Page 36 of What We Break
"But nothing." I watch the streetlights slide past. "I just wasn't feeling it."
"You're getting boring, you know that?"
"Maybe I just want something different for my life."
Bethany just shrugs and stares out the window. When we pull up to my place, she gives me a half hug, then she's gone, probably to meet up with the guys at the next bar.
My muscles relax the second I step into my apartment. Quiet and familiar. My furniture, my books, my plants. I kick off my shoes and settle onto my couch.
Why did I go tonight? The second I saw the bar, I wanted to comehome. But I forced myself because I thought that's what good friends do — show up, participate, be available. But is that friendship? Doing things I don't want to do because someone else wants me to? Or is real friendship what Jamila offered today —hey, want to grab smoothies?No pressure. No performance.
Is Bethany being a bad friend, or are we just becoming different people? Or worse, am I the bad friend because I'm the one changing the rules of the game.
My head hurts.
Matt was perfectly nice. Six months ago, I probably would have gone to that second bar. Maybe gone home with him. Had a perfectly pleasant time and never thought about him again.
But sitting here now, I'm glad I didn't. Not because I'm saving myself for Reid or playing hard to get or any of that nonsense. Just because I wanted to come home. To my space. My quiet. My life.
And a certain paramedic texted you today and your whole body lit up like a switchboard, and Matt's nice shoulders couldn't compete with that. But sure. Tell yourself it's about the apartment.
My phone buzzes.
Bethany
You sure you're okay?
See. She is a good friend. I'm the one who's changed.
I'm good. Just tired.
Bethany
Okay. Call me tomorrow.
I won't call her tomorrow. She'll be busy, and I'll be busy. But I'll text her sometime this week, because that's what friends do. Even friends who are growing in different directions. Even friends who might not make it. You show up until you can't anymore, and then you wish each other well.
I change into pajamas, pour a glass of water, and settle back on the couch with my book. The heroine is finally reading the letter. I've been waiting three chapters for this.
"It's about time," I tell her. "He flew across the country for you. The least you can do is read the man's letter."
She reads it.
"Oh.Okay. Okay, that's good. You don't deserve him but I'm here for it."
My phone sits on the coffee table. Reid's text thread is right there. Three messages. Nothing profound. Just two people figuring out when to see each other again.
Tomorrow.I'm seeing him tomorrow. And I'm not going to overthink it. I'm not going to plan my outfit for two hours or rehearse conversation topics or worry about whether I should kiss him or let him make the first move or?—
You're already overthinking it.
I know. I'm going to stop.
When?
...soon.
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