I’m not sure how to fix everything with Wren.
But this might be a start.
The subdued knocking at my door is a one-way ticket from my depressivestate of catatonia back to reality.
I sit up, bleary-eyed, just as Bee walks in with a tray overflowing withcrackers and cheese. Color-coordinated toothpicks spear through grapes likekebabs.
“Felt sorry for me, so you decided to come fatten me up?” I observe in a drymumble.
She sets the tray down on my bedside table and promptly climbs right in thebed with me. “This is more of an I’m-sorry-my-best-friend-is-an-ass cheeseplate than a pity cheese plate.”
I force a smile. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
Bee sighs and pats my knee through the covers. “He gets really weird aboutElena. I stopped taking it personally a long time ago.”
“I
