“Is that who your friends are—soccer friends?”
“Basically. What about you?” He moves his knee, knocking it against mine. Until this moment, I didn’t fully realize how close we were, but Mac moved his chair close enough that it’s almost easier to reach out and touch him than it is to keep my hands to myself.
“Yeah, all my friends are soccer friends,” I say.
Mac throws his head back and laughs a big, booming laugh. It’s not that funny, but I have a feeling this isn’t his first drink. And anyway, it makes my chest feel fuzzy to see him laugh like that at something I said, knowing it’s not at my expense.
“No, um…just Jade, really. I’ve never really had a ton of friends.”
I struggled with friendships at school. I’d go to my friends’ houses and see all the things they had and realize how little I had. By the time I got to middle school, I stopped inviting friends over to my house, and I said no to a lot of social events because I didn’t have much extra cash. Jade is the first friend I’ve kept for more than a few months, and she never lets a day go by without reminding me we’re not allowed to stop being friends, because if I leave her she’ll kill me.
I check my phone to see if she’s texted me. She hasn’t, and I’m guessing she had no luck with Sexy Shakespeare either. I take a sip of my beer and try to ignore the rising disappointment, but it’s heavy in my chest. I peer over my cup at Mac and notice his leg is still resting against mine.
“And boyfriends?” Mac asks and drains his cup. He sets it on the floor and then leans on the arm of his chair, his eyes focused intently on me as if I’m the only other person in this room, maybe even the whole house. The way he can make everything I’m worried about just fade into the background when he looks at me should be alarming, but it’s not. With Mac there’s just fun and laughter, and things don’t feel so serious. He’s magnanimous. His presence takes up so much space that I have nothing left for stupid boys who kiss me and disappear.
“Just one in high school and one my freshman year of college.”
“Anyone serious?”
“Can you really be serious with anyone in high school? Or freshman year. The guy I dated my first semester was a big partier. I tried to keep up but almost lost my scholarship. I wasn’t used to balancing a boyfriend and going out every weekend, and college turned out to be a lot harder than high school. The adjustment was hard, and having a boyfriend who didn’t care about his grades made it harder.”
“You dumped his ass though, yeah?”
“Yeah, I almost lost my scholarship. Scared me straight.” I make a noise between a laugh and a huff. Staring into my empty cup, a big part of me kicks and squirms because admitting when things are hard for me to anyone, but especially to him, is uncomfortable.
“You were too good for that loser,” Mac says, his truth in humor a soothing balm to my fear.
I flick my eyes up to his, a small smile my only response.
“Another beer?” Mac offers, pointing to my cup. I nod, and he saunters off to get us a couple more drinks.
I scroll through my phone in his absence, checking my texts, social media, and my email—which is mostly junk—but there’s something from my mom. A PDF of her most recent loan payment and statement. I scan it quickly, noting her payment and how much it covered of the principal balance and interest. Her payment is barely making a dent. She’s still got over $70,000 left to pay on the loan. My head spins a little and I close the email, setting my phone on the table and holding my face in my hands.
I’m rubbing my temples when I feel a tap on my hand.
“You okay?” Mac asks. He hands me my beer and sits down in almost the exact same place as before, knee against mine. It’s just his knee, but my whole body is on as if his touch is a light switch and every light in the house just illuminated, every appliance running.
“I guess. I just…” How much do I really want to share with him? “Found out that my mom has been keeping something from me. It’s not bad, but it’s not great either. It’s just, like, she should have told me years ago. She waited so long, and it’s like I don’t actually care about the news, I care that she lied.”
Mac doesn’t say anything, but his face is empathetic. It spurs me on. I pushed all this frustration down earlier, and now that I’ve cracked the lid I don’t think I can stop.
“I’m just, like, what is wrong with brutal honesty? Trying to protect someone from hurting them or whatever is like saying you don’t trust them to be able to handle whatever the truth is. And that’s shitty. Like, my mom didn’t trust me to know the whole story? And then it’s like, this guy, the Shakespeare guy from Halloween. I’ve been searching for him but, at this point, if I found out who he was, I’d be like, fuck you for waiting so long. Like you gave me a fake name and then didn’t even— Ugh. I’m sorry. You don’t need my angry ranting.”
Now that it’s out I feel about a thousand pounds lighter. I always forget how good it feels just to get something off my chest. I feel about half as angry as I did earlier today, and all because I let out a little steam.
“Jessie, that’s…I’m really sorry,” Mac says, but he looks uncomfortable.
“Honestly, it’s okay. I just needed to rant. Sorry to be a Debbie Downer.” I chug about half my beer. Now that I feel lighter, less frustrated, I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to give him any room to either. “What were we talking about before? Dating in college?”
“Yeah, and I thought about this.” He picks up the conversation quickly. “I’m not sure I agree. I think dating in college could be worth it. For the right person. Who was the guy you dated?”
I appreciate his swift pivot. Mac is good for that, keeping things light.
“Brian O’Toole.”
Mac shakes his head. “Don’t know him.”
“He pledged Kappa Tau. He’s always with those guys.”
