Page 55 of Night Shift

I can’t tell if I’m thankful that we’ll all have time away from one another or if I’m dreading the possibility that our standoff could trickle over into next week.

I feel sick. I can’t eat.

Because now, I’m able to admit to myself in the quietest of internal monologues, I know I have three people I have to apologize to.

Thursday evening, I curl up on the living room couch with my (horrible, boring, overrated) anthology of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Nina’s at the kitchen counter with a history textbook. Harper is in her room, the door wide open as she packs her bag for her trip. We’re still not talking, and it’s tense, but we’ve all made the decision to be in one another’s space. It’s a little passive-aggressive. It’s also a clear sign that we’re all desperate to make a point, to be seen and heard, and to settle things.

I know I should be the one to apologize first.

But Harper, of all people, is the one who cracks.

“You guys,” she announces from her bedroom doorway, her voice small and tired and a little bit furious, “I’m really tired of this.”

And then her face scrunches up, and the tears come.

Nina and I freeze, then lurch into action. I pop up off the couch, my Shakespeare tumbling to the floor (where it belongs), and hurry across the living room as Nina leaps up from her stool and throws her arms around Harper’s shaking shoulders.

“I’m tired of this strong Black woman shit,” she croaks into Nina’s armpit.

My stomach sinks like a rock. Maybe I’ve made Nina into my whore best friend, playing right into the stereotype of the sexually liberated bisexual Latina, but I’ve done worse with Harper. I’ve made her the cynical, strong, hardworking friend, and I’ve ignored that she too had everything blow up in her face at the party.

“Fuck,” I say, surprised to find myself crying too. “I’m sorry—oh, God, these are white woman tears—”

Harper laughs. I know it’s not for my sake, because it’s her worst laugh. The one that’s half cackle and half scream. It’s a little waterlogged and sadder than usual, but the sound of it is still a comfort. Nina releases Harper, and I dart forward to help wipe her tears with the sleeve of my oversized cardigan.

“Listen, I am a bad bitch,” Harper says, sniffling. “I like being a bad bitch. But just once, I’d like everyone to go soft on me.” She sits down on the stool Nina has vacated and slumps over the counter a little. When she speaks again, it’s quiet. “That’s why I liked Jabari. He was so over-the-top, and so goofy, and I make fun of simps, but fuck. It was so nice to be treated like that.”

Nina winces. “I’m sorry I was selfish this week. You deserved some support.” She glances at me and winces again. “Both of you. You needed a friend, and I let you guys down. I’m sorry about what I said to you, Kendall. I mean, I stand by some of it—”

“Stop,” I interrupt, wincing hard. “Please, Nina. You should stand by all of it, okay? You were right. I’m sorry I got so defensive. And I’m sorry I made you feel like the slutty best friend—”

“The whore best friend. Please, Kendall. Respect my title.”

It’s my turn to ugly laugh. “I’m sorry I made you feel like a supporting character. And you too, Harper—I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like you’re an archetype.”

“I don’t actually know what that is,” Harper says, “but apology accepted.”

Nina cups my face in her hands. “I love that you think in stories, Kendall. I do. It’s beautiful, and romantic, and deeply entertaining. But sometimes, when I crack a dirty joke, I wish you wouldn’t sigh and act like you’re not thinking the same thing. Because I’ve read some of the books you read, girl. They’re filthy.”

I laugh, but my cheeks get hot.

Nina takes my face and forces me to meet her eyes. “You’re allowed to be horny, and you’re allowed to be sensitive and nervous and all the other things you are. You don’t have to be an archetype either. You can change. You can be whatever you want to be.”

I swallow hard. It’s impossible to laugh this one off.

“I just don’t want to feel stupid,” I admit.

Harper clears her throat. “You know that I believe, above all other universal truths, that men are garbage,” she says. “And I think Nina and I will both respect it if you tell us that you don’t think Vincent is a good guy. If that’s the case, then it’s over. Done. No questions asked.”

“Oh, one hundred percent,” Nina adds. “But, with all the love and support in the world, I really don’t think Vincent is the bad guy here. I don’t get those vibes.”

I swallow hard. “I know.”

“Except the hair, maybe. It’s very sexy villain of him. And while we’re on the subject of golden retriever boys with nice hair . . .” Nina turns to Harper. “Jabari Henderson was utterly whipped for you. I know I said men are garbage, and I stand by that. But I simply refuse to believe he could switch up on you that fast.”

Harper folds her arms across her chest.

“I’m not chasing after a boy,” she says on a sniffle.

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