“Why not? From what you’ve told me, it sounds like a lot of what you do, you could do just as well from here.”

“And why am I the one who has to be flexible?” I countered. “If we wanted to give this a real shot, we could . . . split time, maybe, try a long-distance thing? Chicago’s not the moon, you know. There’s no legitimate reason you couldn’t come to me, too.”

“No legitimate reason.” She recoiled, mouth dropping open, as though I’d slapped her. “Wow, I can’t fucking believe this. It’s like Groundhog Day, Jess all over again. I knew, I knew this was how it would go this time around, too.”

I felt a familiar panic mounting inside me, at the thought that I was solely responsible for her distress, that this sudden and precipitous unraveling was somehow all on me.

“Did you know?” I retorted, scooting away from her, the space between us chilling like an advancing cold front. “Then why did you even let this happen in the first place? It’s not like I was the one chasing you all by myself. At least that’s not how I remember it.”

“I let it happen because I like you, Emmy!” she burst out, throwing up her hands. “And I could easily see myself much more than liking you, if we gave this a real chance.”

“And how are we supposed to do that,” I said, feeling leaden, suddenly hopeless, “if you’re going to act like some kind of cursed princess, doomed never to wander so much as a foot away from here?”

“Oh, so I’m being unreasonable, now?” She yanked herself off the bed, winding sheets around her, the glitter of her eyes stark against the gloom. “How about you? You love it here, you’re fucking dying to stay, anyone with eyes can see that. But you refuse to admit it, and why? Just because some ripe asshole broke your heart a decade ago, made you feel like you’d never matter if you stayed. Have you even considered that it might be time to decide what you want for yourself?”

“You have no clue what you’re talking about.” I shot out of bed myself, scavenging the floor for my clothes, stewing with anger while my stomach ached with how quickly the fragile, spun-sugar thing between us was disintegrating, eroding further with every acid-washed moment.

“Or were you planning to spend your whole life running away from here,” Talia persisted, “letting Teenage Shithead Gareth dictate who you are?”

“That is not what I’m doing,” I said through clenched teeth, biting back tears. “I’m the opposite of doing that. I’m making my own path.”

“Are you?” Talia challenged, arms crossed over her breasts, looking just as furious and annihilated as I felt. “Because chasing change the way you’ve been doing since you left . . . sometimes that’s just another way of burying your head in the sand. Of hiding from what you actually want, and think that you shouldn’t have.”