Page 61 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

“Nothing! But this isn’t you. When you’re not off pretending to like the great outdoors, you’re playing house with Adam—who still thinks you’re Sam’s girlfriend, by the way. So it doesn’t matter how much you like him or he likes you, you’ll never get what you want if you’re pretending to be someone else.”

Mara and I never fight, but I can’t help but bite back. “You only recognize me when I’m going along with whatever you want. You have to control every part of my life! I knock on doors for your candidates. I study a hundred years of sports trivia so you can win in a one-sided vendetta against a team that doesn’t care about us.” My words are an erupting volcano, flowing out in a hot rush. “And Chelsea and I don’t even like sports. This isn’t how either of us want to spend a Thursday night—”

“Please don’t involve me in—” Chelsea tries in vain to stop my tirade, gesturing to the waiter for our bill.

“But you steamroll over us.” I don’t pause. “And now we’re sitting under a neon cheese head—yelling at each other—because I’m not doing exactly what you want me to do!”

For a moment, we’re all still. I imagine we could hear a pin drop if not for the basketball game and jock rock. Chelsea’s empty expression settles on the glass in front of her, and Mara doesn’t say anything. I feel the tension pressing down on us like dense ash. My lungs fight for oxygen with each breath.

Mara’s throat bobs as she places a twenty on the table. “I have some work to finish up. Chels, can you drive Al home?”

“Mar,” I say weakly, so much regret woven through that one syllable.

Mara hardens her jaw. “I’m not arguing with you in a fucking Packers bar, Al. That’s a friendship low.” She slips on her black coat, flinging it around herself like protective armor. “We can talk it out this weekend.”

“I’m painting with Adam, and I have to be around for Russell…” I trail off.

“Of course.” Mara snorts. “Don’t worry about it.” She shakes her hair out of her collar, and the clack of her heels breaks through the noise as she makes her exit.

“I’m not wrong, am I?” I look to Chelsea for encouragement, but she’s avoiding my eyes.

“No, but you’re not right either.” She turns toward me with her signature teacher face, both tender and resolute. “She loves you. It was hard for me to watch you go through your mom getting sick and your diagnosis and your surgery, but Mara, she’s a fixer. She hates to feel helpless. There are a million examples of how gracefully you’ve handled everything thrown at you, but we can see you’re still hurting in small ways.”

“Chels, I’m not hurting anymore. I’m healed now, and I’m trying to live my life.”

Her jaw ticks in frustration. “Great. Whose life, though? Because backpacking through mountains with strangers isn’t yours.”

It’s the most combative Chelsea is capable of, and I don’t know how to respond.

She doesn’t make me, asking instead, “Was the kiss good at least?” because I know she’s been waiting to ask about kissing Adam since before Russell showed up and knocked us off course.

A laugh falls out of my throat. “Yeah, it was really, really good.”

“I knew it,” she says, and pops the last cheese curd in her mouth.

•••

When I trudge into my apartment that night, I collapse onto my bed without even removing my coat. Mara’s words whir through my brain on spin cycle.

You’ll never get what you want if you’re pretending to be someone else.

All I wanted was to do my part, move on, and hopefully loosen the knot of guilt braided into my sternum. Why, then, am I so disappointed that this situation is finally coming to an end?

I go still as one thought overtakes all others.

Because when it comes to Adam, I know what I want.

There’s no future for Sam’s Girlfriend and Sam’s Best Friend—sure—but I’m not Sam’s girlfriend, and for the first time I want Adam to know that.

I pull out my phone again and look at the photo of his illuminated workshop. My laugh echoes in my empty apartment the second I spot a full mug of coffee lit under the twinkle lights. How does that boy sleep? Next to the coffee mug is a knotty wood board. Is it my shelf?

10:09 PM

Alison:

Are you asleep?

10:12 PM

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