His self-deprecating grin makes me soften a little. It’s like the Greg I know is back, the one I was friends with when we were sixteen and things between us were simple. A strange affection swells up inside me like a balloon, and it scares me—I need to puncture it—so I ask in a rush: “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Sarah?”
Greg takes a sharp breath in and blinks at me a few times. All of his muscles seem to tense.
“Don’t look so shocked I figured it out! You guys are always sneaking around together. Kind of hurt my feelings that you didn’t mention it.”
“Oh, um—” His brow furrows, and he seems way more nervous than I would have expected. “Sorry. Yeah, it’s…complicated.”
“Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.” I try to smile gamely. “Here for your girl trouble.”
“Oh, uh, sure. Yeah.” He nods again. “For sure.”
Damn, why is this so awkward?
“How’s your mom?” Greg asks abruptly, leaning against my beat-up Honda.
“She’s…still here.” I chew on my lower lip. “I’m at the end of my rope, honestly.”
Relief surges through me, and I realize how much I’ve missed being able to talk to him about this.
“Did you try everything on the list?”
I let out a long breath that puffs my cheeks. “There’s being closer to my family. I’m going down to San Diego this weekend.”
“Oh man, your Tita Rina’s lumpia? Legendary.” Greg sounds relaxed again, like normal. “Say hi to her for me.” He met her a few times, years ago, when they came up to see us on holidays.
“Would you…want to say hi to her yourself? Maybe have some lumpia?”
Greg gives me a weary smile. “How can I say no?”
Chapter
32
Greg insists on driving us on Saturday—and he does take more of an active interest in maintaining his old Acura than I do my old Honda, so I don’t fight him.
Just two old friends who are both in relationships with other people going down to San Diego!I tell myself as I get into the passenger seat. And it’s a relief to have company as I tackle item #4:BE CLOSER TO FAMILY.
For the first hour of the drive, we crawl down wide Orange County freeways, stuck in traffic, vague anxiety about seeing my family swirling in my gut. Even though I’m relieved to be spending time with Greg again, I can’t figure out how to fill the silence between us. He taps his fingers on the wheel and offers up some old gossip about mutual friends, but eventually he runs out and goes quiet.
Finally we reach the stretch of the 5 that runs along the ocean, an expanse of breathtaking blue to our right.
Greg glances over and asks, “You nervous?”
“I’m that obvious?” I lean my head against the window. “I don’t know, I feel like I’m bad at family.”
Somehow going to see my relatives always feels like a test of character—a spotlight shining on everything that’s lacking about my life. The way Mom would pointedly say,Jamie is dating a bankerorRosie graduated from med schoolorWhy can’t you be helpful like your cousins?
“Why do you think you’re bad at family?” Greg asks.
I never managed to put this feeling to words so bluntly, back when we were close.
“Mom always seemed unhappy with me, I guess.”
Greg turns that over in his head for a while, focused on the road, sunglasses on. He looks even better than usual, somehow. My eyes skate over his smooth cheeks, his full lips. He’s dressed casually today, and his dad’s chain is out over his T-shirt. It seems like he got a fresh haircut for this occasion.
“I love your mom, but…” Greg says, picking up his thought after such a long pause, I assumed we’d dropped it. “But maybe…that wasn’t ayouproblem. That she was unhappy.”
I turn to face the ocean, chewing over what he said.
