EMMA
“What’s different about you?”
On the inside, I’m wincing hard. I’ve been terrified of this exact question ever since Phoebe called me up yesterday and suggested we go out for lunch. I keep my face perfectly composed as I answer. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Even to my own ears, I sound fake as hell and twice as guilty. This might just be the first time I’ve ever had to lie to Phoebe. It’s not as though I’m kicking off this new phase in our friendship with a small secret, either. It’s a whopper of one—a six-foot-four, two-hundred-pound secret in a Tom Ford suit and Patek Philippe wristwatch.
“Hm.” Phoebe drapes her coat over the backrest of her chair and fixes me with an intense stare. “Is there something I should know?”
“Why do you ask?”
She shrugs. “You just seem a little diff
