Page 26 of Just Friends

“I’m sure the newlyweds would justloveto come spend the weekend with the in-laws.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Fine, then bring Alex.”

“Oh, Hazel, how was the date?” Wren asks.

I scrunch up my nose at the question, knowing Mom is going to pounce on it.

“Date?” she asks, looking between the three of us. Wren flashes me an apologetic look, her green eyes blown wide and her bottom lip captured between her teeth.

Sighing, I say, “I went on a date.”

“WithAlex?” Mom asks, her voice rising at the end. She points at the screen with one long finger. “I knew it!”

“What? No, not with Alex,” I say quickly. “Well, he was there. On another date.”

Mom blinks at me before saying, “I’m confused.”

As I explain the situation, Mom’s face crinkles more and more, until she resembles tissue paper discarded on Christmas morning. “So you’re not dating each other?” Mom asks, looking at me before turning to Stevie and Wren, as if double-checking that this isn’t some elaborate prank.

“No, we’re not dating each other,” I clarify, a heat I can’t explain stealing up my neck and diffusing into my cheeks.

Mom presses her lips together until they form a tight line. “Well, I wish you would. He’s such a good boy.”

Thatis an understatement. Alex is the definition of good. The brother who is constantly going to bat with his parents when their disapproval hangs heavy over his siblings like a weighted blanket. The best friend who relentlessly pulled me from the dark pit I descended into after Sebastian, when I couldn’t trust myself to make sound decisions, when I questioned my own judgment on the most trivial of things, losing myself bit by bit. The man who puts himself last every single time, making the world a brighter, better place for everyone around him.

“He is good,” I agree, feeling my features soften as surely as my heart.

Mom nods vigorously, latching on to my concession and soaking it up like a sponge. “Handsome too.”

Unbidden, that memory of Alex in my car surfaces, the image so crystal clear it’s like I’m right back there, the AC blowing back pieces of my hair, and the rustle of frozen peas melting against his skin. A drop of Alex’s blood staining my shirt, the tang of copper tingeing the air. His laugh a husky thing hanging in the space between us, mending the last bits of my broken heart just like he has every day of the last year. I can picture him perfectly, all the beautiful pieces of him I somehow missed, like gold mixed with silt at the bottom of a murky river, always there, even if it’s never discovered.

“He’s pretty, but he knows it,” I say, even though I’m sure he doesn’t. Alex is a piece of art, lost for generations and waiting to be found.

I’m saved from thinking of another excuse when Mom laughs, loud and long. “The best kinds always do,” she says between gasps, the grooves beside her eyes getting deeper by the second, like a potter is carving them into her flesh.

“Silas doesn’t seem like the type,” Wren says, referring to my dad.

“He may be quiet, but that doesn’t mean he’s not confident,” Mom says with a wink that makes me wish I could melt into the floor.

“I’ve got to go.” The words shoot out of me like a bullet train racing down the track. “I never want to see you wink when talking about my father again, please and thank you.”

“Come to Trail Days,” Mom yells before I can hang up. “And bring Alex.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Mondaynightsaremovienights at either my apartment or Hazel’s. Tonight, it’s at my place, meaning I’m in charge of making a dessert, and Hazel will pick up dinner on the way in. I’m just tossing the brownie box in the recycling and hoping Hazel thinks they’re homemade when she walks through my door, paper bags from our favorite taco shop in her hands.

My feet propel me forward, and I take the bags from her arms. Hazel flashes me a bright smile, the one that looks like sunrise cresting over the horizon and never fails to warm me from the inside out.

“Hey,” she says. “How was your day?”

“Long. I’ve been working with this couple that finds something wrong with every single place I show them, even though they’re wealthy enough to afford any customizations they could want.”

“Oh, so like you,” she says, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“EvenI’mnot that rich,”

Hazel swishes past me, the pieces of her hair falling from her loose braid lifting in the air. “You’re right. You can’t even afford curtains for Mona.”

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