But with the exception of everything that happened with Reid, there hasn’t been much progress with the other work Lachelle encouraged me to do, because my opportunities to practice fighting—with Lark, with Sibby—have been nonexistent to minimal. Lark, for her part, is almost certainly trying to find a gentle way to fire me, because the e-mail I woke up to last Monday had asked if we could “press pause” on the project while she “made some other decisions about the house.”

My reply—asking if we could get together for a meeting anyway—had gone unanswered.

With Sibby, I deserve more responsibility—once for staying with Reid on a night she was almost certain to be at the apartment, and once for chickening out at starting the conversation when she’d come home with Elijah in tow rather than by herself, as I’d expected. But by the end of last week—the same night, incidentally, that I’d seen that lease renewal letter on Reid’s refrigerator—I’d felt a panicked sense of urgency about it all, chastising myself for dropping the ball. After all, Sibby was leaving soon, too. Sure, she’d be in the same city, but with the way things have been going lately, she might as well be whole states, whole countries away.

What was I doing, letting a summer romance with a leaving man I definitely only like get in the way of fixing this massive problem with my best friend?

I’d called her right away, that lease letter hovering somewhere over my shoulder. I’d even left a voice mail. “Sib,” I’d said, my tone serious. “I need to talk to you. I’ll be at home all day and night tomorrow. Call me and we’ll find a time.”

But she hadn’t called me. She’d texted me back an hour later with the kind of polite, roommates-only text that’s been a hallmark of her communication to me lately:

I’d felt my shoulders slump in disappointment as I’d read it.

I straighten them now, hefting my portfolio and my bag, watching as Lachelle starts setting out supplies for the class.

“I’m headed home to work,” I say, determinedly, more to myself than to her. But I am determined, because if Sibby’s coming back tomorrow, I’m going to be home to meet her. I’ve already told Reid I probably won’t be free until Sunday, and my plan tonight is to tidy the apartment while I practice what I want to say to her. A night alone, I figure, will be good preparation, and when she gets back, we’ll do this thing we’ve both been hiding from.

“Take it easy,” Lachelle says. “Rest your hands.”

“Yep,” I say, waving at her as I go, wishing that the work I had ahead of me was as easy as the work I’ve been doing with my hands lately.