Trisha hesitates for a while. “I’m working on a project about self-limiting beliefs.” She gives me a pointed look. “Seems like you would have a bunch of those.”
Wow, burn. She wanted me to come because I’m a good research subject?Most Neurotic Ate of the Year Award.
But then again, she’s not wrong.
“Okay. I’m interested. Tell me more. Is this…a school project?”
“It’s my own thing. On TikTok.” Trisha sets her phone on the ground, grabs the bars to hoist herself up, and drops back down on her feet. “You should follow me,” she adds, and tells me the username.
She perches on the plastic slide next to me and launches into a detailed explanation, asking me a few loaded questions, and before I know it, I’m spilling my guts to her—telling her the whole story about Mom being a ghost in Slack, though I make her swear she won’t tell her parents. She narrows her eyes at me. “Who do you think I am? Of course I won’t tell themthat.” But she seems to believe me out of hand, asking thoughtful follow-up questions about the situation.
And when I get all the way to the end of the story, she gives me a sage littlehmm.“I don’t know, Ate Ruby,” she says. “Maybe you’re the one holding yourself back. You’re so focused on who your mom wants you to be, but who doyouwant to be?”
It sounds so cliché and simple when she puts it like that, but I feel exposed and clammy in the open air of the backyard, realizing I don’t have an answer.
“I’ll have to think about it,” I say, standing from the swing. “But I should get back on the road soon. Traffic is going to be killer.”
I find Greg in the living room watching basketball with my Titos, chatting with them and reacting to the game like he does this every weekend. I really envy him, how he’s good with people. How he can insert himself into a new situation and be at home.
Chapter
33
It takes us longer than I expected to make it back. There must have been an accident or something—traffic is at a crawl.
I’m spent from this afternoon, but the exhausted silence in the car feels comfortable. It’s like we’re back in high school, when Greg and I could spend hours together, doing the same things we’d do if we were alone.
The sun is going down by the time we take our exit off the freeway, and the golden early evening light makes the sky look like a matte painting in an old movie. As we come to a stop at a light, Greg says: “I’m hungry again already.”
I laugh. “Didn’t you have thirds?”
“It was that awkward ‘late lunch/early dinner’ time.” He glances sideways at me. “Beach burrito?”
It used to be our regular thing—going to a drive-through after class, buying one burrito, sitting by the ocean, and passing it back and forth until it was gone. And I have that old fizzy feeling in my stomach, amazed that he wants to keep hanging out.
So we get our burrito, make our way to the beach, and finda spot on the sand. The sun has dipped almost below the horizon, the chill of dry Southern California evening coming on.
I have the photos from the party on my phone, and soon I’ll have to try sending them to Mom to see if that finally makes a difference. But I’m scared to find out, either way. I’m putting it off.
We sit there in silence, passing the burrito back and forth like when we were kids, the smells of avocado salsa and fatty chicken laced with salt air.
“How did you even end up at TKCORP?” I ask after a while. “Didn’t seem like your scene.”
“I wanted to coast, I guess,” he says around a mouthful of food. “Do something that was easy for me. And numbers, you know…”
He shrugs. They always made sense to him.
“And I did it because…” Greg lets out a long breath. “I didn’t want my mom to have to work anymore, at some point.”
I hug my knees, fidgeting in the sand. “I’m sorry I said that thing about living with your mom. It must mean a lot to you to be able to help her out.”
“Thanks,” he says, passing the burrito back to me. It’s notably shorter than the last time I had it. “I appreciate that.”
That frustrating, unfinished conversation we had at the bar replays in my mind.
“Greg,” I say as gently as I can. Maybe I can find a new way in. “Youknowsomething happened in senior year. Why did you stop talking to me?”
He lets out the longest sigh. Impressive lung capacity—must be all those lunchtime gym trips. “Because…I read the room. And for a while, it kind of hurt to be around you. That was my own issue—it wasn’t your fault. And giving you space seemed like the better friend thing to do.”
