"So you wouldn't mind if I asked him out?"
I should say no. Should tell her to go ahead. Should not care at all who Ethan dates.
"Do whatever you want. It's none of my business."
"Great! Thanks." She bounces off, clearly excited.
I continue to class feeling sick.
It's not jealousy. It can't be jealousy. I don't care who Ethan dates. Don't care if he moves on and finds someone appropriate. Someone his parents would approve of.
Someone who isn't the girl from the restaurant.
Isla finds me after class. "You look like you're plotting murder."
"Someone asked if Ethan is single." Not sure what else to say about it.
"And you said?"
"That I don't know or care."
"Liar." She loops her arm through mine. "Come on. Let's get coffee and you can tell me why you're spiraling."
We end up at the campus café, tucked into a corner booth with overpriced lattes.
"Talk," Isla commands.
"There's nothing to talk about. Some girl wants to date Ethan. That's fine. Great, even. He'll be distracted and leave me alone."
"Do you actually believe that?"
"I want to believe that."
"Not the same thing." She stirs her latte. "What happened at your project meeting yesterday? You've been weird since then."
I tell her, about the research, the conversation, and his observation that I'm hiding. His apology.
"He apologized?"
"Sort of. Said he was sorry. Didn't specify for what."
"That's progress?"
"That's manipulation. He knows exactly what to say to make me question my anger."
"Or," Isla suggests gently, "he's actually sorry and doesn't know how to express it."
"Whose side are you on?"
"Yours. Always. But Ivy..." She reaches across the table and takes my hand. "You've been carrying this hurt for three years. Maybe it's time to at least hear him out. Understand what happened."
"I know what happened. He chose his parents over me. Choose money and his perfect future over our friendship."
"Did he? Or is there more to the story?"
I take a moment to think about what she’s just said, but I can’t fall for him again. "There's nothing more. He made his choice clear."
But even as I say it, I'm thinking about his face yesterday. The tiredness. The regret. The way he said "for a lot of things" like he was confessing to crimes I don't even know about.