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“Oh.” She nods but she doesn’t get it. Not her fault. Jordan didn’t watch us grow up like the rest of London did, all in each other’s pockets and shit.
Parks and her family have been in the papers since she was tiny. Comes with the territory with what her parents do, I guess. For me and the boys it didn’t start til later, but it did start. And it’s always had its pitfalls. There’s a lot of shit to be said about being watched in some way or another all the time, but one of the redeeming parts (usually) is that I don’t have to explain very much. People just know.
But Jordan’s not from here. She grew up on a horse ranch in the outback. From money too, but not from money like us. And it’s different there, with the society pages and shit. So she says, anyway. People might know who you are there, but it’s un-Australian to give a fuck about it, so no one cares.
Jordan hasn’t seen me and Parks together, doesn’t get the connection we have… Wish I could say that in the past tense, but the wedding showed me that I can’t.
So this, here and now, Jordan all weird that Parks is close with my friends, weird that me and Parks still have shit between us — it’s just a fracture of understanding, that’s all.
Jordan did go to boarding school though, so probably could have propagated her own experience if she gave it a whack, but I guess I get why she doesn’t want to. Being the girl I’m with who isn’t Magnolia Parks has to be a bitter pill.
Jordan swallows, looking nervous again. “Is she nice?”
Feels like a trap. Scratch my neck again.
“Depends,” I sniff.
Her face flickers. “On what?”
I bang my fist absentmindedly on the table. “I wouldn’t be banking on you two being best friends, Jords.”
“I don’t want to be her friend,” she says with a scowl. “She hurt you.”
I nod, throw her a small grateful smile.
“I hurt her first,” I remind her.
She shrugs. “Yeah, well, she and I aren’t sleeping together so that’s harder to give a shit about.”
