of me wonders, do I handle all my own problems because this is the way I’ve always done things? Or do I handle my own problems because . . . well, because I’m afraid that people only love me because I do things for them?”
“Chloe.” Annie leans across the couch and tackles me in a hug. Leia freaks out, hopping around us and barking. “That is not why we love you.”
“What else do I have to offer, though?” I ask, wiping snot off my nose.
Annie laughs into my shoulder. “So much, you dummy. You’re funny and you’re kind and you always smell like vanilla.”
“Why be friends with me when a scented candle could do the trick?”
“And,” Annie continues. “I love you. We love you. We want to help you, Chloe.” She leans back, her hands on my shoulders, and looks me in the eyes. “Let us help you.”
“But I’m used to being the helper,” I say. “I’m used to being the one who gets shit done. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You are not a burden,” she says firmly. “Do you feel like I’m a burden when you’re baking all those pies? Do you feel like your dad’s a burden when you’re taking care of him? Do you feel like Nick’s a burden when you’re staying late to clean up?”
I snort. “Of course not.”
“Well, then, trust me,” Annie says, looking smug. “You’re not a burden to anyone. Not even a little bit. Now.” She claps her hands. “Let’s make some poms!”
“You can’t make the poms!”
“I’m going to help you,” Annie points out. “And you did say you were going to do a better job of letting people help you.”
“I didn’t say that, but okay, I’ll let people help me more. But not with this. It’s your wedding; you can’t be making your own poms.”
Annie waves me off. “This looks fun, and you know I’m crafty.”
“No one has ever called you crafty.”
Annie picks up the remote and scrolls through Netflix before settling on While You Were Sleeping.
“No. I am not going to sit through this movie again.”
“It’s my wedding!” Annie uses my own words against me. “I get to choose the entertainment.”
Together, we coast through making the poms. Annie’s much better at pom-making than Don and Tyler were, and after a couple of hours, we have more than enough poms for our wall.
“Turns out this is way easier when I’m not doing it by myself and attempting to bake a pie at the same time,” I say.
“Who knew?” Annie holds up her latest pom to admire it. “So what are you going to do about Nick?”
“Oh, no,” I say. “I do not want to talk about that.”
Annie puts the pom down and gives me a stern look, and with an uncharacteristic no-nonsense tone in her voice, she says, “Well, you showed up in the driveway cold and crying, so tough shit. You have to tell me about it.”
“Geez,” I mutter. “The film industry has turned you into a real potty-mouth.”
She spins a finger at me. “Start talking.”
“I don’t know, Annie. That’s the whole problem. I . . . well, I . . .”
“You love him,” she says simply.
“Dial it down.”
“You like him.”
“I’m not a child.”
She thinks for a moment. “You could see yourself falling in love with him someday. Is that right?”
I know that’s not how to describe the way I feel about Nick, that I’ve been lying to myself about it for weeks, months, maybe even years. My first impulse is to keep it to myself, to keep this as another personal issue that I don’t want to burden Annie with. But maybe she’s right. Maybe I should try to let someone in.
“The truth,” I say quietly, focusing on the pom in my lap, “is that, despite everything I’ve told Nick, I have some very strong feelings for him.”
Annie smiles, but it isn’t smug. “Do you think you should, I don’t know . . . tell him?”
I grimace. “That’s literally the worst idea ever. What I did to him, the things I said . . . You didn’t see his face tonight, Annie. Even without trying, I think I broke his heart. I’m not making him deal with more of this.” I gesture at myself and make a face.
Annie shakes her head. “I agree with you that you shouldn’t play around with Nick’s emotions. You know the kind of music that man listens to; he’s prone to big feelings. But that doesn’t mean you should write this off just