"...so that's how I feel," Cynthia finished, voice loud in the still silence of the apartment.
Maryam was in the kitchen trying to look busy. She still had Cyn's cup of tea in her hands. Ten minutes ago it had been hot. Now it was tepid at best.
Willa's hands were folded primly in her lap, eyes staring straight ahead at Cyn, unblinking. Maryam had the impression she was trying not to cry.
Willa cleared her throat, tucking an escaped tendril of her red hair behind her ear, revealing small gold hoops in her lobe and tinier diamond studs just above it. "You said you were okay with it."
Cyn expelled a breath of noisy air. "That was before. When I didn't know I was your main character."
"You're not!"
"Fuck you!" Cyn exclaimed, cheeks pink and angry. "Just because you don't have a life doesn't mean you can steal mine!" The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back.
Willa gaped at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Cyn's words slammed into her with the force of an anvil. No boyfriend. Still working for Paige. No boyfriend. No boyfriend. That's what Cyn really meant.
In the kitchen, Maryam stayed silent, focusing on a grease stain on her stove. Her body was perfectly still, tightly wound and ready; for what, she didn't yet know. Fight or flight was a toss up at this point.
"Okay," Willa felt herself replying. She had no idea what she was agreeing to. Okay, I don't have a life, you were right. Okay, the only reason I sorta-kinda-maybe have Luke is because of you pushing me to date him. Okay, I may have been inspired by you. Okay, I get that you're not okay with it.
Cyn didn't say anything. Willa half expected her to apologize, but it wasn't forthcoming. Cyn just looked back at her, like the ball was now in Willa's court.
She didn't know whether she wanted to scream or cry. Cyn didn't look sorry. She didn't look like anything. Her face was devoid of guilt, like she'd said exactly what she thought, and had no intention of redeeming herself by making Willa feel better about it. Willa stood up abruptly, clutching her purse against her midsection. "Okay," she said again, voice cracking.
There was a sharp clatter in the kitchen, like ceramic being set down too hard. Willa practically ran for the door. In hindsight, she wished she had opted for a more dignified, I've-been-wronged procession, but at that moment, she just wanted to get out of there. She wanted to go home, climb in bed, curl up under her fleece blankets and just cry until exhaustion claimed her and she fell asleep. She wanted Maryam to yell at Cyn, then come to her the next morning and tell her how sorry Cyn was and how Willa should forgive her. Willa felt like this dance was something she knew by heart.