She looks at me for a second, unsure.
This is killing me. Mason’s assertion that I pit myself against the world is ringing in my ears. I can feel the cold draft between Asha and me, our intimate friendship frayed with estrangement at the edges, and I know that I am the perpetrator. That my fear of being judged and rejected has become a self-fulfilling prophecy, so I’ve been pushing away before I get pushed. “Please, Asha. Accept my apology. I promise I’ll make it worth it, ’cause I’m going to spill all my guts out about every stupid thing I’ve thought or done in the last month. I’ll overshare so hard you’ll wish I’d shut up already.”
She smiles a little then and holds her hands up. “All right, all right, you’re forgiven. Jeez.”
“Okay, good, because I want to hear all about you, too. Let’s start with this new boy—”
“Hold on. You’re not the only one who needs to apologize.”
“Nope. Not necessary.”
“Yes it the fuck is.” Asha takes a deep breath. “I was way harsh the other night, and I’m really sorry. And I shouldn’t have said that shit about you and Mason. That was beyond rude. It’s just—well, you know how you two were.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I knew that there was something between you. A bond. Separate from the rest of us. And I swear, it never really bothered me. Like, at all. I wasn’t envious of it until after hedied. Now that he’s gone, though, everything feels like a missed opportunity. And you … you always got him. Knew him better.”
I did? I never for a nanosecond thought Asha would be envious of me for any reason, much less for something that I didn’t even realize I had. But if I did in fact have some sort of special status with Mason, maybe that’s the source of the pain porridge I’m currently stewing in. But what’s hitting me most right now is how uncertain she looks, how vulnerable and human andlike me, and I just want to bear-hug her until it hurts. So I do.
“I love you, lady,” I say into her hair. “I’m here for you, too, okay? I don’t want you to just be there for me. It should go both ways.”
“Okay,” she says, hugging me back. Then she untangles herself from my grip. “Now let me go before you make me cry. Jesus, you’re a harder hugger than Lincoln.”
“Ah yes, the boy who looks like he wrestles bears in his free time. Spill. I’m assuming he’s the practice date.” We begin walking toward the stairs. She smiles, her eyes lighting up.
“We’re doing a bit more than practice dates now. And he’s helplessly in love with me,” she says as she pushes open the fire door to the stairwell. We let it close behind us and then sit on the wide windowsill that borders the landing, pulling our knees up to our chests so there’s room for both of us.
“Of course he is. How did this start? Why does he look like he’s about thirty-five? And what the hell got you thrown into Better Bets class?”
“I might ask you the same question.”
“I asked you first.”
She untucks the lock of hair he straightened and rolls it gently between her fingers like she’s trying to pick up any hint of him that was left there. “About three weeks ago up at the college, most likely testosterone levels, destruction of property.”
Whoa, too much information. Or not enough. Or in the wrong order. “Wait, at the college? I thought he went here. Exactly how old is this hairy man?”
“Relax, he’s a senior here. You remember when we had that pupil-free day? I think you were on the ski trip.”
“Yes, of course.” The ski trip I didn’t tell you about. Where a lot of other shit happened that I didn’t tell you about. Because I’m a big old shame bunny.
“Yeah, so my paranoid parents didn’t want me home alone all day—I swear my mom is afraid some pedophile is going to jump right out of my computer monitor if she’s not in the next room.”
“Ugh.”
“So whatever, they took me with them to the college, there was an exhibit at the gallery they thought I’d like. After I went through the exhibit I stopped at an animal rights rally happening on the quad, got some material about slaughterhouses. And Lincoln was there. He’d driven there specifically for the rally. He’s a vegetarian, too, so we have that in common. Actually, he’s a vegan. He’s been trying to convert me, but no mac and cheese? I might have to see him naked first.”
The fact that she’s talking about a boy having the potential to influence any of her decisions surprises me. Asha always talksabout boys like they’re one step above zombies—largely brain-dead but a possible threat if you don’t keep the upper hand.
“Sounds like that ‘helplessly in love’ thing might be a smidge mutual,” I say.
“So far so good, I guess,” she says. “What about you? I got the distinct impression there was trouble in paradise.”
“Turns out he was not such a great guy.”
“Oh, that sucks, Hatts. I was afraid of that.”
“What tipped you off?”
