Drawn To You by Lily Summers Page A

contacts in about three days, ever since that night with Ezra. He hasn’t called or come by the bookshop, and I can’t blame him one bit. After all, I told him I couldn’t do it. I thought I wanted this. Didn’t I?
    On screen, Jess is crying into an entire box of tissues in her pajamas and I can relate so hard it hurts.
    Or maybe that’s just the ice cream induced indigestion settling in.
    The front door opens and I hear the click of Audrey’s heels down the hall as she comes into the living room, home from the work. She looks like an entirely different person when she’s dressed for the office. Her hair’s up in a French twist and she’s wearing a pencil skirt and a honest-to-goodness blazer. She sighs when she sees me.
    “Isn’t that the exact same place I left you this morning?” she says.
    “Probably.” I’d shrug, but there are too many blankets weighing me down.
    She checks her watch and shoves me over on the couch. I don’t turn to look at her, so she yanks a blanket off my head and tugs my ponytail.
    “Ow. Cut it out,” I mutter.
    “You haven’t showered in three days. I’m not even sure you’ve brushed your teeth. It’s gross. Your manager at the bookstore is probably freaking out.”
    She’s not wrong. When I came into my shift yesterday, I thought Sampson might be getting the vapors. He said something about needing to lie down. He also asked what the hell happened that made me go from passably fashionable to mopey grungeball in the space of a few days, but I blew him off.
    I spoon another bit of ice cream into my mouth. It’s going pretty runny.
    “It’s actually better for your microbiome not to shower every day,” I say. “It helps your digestion.”
    Audrey takes the carton from me and gets up to put it in the freezer, ignoring my feeble “hey.”
    “If you’re concerned about your digestion, maybe you should lay off the all-ice cream diet,” she says.
    I scowl at her from over the back of the couch. She crosses her arms and pops her hip, looking at me like a concerned guidance counselor.
    “Would you talk to me?” she says. “Everything seemed like it was going really well with --”
    I cut her off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    Her brow furrows slightly. “Then will you at least consider coming out with me and the girls for drinks at The Cantina? It’ll be good for you.”
    “Now?” I ask, incredulously.
    Audrey purses her lips. “I can give you some time to shower first—”
    “No. I’m really not up for it,” I say. Then I slump back down on the cushions, my eyes fixed on the television.
    Audrey sighs behind me. Softly, she says, “Whenever you’re ready, you can talk to me, Mia. I’m here.”
    I bite my lip and hope she’s not waiting for an affirmation, but I don’t have to worry. After a beat, she sighs again and leaves. The front door clicks shut. I consider getting up to go dig the ice cream back out of the freezer and ultimately decide it’s not worth extracting myself from my blanket cocoon. The pint probably needs a few more hours to harden up again, anyway.
    Unfortunately, after three more episodes, my bladder doesn’t give me a choice anymore.
    Since I’m already in the bathroom, I decide that I probably should brush my teeth as well, if only to remove the jank coating on my tongue. I really look at myself in the mirror and frown. My hair’s knotted in its ponytail and microbiome or not, I definitely smell pretty ripe. I vaguely recall the grief counselor my parents made me see before I took off for Portland recommending that I take steps to treat my body well so that my mind could follow. Or something. I turn on the shower and let the water warm.
    After I’m scrubbed clean and have my contacts in, I sit down in front of the vanity in my bedroom to get the knots out of my hair. I let my mind wander while I comb. My eyes are unfocused as I zone out, and if I don’t look directly at the mirror, I could swear the reflection is Iris