Page 135 of Jesse's Girl

Some best friend.

“You have every right to feel that way. I totally understa?—”

He cuts me off. “Dude. It was a joke.”

I exhale with what should be relief, but all I feel is helpless.

“Jess, I talked with Renee and she helped me… calm down about things.”

“Yeah?” I scrub a hand down my cheek.

“Yeah.”

There’s another long silence and he doesn’t elaborate—which is saying something. Marcus is a Russo through and through; he doesn’t usually stay tight-lipped. Oh, God. I wish he’d just punched me in the face.

“So, are we cool?” I bite my lip as the dead air hangs.

“We will be,” he says, sounding resigned. “I’m still not happy about it, but I can get over myself.”

“Okay,” I say, still uneasy. In reality, nothing about this is okay.

“I mean, if you’re leaving next week, I still wanna hang out with you before you go. So let’s just try to forget all this.”

I wish I could forget—wish I could erase this ache in my chest. “You’ll have to make sure to get me drunk at Kai’s wedding, ’cause I’m gonna need it. Naomi’s apparently gonna be there too.”

He makes an oof sound. “Well, better to go out with a bang than a whimper.”

I laugh and start walking again. “Interesting choice of words.”

“Ah, fuck, just… don’t bang anyone else.”

I smile despite the weight pressing down on my chest. “You got it.”

I’m already fighting with the damn air mattress setup not five minutes in. Two single airbeds—wedged between Mom’s TV stand and the coffee table, with a queen-size fitted sheet failing to hold them together—have about as much structural integrity under a man my size as a Riverside Deli sub. My feet hang over the edge by several inches. I thrash and wrestle with the covers, trying to put most of my weight on one side so I don’t fall into the Pit of Despair. Still, the cavern underneath me gradually widens as the coffee table inches toward the sofa. Defeated, I sit up.

“Maybe you should try the couch?” Mom suggests softly from the doorway, dressed in her pajamas. We both eye the loveseat with matching skepticism.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you up.” I sigh and gesture in resignation to the pathetic excuse for a bed. Mom had bought the airbeds for Sam and Hazel to use when sleeping over. So, when I called her asking for a place to crash, she was cautiously optimistic we could work something out for a few days. Too optimistic.

Maybe staying here was the wrong move. But I can’t face the prospect of dodging Ada for the next week, and I don’t have the balls to ask Marcus for another turn on the trash couch. I’d gone back to the apartment to pack up my things, but seeing Ada for even that short time was painful. I could tell she’d been crying.

Mom perches tentatively beside me on one of the airbeds. Even in the dark and without her glasses on, she looks so much healthier than when I first arrived. “Hey, kiddo, I know your last few days here aren’t exactly working out as planned…”

I grunt a soft sound of agreement, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “That’s putting it lightly.”

Mom rubs my back. “But it’s been wonderful having you home.”

I turn toward her, attempting a smile. “Yeah?”

“You know, I didn’t handle things well when your dad and I were going through all that mess with the divorce.”

“Ah, you did your best,” I say, trying to reassure her. “It was awful. I know.”

“It was.” She takes a breath, rubbing her hands over her thighs. “But I should have been there for you. Claire, too, but you especially. You were barely out of school. I’m sorry for letting my personal problems take me away from what really matters.”

“Mom, you don’t need to?—”

“No, I do.” Her tone is unyielding. “You deserved better. And it’s been my biggest regret that we lost touch when you moved away. I missed you.”

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