Page 37 of We Can't Be Friends

When did I open this?

I’m not much of a drinker. I enjoy a good glass of wine and a wild night here and there.

After the accident, drinking makes me anxious. An alarm for my anxiety, asking it to wake up.

It takes some elbow grease to loosen the resealable cork top.POP. That’s reassuring. Maybe the bottle isn’t wholly skunked yet.

I pull out two stemless glasses. One has a photo of Scooby-Doo that says,‘Ruh roh, I’m empty’. The other says,‘To be used while reading.’I picked that one out for Emerson.

She’s the reader between the two of us. She’ll recommend a spicy book here and there to me, but I’ve never felt the need to sit down for countless hours with my nose between pages of made-up people.

“I didn’t taste it. If it’s not good, blame my lack of grocery shopping in two weeks.” Or ever. Thank goodness for food delivery services.

Emerson sips on the wine. Coughs a little. “It’s—It’ll do.” She sets the glass on the side table and swivels to face me. “Can we talk about earlier? When you spaced out. Seth?”

A dam opens up, and I tell her everything. Rewinding, before hitting play and pausing on each hiccup, catching us up to Seth cheating. She knew about that. Video chatted her and screen recorded her reaction. Did the same with Natalie, then Adler, my childhood best friend. They were funny to watch back, pretty telling that no one liked him. Sort of bugged me that no one said anything except Cal—took him one interaction to see Seth’s true colors.

Anyways. . . they all asked the same question: Are you okay? And I had the same answer: I’m fine.

I wasn’t fine. Whoever says they are fine and means it?

What I told Cal wasn’t a lie, but I am human, and I still hurt. That night, I wept. Held onto Tucker’s paw, stroking his underbelly with my other hand, and cried.

If Aaron saw me now, what would he think?

I cried for myself and this life I had created. The beautifully crafted mask that I wear day after day. Chloe is fine, no one needsto worry about her. The girl with a bite, protecting and taking care of everyone else.

But who was taking care of me?

“I think I’m giving up men,” I relent, laying myself into her lap.

Emerson’s wheels are turning as she looks down at me. “Okay. Are we talking completely or dating or—”

“Completely.” I exhale. “Men suck, and I need to get back to the whole ‘I’m a strong independent woman; I don’t need no man.’”

Truth with a side of I need to go back to therapy; your order’s up.

There’s a silent chuckle coming from Emerson. She thinks I’m joking.

“I mean it.” I flick her nose. “I’m swearing off men.”

“You know that means sex, right?”

“Once again, I am a strong, independent woman who can pleasure herself. I don’t need no man.”

Emerson finishes off the glass of wine with a sour swallow and coughs. “That was terrible.” She puts the glass on the table. “Does that mean you told Cal no?”

Immediately the other night, I texted her about Cal’s proposition. I know he’s not as much of a talker as me, but geez, could have used a little explanation there.

“I haven’t answered yet.”

“What would be wrong with pretending to be his girlfriend? It would be a couple of pictures. It’s not like you are going to have to meet his family.”

“What if I meet someone else? Want to have sex, or I don’t know, realize that Cal is exactly like everyone else.”

“Thought we were giving up sex?” She parrots back my earlier statement which we both know had no backbone to it.

I roll my eyes, fingers moving around the undrunk glass.

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