Josh’s snort cuts me off, drawling as he does. “A man can drink a few beers after breaking his back all day.”
I step back, wounded, and again, and as if to punctuate his words, Josh drains the beer and glares at me while he saunters to the fridge, grabs another, and pops it open. I want to call him on his behavior, but, honestly, I think I only have the bandwidth to deal with my shit tonight.
He heads back to the couch, his feet shuffling against the floor as if emphasizing how tired he is. As if his exhaustion is my fault and I’m begrudging him his rest. Trying not to internalize that, I stare at the still full sink and pick up the sponge.
A part of me would love to leave them until morning, but I know I’d come in to make coffee and find an empty sink.
Because Zach.
The guy can’t stand to see a job left undone. Or not done perfectly. And I can’t stand to feel like I owe him.
Besides, I don’t need to give him any more reason to resent me.
I’ve been wondering lately if he blames me.
For how Josh has changed.
Zach has made it clear more than once that Josh isn’t the same person he was when they were at LSU. I want to tell him that he isn’t the same person he was when I met him either. That he didn’t struggle the way he does now.
Or at least I didn’t see it back then.
But I can’t bring myself to say it. For a few reasons.
I don’t want to betray Josh that way. By talking about him to his best friend? My loyalty is to Josh, not Zach. But I’d be lying if I said Zach doesn’t make me feel defensive. He does. If I tell him that this isn’t the Josh I fell in love with—that he changed a lot during the last two years—would that only cement Zach’s opinion that I’m the one to blame?
Is that even his opinion? Am I just projecting? DoIfeel like it’s my fault? Or partially my fault?
And then there’s the part of me that says,Fuck him.Yeah, Zach moved to Boston for law school and then stayed. But that doesn’t mean you check out. That doesn’t mean you drop out of your best friend’s life.
If he thinks Josh has changed so much, where was he in the meantime?
What kind of friend is that?
I know we couldn’t have done this without him—not financially, not physically, and, okay, I’m willing to admit it—not organizationally. Zach is a perfectionist who performs. But I wonder if Zach thinks that he and Josh could have done this withoutme.
Like they’d be better off.
I shake off that thought and soap up my coffee mug with extra vigor. Zach is always around. I don’t need to give him extra headspace when he’s not even here right now.
I let out a sigh. I don’tlovedoing dishes, but there’s still something therapeutic about the hot water and the way an empty sink gleams when you’re finished.
Drying my hands, I chance a look back at Josh. He’s still nursing his fifth beer and looking at his phone.
I know Josh. He’s blaming himself for snapping at me. Twice. And he needs me to be the one to let him know I’m not upset.
I mean, Iamupset. But it’s not a lost cause. The night still can be salvaged.
Quietly, I cross the lodge to the last window I sanded. My Bluetooth speaker is sitting on the floor where I left it, and I squat down and turn it on. Standing, I open Spotify, searching for just the right mood.
Otis Redding Radio.
I glance back at Josh. He hasn’t looked up, but I know he’s aware of me. Watching me out of the corner of his eye. Waiting to see what I’ll do next. The picture windows on three sides of the lodge show off the slow pooling of dusk. It takes forever for it to get full dark this time of year.
I wish it were raining. That would make it feel cozier.
I tap the play button, and “Try a Little Tenderness” echoes through the lodge.
Maybe Josh will abandon the couch and come dance with me. The space is big enough for a small wedding reception. Plenty of room for dancing.
