Page 216 of The Long Way Home

Fifty-One

BJ

Me and Parks used to take trips all the time.

Not just our drives up and down the Isle but everywhere, things for her “work”, also things for her actual work.

We flew all over. Sometimes the others came, sometimes it was just us. Usually better when it was just us, but sometimes it was worse. Went to Bali once a few years back. One of those rare moments in time where she didn’t have a fake boyfriend. It was just me and her away, just how I like it.

Got into it though. We’d been there a few days — I was drinking, she was drinking — and I don’t know why girls do this sort of shit, but out of the blue she just goes, “How many girls have you been with?”

I pulled back. “What?” Wondered if she was really asking me what I thought she was.

“How many girls have you had sex with?” She lifted her eyebrows and waited for the answer.

“Ever?” I glanced around for an edge to hold on to.

“Well, ever—” She shrugged. “And/or on a weekly basis.”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, felt all jammy inside.

She frowned. “To which part?”

I shook my head, hating it. “Both?”

Her eyes went wide. “You lose track on a weekly basis?”

“Well, no one this week.” I shook my head.

“And why is that?” she asked me even though she knew.

I gave her an exasperated look. “Why do you think?”

We’d get like this — fighting and pulling at threads, picking fights with each other about shitty little things instead of tackling our one real issue.

What are you doing? I blinked.

Drowning, I think she told me.

Then I shook my head at her, looked away. “What do you care?”

“I don’t care!” she told me, lying through her teeth. All spite. “So tell me. What’s your number? Ball park it.” She waved her hand around impatiently. “What’s your ball park!?”

“Why do y—” I frowned at her. “Stop saying ‘ball par—’”

“—Fucking ball park it, Ballentine,” she growled.

“I don’t know!” I yelled, exasperated. “None sometimes.”

“And other times?”

“Two? Three? More maybe, if I drink a bit.” I shrugged quickly, feeling trapped.

“Two or three in a week?” she asked, her voice sounding a bit dazed.

I sniffed. “No, ever.”

And then her face went really still and pinked up a bit like she was embarrassed.

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