Page 22 of Like It's 1999

She’s sobbing again. Worse, I really don’t like the images popping into my head of Alice—zest for life, carefree Alice—being shackled to a cancer doctor. It’s just wrong. Wasn’t she saying at the wedding that she didn’t want to get married for years? If ever?

Secretly—like, way deep inside my head—wasn’t I starting to picture the exact same thing Kate was? Double dates and all?

I can’t think about that now, though. Alice is taken. Kate’s a mess. So I do what I’m good at. I become the only kind of friend I know how to be—the only kind you can be when you’re always the new kid—I push the mess of feelings I’m having to the side, and do my best to make Kate feel better.

A couple months later, I greet Kate at my apartment door.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me too,” she mutters as she crosses the threshold. Continuing into the living room, she trails a hand along the back of my black leather couch and surveys the packing materials gathered on the glass-topped coffee table. “I also can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

“Well, it is a bachelor pad. The only things that happen here are things a guy doesn’t do with a friend a girl who’s a friend.”

“Yep.” She takes off her coat. “Got it.”

As I hang it up, I thank her for coming over to help me pack. “This all happened so quick; I’m kind of behind.”

“I love packing boxes, especially when it’s not my stuff.”

“Do you want anything to drink while we work since I’m taking up your Friday evening?”

“I’d just be sitting at home watching bad TV or working. Will has a show, and I’ve seen it already.”

“You don’t go to every single one?”

She laughs. “I’m his wife, not his groupie.”

“I thought only Ben had those.” One of Will’s actor friends became a famous model before he moved back to Boston, so he has quite the avid fan base.

“Ever since that movie he was in with Diane Keaton came out, people recognize him more. But it’s not the same as having your body plastered on every bus stop.” She claps her hands. “Anyway, I’ll have a beer so I can cry into it.” She pouts. “I guess I’ll have to find some new friends.”

I keep my tone casual as I uncap a Sam Adams for her. “Any word from Alice?”

“Just a note apologizing for not inviting me to the wedding. It’s family-only since her mom is still doing chemo.”

“Did you help her pack up her place too?”

She shakes her head. “Some company did it. I just wish I knew more. I feel like she’s been kidnapped or something.”

“Families can be complicated.”

She clinks bottles with me. “I’ll drink to that.” She spins on the barstool to take in the living room. “Do you trust me with the albums, or should I tackle the books?” Catching my eye, she holds up a hand. “I don’t even know why I asked. I’ll do the books.”

Kate approaches packing boxes the way she does everything—with an efficiency and level of organization that any army general would be proud of. In just an hour she’s got all my books and all my CDs packed—all the while giving me shit for having so many duplicates. The woman doesn’t get the difference between the formats. You listen to albums at home, CDs in the car, duh. When she moves on to my videotapes, she asks why I buy them when I could rent them at Blockbuster.

“Because I watch them multiple times.”

She shakes her head as she tucks one after the other into a box. “Alice was the same way.”

“Jeez, she’s just in Atlanta. She’s not dead.”

“You’re right. I should be happy for her. I guess.”

I’m packing clothes when she appears in my bedroom doorway half an hour later, a piece of paper in her hand. “Look what I found.”

Elbow deep in a box of coats, wondering if I’ll ever need them in California, I ask, “What?”

“My wedding program.”

Her tone makes it clear that she’s read what Alice wrote. “Heh-heh. Busted.”

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