Dr. Walsh is talking again. “So that brings us to another point we need to discuss. If you two… like each other in that way…” He pauses, looks straight at me, his expression a tangled mix of regret and suspicion. He’s not the type to threaten me, but I’ve also never seen that glint of protectiveness in his eyes before.
“We don’t,” Farren snaps. “Or at least I know with certainty, I don’t.”
“You have nothing to worry about on that front.” I try my hardest to mimic Colm’s tone when talking about girls. That cool confidence that sounds like a scoff lies under each word. “I’m not interested, and Farren flat out hates me,” I add for good measure.
“Hates you?” Mrs. Walsh questions, surprise making her voice loud. “Farren?”
I realize my mistake too late. To the Walshes, hate is a negative thing, not classist bullshit that permeates the prejudice in my family. The Walshes don’t hate. They are too kind and understanding for such ugly emotions.
Farren springs to her feet. “Can you blame me? He’s a Murphy. Until liketen hours ago he thought we were beneath him. He’s judgmental. He’s arrogant. He’s callous. And he forced himself here and learned our secrets just because he could. He’s endangered us all. Of course I hate him.” She storms from the room, followed with heavy stomps up the stairs.
She’s genius. When the door slams, it’s the perfect end to our first trial of convincing people we hate one another. Then I spot Farren’s parents, both aghast. Dr. Walsh turns a sympathetic look my way, and my entire face and neck heat. Maybe that wasn’t her pretending. Her words, echoing in the sudden silence, seem to ring too true. The knot in my stomach, the one that tightens every time Farren’s rejected me, twines itself into a strangling beast. If that was acting, she’s better than I could have imagined.
“What is with that girl?” Mrs. Walsh huffs in disbelief. They aren’t used to the Farren who hides herself. She’s never shown them the toll it takes to keep this secret safe. Which only further points to that scene holding truth. I know she feels more negative things than she lets on, so it makes sense that I might have finally heard what Farren Walsh really thinks of me. Judgmental. Arrogant. Callous. All adjectives I’ve thought of my father many times.
“She doesn’t mean that,” Mrs. Walsh says, as if to reassure herself. She glances at us before announcing, “I’m going to talk to her.”
Dr. Walsh looks embarrassed when the quiet stretches in their absence.
“I’m glad to hear we don’t need to be concerned because—” Dr. Walsh focuses solely on me. “Farren has heard this many times, but our best advantage is to pretend she and I are still only copper-crafters. You two as anything more than friends and your parents are going to get involved. I know how much they value—”
“Class distinctions. I know.”
He sighs. “When Farren was born, the open marriage laws were still new. Erin and I both said we would let Farren date and one day marry whoever she wanted. But now we find ourselves in different circumstances. I hate to say it, but your parents’ rule is one I need to ask both of you to follow.” He continues when I open my mouth. “I know. I heard you. You don’t like each other like that. I just wanted to say my piece.”
Okay. That’s okay. I can follow the same rule. It’s not like I had a chance, I tell my aching heart. Besides, I need to ask a more urgent question.
“I shouldn’t have forced my internship here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the trouble I have put you through.” The next question comes out weak. “But may I stay?”
Dr. Walsh rubs his forehead. Any hope I harbored flutters like a fire striving to stay lit. “That was never in question, James,” Dr. Walsh says. “We’ve appreciated everything you’ve done. Helping Farren with Nity’s eggs more than makes up for any trouble. In fact, I could see you being an extraordinary veterinarian if that is ever something you decide to pursue.”
Emotion bunches in my throat. I’ve barely told anyone my dreams, let alone heard them validated.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
A second after the happiness something akin to grief seeps in. I’m closer than ever to the Revers scholarship, becoming a vet, and buying Hort off my father. But there’s one part of the daydream I’ll never achieve. After last night I thought Farren and I had grown closer. I had begun to hope we could maybe—just maybe—be more one day. But I’ve asked her to pretend to hate me, and the truth is, I don’t think she will even have to pretend.
CHAPTER TWENTYWHEN YOU RECEIVE AN ANATOMY LESSON
JAMES
The sun blazes bright the next morning in sharp contrast to how I’m feeling. Farren’s contempt for me has settled in like never before, and for once I can’t shake how bleak my future appears. Maybe not always under the thumb of my father, but under the thumb of society upholding the shiny vision of a silver-crafter—never letting anything mar their reputation, their metal.
For the past decade I’ve woken early and trained. My body refuses to break routine. Today though I push myself until my thoughts run dry. After lifting metal for hours, I jog up the stairs to the loft only to find Farren knocking at my door. She turns at my approach.
When she faces me though, I freeze. She’s pinned half her hair back with a blue ribbon to match her dress and there’s all these front pieces too short to stay tied back. I want to tuck those strands behind her ear for her.
“I see you’re still waking up ungodly early,” Farren breaks the silence before her eyes sweep over me. “Did you just work out?” As she questions me in disbelief, she adjusts three books tucked in her arms.
“Don’t pretend I’m the weird one. That makes more sense than studyingat six in the morning.” I try to get past her. I don’t know where we stand. After her spiel of all my faults I spent the rest of yesterday alone and thinking. A bad combination, but it occurred to me I never needed to ask to pretend to hate one another. Farren just had to continue to be Farren. It’s me who has to hide every ounce of affection I’ve gathered over the years. I clench my hands as I pass her, turning my body sideways so even her books won’t brush me.
As I open the door, I intend to ask Farren why she’s here. I don’t get the chance. She follows me inside like we’ve done this a thousand times before, almost like she lives here too, with me.
Like normal, I don’t know exactly what to say, so no words come but a questioning “Um?”
“I have your clothes.” Farren thrusts out a bag I didn’t notice she was carrying. “Cleaned your sweater.”
“Oh.” Is that all this is? A part of me wants to tell her to keep it. “I have your clothes too.” I go into the bathroom and fold her dress I’d hung to dry.