“Neither one, seriously. I just—” “Well are you just being a good neighbor, or does my mom want a spy?” “You know what, Hope?” “...What?” “You just cut me off the last three times I was trying to tell you something.” I put my drink on the table and spread my hands. “I’m unarmed, you know. I didn’t barge in here to attack you. Do you really want to keep finishing my sentences pessimistically all day?” The meek version of her grin came out this time. “Sorry. I guess I make weird assumptions about people too.” “Then you want to know why I keep stopping by, or you want me to take off?” “I do want to know.” “Great. So yes, checking on you was your mom’s idea. And I’m a little creeped out if my neighbor never comes out of the apartment and nobody knows if she died in there. So those are the selfish things. Not wanting to disappoint your mom and not wanting to share a wall with a dead girl.” “Go on.” “But I also think we have a lot in common. You have fantasy novels and cookbooks just like I do, and I used to make macramé like you. I never run into people who share my interests, so meeting you is kinda refreshing.” She fidgeted, still leaning on the counter. “So,” I continued, “I thought you could be the world’s most convenient friend. You’re next door, and you’re always home, after all.” “Then you want to be friends?” she asked. “Not Charity Case and Good Samaritan?” I aimed for a neutral tone. “Do you want friends?”
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