I sit on the edge of my mom’s bed, watching her fluff her hair and try on different shades of lipstick in her bathroom mirror. She’s going out with my dad again tonight. Says he might even stay here at the house for the rest of the weekend.
“What do you think of this one?” Mom asks as she turns around to show me a brick red that looks exactly the same as the last one she tried on.
“That’s perfect.”
She glances back at her reflection once more, then nods and drops the tube into her purse. She stands up and smooths out the wrinkles in her dress. Checks the time and then casts a desperate glance toward her closet. “Maybe I should change into something else.”
I sigh. This is her third outfit. “Why are you so nervous? It’s just Dad.”
“I know,” she says with a wave. “I’m being silly. But your father has been putting in a lot more effort lately, so...I want to as well.”
While Mom puts on earrings, I scroll through Insta on my phone. Reese posted a new picture with Kevin. Mom shuffles closer, and when she sees Reese’s face on the screen, she says, “I’ve noticed you haven’t seen much of Reese lately.”
“Yeah. We’re kind of fighting right now.”
To my surprise, Mom doesn’t pry. All she says is, “Why don’t you just call her, sweetie? I’m sure whatever is going on with you will pass.”
Right. Because she’s such a relationship expert, all of a sudden.
“What makes you sure?” I challenge after locking my screen.
“You two are so close,” Mom says easily. “You’ll be able to talk it out.”
“And what about you and Dad?” I say before I can stop myself.
“Well...your dad and I still have a lot to talk about, too. But we’re getting there.”
My fingers curl into a fist and I try to keep my mouth shut. But I can’t stand my mom acting like she and my dad are so in love—ignoring all the evidence to the contrary. “Does that mean you’ve told Dad about David?”
Mom stills. Drops her hand away from her earring and turns to look at me. “Pardon?”
“David. That guy from work I saw you with.”
Mom looks at me for a long moment, brow furrowed. I can’t tell what she’s more concerned about—the anger and hurt evident in my voice, or the fact her secret isn’t safe anymore.
The doorbell rings. Holland’s here to take me to a party. I slide off the bed and tuck my phone away.
“Honey...I want you to understand—”
I hold my hand up. “I don’t want to hear what happened between you. But Dad deserves to know.” I pause in the doorway of her room. “Especially if you’re getting back together.”
Holland heard about the party at Megan’s from Webster. He was low-key shocked when I agreed to go, and I can’t really blame him. But my desperation to avoid a repeat of our last date outweighs my reservations about seeing Webster (and most likely Reese) at this thing. Plus, Holland volunteers to be my designated driver, which is great since I have no interest in staying sober tonight.
The fact that this is a widely shared sentiment becomes clear the second we arrive. The party is downstairs, so we’ve been given instructions to go around to the backyard and come in through Megan’s basement-level sliding doors. It’s cold enough outside that the body heat from people dancing has already fogged up the glass.
Everyone here is already wasted. Well, not everyone, but enough people that all of the conversations within hearing range are semi-incoherent. I tangle my fingers in the back of Holland’s shirt, and together we weave our way through throngs of sloppy classmates to the laundry room, where there’s an actual keg. I kind of thought those were a thing only at college parties, but Holland automatically starts pumping the handle as though he’s done this a million times before. He fills a cup for me and steals just one sip before handing it over.
We make our way across the basement until Holland spots Webster, who is sitting on the edge of the pool table...with Caitlin Pratt standing between his legs.
Holland sidles up to them, does his bro-y handshake with Webster. “Hey, guys.”
“Hey, Aubrey.” Caitlin offers me a friendly smile.
“Hey.” My gaze lifts to Webster, who is watching me over her head. “You guys having fun?”
Caitlin shrugs and looks around with a razor-sharp focus that tells me she’s still sober. “Yeah. Though I’m driving, so less fun than some people,” she says with a teasing look toward Webster.
Webster grins and loops his arms around Caitlin’s waist.
I take a long drink. This beer is as cheap as it gets, but at least it’s cold enough I can barely taste it. I focus on the retro green lights hanging above the pool table. On the smooth felt under my palm. The beer isn’t settling quite right—my stomach is heavy with it.
“You guys want to play?” Caitlin asks, already picking up a stick from the tabletop. “Guys against girls?”
Holland starts emptying the pockets. “Sure. I’ll rack.”
He moves to the far end of the table and gets the balls inside the triangle thingy, while Caitlin goes to the other end to break. She sinks a solid and does a lap around the table, taking forever to make her mind up about her next shot.
Holland comes back to where Webster and I are standing and swats Webster’s arm. “I thought you’d started seeing that guy from the theater?” he says in a low voice.
“Oh, yeah, we went out a couple times but...” Webster shrugs and leaves it at that.
