Amanda and I had both been in several weddings over the years. They caused a lot of stress, and it always seemed as though the wedding party ended up growing irritated with the demands of the bride and the groom. Being in someone’s wedding could end even the most enduring friendship.
Still, if Blake wanted me by his side, there was no question I would do it. We’d been friends for too long. We’d been through too much.
My dad had died suddenly during our sophomore year of college. He just dropped dead of a heart attack with no warning signs at the age of forty-eight. He’d been in the garage moving some boxes around, come back in and told my mom he was hot, and then gone facedown onto the kitchen floor like a falling piano, his head against the dishwasher, his feet under the table. I found out pretty quickly that my parents didn’t have life insurance and that they hadn’t set aside enough money for me to continue in school.
The private college I attended was expensive, close to forty thousand dollars a year, and before I even went home for the funeral, my mom told me I might not be able to stay. I was still processing the reality of my dad’s death, so the news that I might have to leave college and all my friends nearly paralyzed me.
It was Blake who stepped up. He drove me home and went to the funeral with me. He bought me a new sport coat and helped me knot my tie. When we got back to school, and I was ready to pack my room and return home to work and enroll in community college, it was Blake who guided me through the morass of financial aid forms, helping me find a scholarship that allowed me to stay in school. I wouldn’t have made it through all that without him. And I wouldn’t have the life I had now if I hadn’t stayed in school.
And he’d stood up at our wedding as my best man. It felt like he’d been by my side through many of the most important events of the past ten years.
“What do you need?” I asked.
Blake carefully picked up his coffee mug and moved it to the side of the wooden table. Then he leaned forward so his head was more than halfway across the table. There was something about someone doing that in a public place that seemed odd but also inviting. So I leaned forward to hear him.
Why so much solemnity for a request he’d already made once before?
Blake spoke in a low voice. “When I say that Samantha and I have figured things out, that we’re really going to make it work this time and work for real, I mean it. I really mean it. I need her. And I think she needs me. It just . . . feels right between us.”
“I believe you.”
Up close his lips were cracked and dry, his teeth not quite as shining bright as I remembered.
“Well, the thing is, there’s a problem . . . ,” he said. “A loose thread. One that could turn into a noose around my neck if it isn’t taken care of.”
I tried to make sense of what he was saying, but I couldn’t. The confusion must have shown on my face, because Blake went on.
“You know I haven’t always been perfect, Ryan. I’ve really struggled with the idea of committing and settling down. It works for me up to a point, but then when we get engaged, and we start to talk about wedding dates, I start to get itchy. My skin literally crawls.” He shrugged. He seemed to be admitting defeat in the face of the kinds of problems most of us outgrew or pushed aside as we got older. “That’s why this is our third go-around. I haven’t quite been able to take that last step, to just accept my good fortune and happiness with Sam and go for it.”
“I know, Blake.” I held his gaze, seeing in his face the college kid I’d met ten years ago. “But I’m not sure what that has to do with me.”
Blake lowered his voice even more. “I was involved with a woman, Ryan. This . . . thing lasted a short time. And I want to be clear: It happened when Sam and I were broken up. And it ended once Sam and I were putting things back together. You know Sam. She wouldn’t stand for infidelity, even when we’re dating, and I wouldn’t do that to her. I’m a commitment-phobe but not a cheater.”
“I know that,” I said. “You wouldn’t hurt Sam that way.”
“But I did spend time with this other woman. We had some really good times, to be honest.”
“I still don’t see the problem,” I said. “If you were broken up when you dated this woman and then ended it to get back together with Sam, what’s the issue?”
Blake leaned back in his chair. His cheeks flushed deep red above his beard. “You’re trying to oversimplify it, Ryan. You’re trying to fit things into a neat little box.”
“Isn’t that exactly what you’re telling me?”
“You’ve got the perfect marriage and the perfect kid. You’ve got your PR firm, for God’s sake, and you have a stake in a hipster brewery. You’ve made every correct step since we finished college. You could have gone in a lot of different directions when your dad died, but you went into a higher gear and haven’t looked back.” He shook his head. “Sam and everyone I see tells me about your posts. The fund-raisers and the charitable donations and the pro bono work. You’ve got the world by the short ones. Your life is always shown through just the right filter, isn’t it, Ryan?”
“Okay, I’m not sure where all of this is going. You said you wanted to ask me something, but instead you’re going on about this woman who you didn’t cheat on Sam with. Are you looking for advice?”
“I don’t need advice. Maybe I’ve outgrown that part of our friendship. I can go to Sam. I can talk to her. Isn’t that what you have in your marriage? A partner?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’m not looking for that here.”
“I’m in a hurry.” I pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the concrete floor so loudly that the other people in the coffee shop turned to look. “Amanda’s waiting for me. I have to help her put Henry down. You think everything’s perfect. I’m going to go home and have to change a shitty diaper. I can’t put that on Instagram. Nothing’s perfect. I’m happy for you, Blake. I really am. I’m glad you told me about this. Sam’s amazing. I hope you’re happy. But you’re not really telling me anything—”
“You can’t go.”
His voice was flat, slicing like a steel blade through the Cat Stevens song now playing overhead and the murmured conversations around us.
I looked around, and the other patrons continued with their own conversations. The barista, a college student with fuchsia-streaked hair, and what looked like thirteen piercings in her left ear, chatted with a customer while she sloppily poured milk from a gallon jug.
We stared at each other for a moment, Blake and I.
I scooted forward.
“Why not?” I asked.
But I already knew.
And so did he.
“You haven’t even heard what I want you to do yet, Ryan,” he said. “The request. And you know—and I know—you have no choice but to do whatever I ask you to do.”