Page 112 of When Ben Loved Jace
And yet, part of me wouldn’t mind one more week here. With so much to do, I’ve barely been at the duplex lately. Allison and I didn’t really have time to celebrate what we’ll surely think back on as the end of an era. Just me and my best friend, bumbling through life together. We’ve had some good times. My heart is heavy as I glance around a bedroom that already looks bare. I’m tempted to reopen a few cardboard boxes to let some of that magic out again.
“Look what I found!” Allison says, barging into the room carrying something flat and unwieldy.
“Oh god!” I say when recognizing the painting Tim gave me for my birthday a million years ago. After we moved to the duplex, I asked her to put it somewhere safe, unwilling to hang it up again but also unable to throw it away.
She cackles at my expression. “I found it in the back of my closet.”
“Very appropriate. Feel free to keep it as a house-warming present.”
“You meanapartment-warming present,” she corrects with a pouty expression.
“You could always move into Jace’s trailer,” I suggest, only half-kidding.
“Pass. On both offers.” She leans the painting against a stack of boxes. “I’d ask if you plan on keeping that, but I know you too well.”
“I can’t hang it up at the new place,” I say with a grimace.
She raises her eyebrows. “So you want me to throw it away?”
I nibble my bottom lip before my shoulders slump. “No.”
Allison laughs. “I’m gonna miss toying with you every day. C’mon. I found something that will make up for my abusive behavior.”
I follow her to the kitchen, where a half a bottle of whiskey sits on the table. “This was way at the back of a cabinet,” she says. “Don’t ask me why.”
I don’t need to. She’s gotten into the habit of hiding booze, so it’s harder to tell how much she’s been drinking. I’m surprised when she takes two glasses out of a cardboard box and the ice cube tray out of the freezer.
“We’re not going to drink thatnow,” I say in shock.
Allison shrugs. “Seems an appropriate way to end things. I’m pretty much done packing. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, but it’s eleven in the morning.”
This doesn’t dissuade her. With the lightning-fast reflexes of a bartender, she fills two glasses with ice and whiskey. “Live a little,” she says when handing one to me. “Besides, I don’t want my dad to be tempted when he helps us move tomorrow.”
“It’s not him I’m worried about!”
She narrows her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you haven’t slowed down since college. If anything, you drink more.”
“Ben… Do you really want the last memory we make here to be an argument?”
I shake my head. “I’d rather it be a heart-to-heart. I’ve been worried about you for a while now.” Especially as moving day neared. Soon she’ll be living on her own and won’t have to worry about accountability.
“Fine.” Allison sets the glass on the table with a thunk. “I honestly didn’t think it would be a big deal to have a drink together. Yes, it’s early, but when’s the next time we’ll get to do something crazy like this? I thought we could get a little buzzed and reminisce, or whatever.”
“I don’t need to drink to do that,” I say, setting down my own glass. “Do you?”
“Of course not! Oh my god, I donothave a problem.”
I hold my tongue, wanting us to part on good terms, but Iwon’t agree with her just to smooth things over. My silence does enough of the talking, as it turns out.
“Yes, I drink every night,” she admits. “That isn’t so unusual. And when your job is to listen to other people’s problems all day long, I feel completely justified in taking the edge off, if only to maintain my own sanity. I really don’t need your judgement.”
“That’s how your dad used to refer to it,” I say.
“What?”
