it ever since.

Lil sent the original message last night, but she gets up before dawn every morning so she can hit the gym before work, so I don’t hesitate to reply.

Me: I could kiss you right now. THANK YOU.

Lillian: Oh, you’ll definitely want to kiss me when you see what else I managed to get for you.

Me: What are you talking about?

Lillian: You’ll see eventually. And I’ll let you know when I’m able to get a moving truck that’s willing to make the trek to Vermont. New York movers are busier than a hooker’s asshole this time of year.

Me: A moving truck???

Lillian: Yes, a moving truck. Because, as it turns out, when your ex-fiancé is a piece of shit and your friend is in charge of gathering your belongings while said piece of shit is out of town, you end up with A LOT of stuff. Some people might suggest you attempt to purge some things for top dollar, but what do I know? I’m just the woman who spent ten hours at your ex’s place packing A LOT of valuable stuff.

My stomach turns. I am both grateful and terrified. Thomas is not going to take being essentially robbed very well. But I guess since I wouldn’t take the money Lil offered directly, this is her way of forcing me to accept some help.

Lillian: PS: You can go ahead and send my Best Friend of the Year award in the mail. Queen Lillian, Master of the Universe would be the appropriate engraving.

“Ten minutes, Nore!” My sister’s voice fills my ears.

Shit. I groan and let my head fall back against the headboard.

There’s a huge, tired, psychologically drained part of me that wants to tell her to kiss my ass and go back to sleep, but when she adds, “Either meet me at the car or start packing up your suitcase!” I bite my tongue.

Josie doesn’t mince words. If she says my current living situation relies on me learning how to be a barista, there’s a high probability she means it. Plus, I’m zero for one in the standing up for myself with stubborn mules department—and Lillian’s shoes have the wear and tear from my walk after getting kicked out of Mr. Macho’s truck to prove it.

And I can only play the desperate little sister role and utilize guilt as my main talking point for so long. Grandma Rose, may she rest in peace, came through in the emotional manipulation tactic for me on Saturday, but she’d probably have to rise from the grave for that ploy to work on Josie again.

My only option is to get dressed and hope to hell I can figure out how to make fancy coffee with a flipping smile on my face.

One day, I’ll be able to put on my own clothes, but today, I’m going to have to settle for a pair of Lillian’s gym shoes, jeans, and a simple black T-shirt that has a Prada label etched inside.

I don’t know how well Prada goes with coffee-making but looks like I’m about to replace out.