Page 17 of Never With You
“Oh, I’m sad I missed that.”
“Don’t be.” Blair shakes her head. “I was swamped with work and don’t have anything exciting to report.”
“I know you’ve told us before,” Camila interjects, “but I still don’t have a clue what you do for a living.”
“It’s very top secret,” Blair says with a teasing smirk. “Actually, it’s just IT consulting stuff. Real boring. Lots of offices and airports. By the way”—she looks right at me—“I saw your sister at the airport the other day.”
“Which sister?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “There are, like, twenty of you guys.”
“Ten, actually, including me.”
“Feels like twenty,” Camila says under her breath.
I ignore the jab, even though it grates a little. I blame it on the long week at work. Jokes about my large family usually don’t bother me. Half the time, I’m the one making them. Growing up, I had to. As the oldest of ten kids, I had to control the narrative about my family before it controlled me.
“What did she look like?” Emma asks.
“All your siblings look the same,” Vinny says. “I can’t tell any of your sisters apart.”
Yes, there’s a Catterson look. Blonde hair, golden skin, blue eyes—basically me over and over again. Six girls and four boys spaced apart every two years, starting with me at twenty-six down to my little sister, who’s eight. We’ve been nicknamed the “Scattersons” because people tend to scatter when they see the blonde tornado coming. We’re pure pandemonium.
“She knew who I was, so I think it was the sister just below us in school,” Blair says.
“Claire,” I guess. “That makes sense if you saw her in an airport. Claire travels a lot for her job.”
“She was nice. Told me to tell you hello since she never sees you.”
Despite living only thirty-five minutes away from my family, I rarely go home.
“Well, we’re both so busy.” My token excuse whenever this subject is brought up. I glance around the restaurant as a way to change the subject. “Has anyone seen the waiter yet?”
“He came by to get our drink orders, but we haven’t heard from him since.” Juliet smiles at me. “But now that you’re here, you can complain so we can get better service.”
Yes, I care that the waiter is MIA. It’s literally his job to check in on us. But part of beingchillis not caring and definitely not aggressively controlling the situation.
I shrug, feigning indifference. “Oh, I don’t care. I was just asking for Camila. I don’t want your blood sugar to get too low.”
“Nice try, Carly.” Camila laughs as she takes a sip of water. “You can’t blame this on my type one diabetes. We all know you’re secretly dying inside.”
Unfortunately, I’ve been friends with these ladies long enough that they know the real me. They know me to be opinionated about everything, to be the first to raise my hand to answer a question in class, to clean our entire dorm room when no one else cared, to plan every detail when we travel together, to make Uber reservations after parties, to be the driver whenever we go places, to read the map when we’re lost, to basically be the self-imposed leader of our friend group for the last twenty years.
I didn’t think my natural inclination to be in charge of everything was that big of a turnoff until Isaac pointed it out. His exact words were, “Your personality is too strong. You suck the fun out of everything.” Before that, I thought my assertiveness was a strength. But in one tragic moment, Isaac dumped me and pulled off the blinders. Instantly, I became more self-aware and self-conscious than I’ve ever been.
It’s not like I didn’t know I had a strong personality, but I guess I thought it was endearing or appreciated, like Emma’s sweetness, Camila’s confidence, or Blair’s aggressiveness. But I was wrong. So, the last nine months since the breakup have been about softening my rough edges. Honestly, I don’t even think it’s working.
I shrug again because that seems like the appropriate thing to do if you don’t care about waiters who don’t come check on you. I even add a whimsical smile. “I’m only dying inside because I’m hungry. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss ordering, but I’m good to wait. I’m sure he’ll be around soon.” I turn to Emma as a way to deflect. “How did your date with the new teacher at your school go?”
“Oh, he was a nice guy.” She glances quickly at Vinny before dropping her eyes. It’s widely known among Camila, Blair, and me that Emma has an undying crush on Juliet’s boyfriend. Technically, Vinny was Emma’s boyfriend first before he was ever Juliet’s, but that was back in ninth grade. Juliet has had him in a chokehold ever since. “The date was fun, but I don’t think we’ll go out again.”
“You don’t like nice guys?” There’s a glint in Vinny’s eyes that borders flirting.
“I do. I just…” Emma’s words trail off.
Poor girl. She can’t say, ‘Actually,Vinny, I like nice guys like you.’
“I think it’s best that you don’t go out again.” I come to Emma’s rescue. “You know I have a strong don’t-get-involved-with-someone-at-work policy after everything that happened with Isaac.”