“Well, Caitlin’s cool. And cute,” Holland says.
I drain the rest of my drink in two gulps.
“Yeah.” Webster rubs the back of his neck. His eyes flicker to mine, back to Holland a split second later. “She is.”
I mean, they’re not wrong. Caitlin is a beautiful girl. Her straight blond hair is always shampoo-model shiny, and she’s mastered the whole no-makeup makeup look. Thick lashes, flushed cheeks, full lips. I want to ask her for makeup tips, like what kind of foundation she uses, but I’m sort of worried she’ll tell me she doesn’t use any, that her skin is flawless and lightly bronzed all on its own, all year long.
“Must have good genes,” I contribute. Holland and Webster turn to me and I realize that was a totally weird thing to say. My thumb indents the side of my empty plastic cup. I’m saved from making any other unfortunate observations when Caitlin misses her next shot and tells Webster he’s up.
Webster puts a stripe in a side pocket, then misses, and then it’s my turn. Webster hands me his stick and his fingers brush mine, and in that moment I’m back at my kitchen table with Webster tracing my wrist and tilting his head and a smoldering heat low in my belly. My gaze flickers to meet his and I shift away. Turn my focus back to the table.
I’m not surprised when I don’t even come close to sinking a ball.
I pass the stick to Holland and announce I’m going to get a refill. He catches my sleeve and sweeps his palm down to my wrist. “Maybe you should slow down a little.”
“I’m fine.” Heat prickles at my hairline. I know he’s just looking out for me, but it feels an awful lot like being told what to do. “And it’s your turn,” I mumble as I skirt around him.
At the keg I fill my cup and start to walk away before hesitating. Right in the middle of the laundry room, I chug my beer and fill my cup again.
On my way back to the pool table my limbs are looser, and I keep bumping into people. Cold air hits me when I move past the open sliding glass door. Outside, a group of girls are shivering in their tank tops, rubbing their bare arms as they pass a cigarette around, exhaling smoke up toward the blackened sky. When I turn away from the door, I spot Reese standing nearby with Kevin. Kevin spots me first, lifts his hand to wave. I don’t miss the way Reese tugs at his shirt like she wishes he’d stop.
But I walk over anyway, because it feels supremely weird not to.
“Surprised to see you here,” she says when I reach them.
“Yeah. Holland wanted to come,” I say, like I need an excuse to be here. “I probably won’t be staying for long.” I turn to Kevin and nod a hello.
“I’m gonna get another drink,” he says, even though his cup is full. I get the distinct impression he’s just giving us space, and I feel a rush of gratitude toward him. Followed by a wave of guilt when I think about the stupid things I said about Webster junior year getting back to him, and the possibility Reese might have repeated what I said about her and Kevin after our fight.
When he walks away, Reese turns to me with wide eyes, like I’m some acquaintance from summer camp she hasn’t seen in years.
“So...having fun?” I ask.
A beat of silence passes and I start to wish I’d stuck with a wave. Nothing is worse than making small talk with the person who’s supposed to be my best friend.
“Yeah. You?”
The only response I can muster is a shrug. “I’m so sorry, about everything. Can we talk?”
Reese’s shoulders droop just slightly. “I’m not sure this is the best time, Aubrey.”
She’s probably right. It’s loud. We’ve been drinking. But I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring up our fight for weeks, and she won’t even meet me halfway. She’s ignored me at school, and now her gaze keeps darting around the room like she’s searching for someone to rescue her. “Yeah. Okay. I should probably be getting back to Holland, anyway.”
“Right,” Reese says, and she shifts to the side, already on her way to find Kevin. “We’ll talk later.”
“Sure.” But I can’t help thinking that if she missed me at all, she’d tell me to stay. She’d make the same effort I am. “Later.”
Maybe it was inevitable, that our friendship would turn into this. That Reese would become the person you make plans with over breaks until it starts to feel like an obligation, so you stop making plans and settle for a vague would love to catch up sometime! But then never do. At least now I know where we stand.
It’s my turn again by the time I get back to the table. Caitlin passes me the stick and I take stock of what’s left on the table. Caitlin is pretty good—she’s already sunk most of the solids. An easy shot is set up in a corner pocket, and I’m able to make that before missing again.
She offers me a high five as I pass my stick off to Holland. “You’re still kind of carrying this team,” I say as I reach for my drink.
Caitlin shrugs easily. “I’m over here a lot, so I’ve had a good amount of practice.” She turns to Webster. “I wonder if I could take billiards or something as a PE credit next year.”
“I know MSU offers bowling...” I say.
“Already have the course book memorized?” Webster asks in a teasing voice. And maybe because it’s the first thing Webster’s said directly to me tonight, or maybe because it’s the kind of thing he would have said a few months ago, my cheeks flush.
Holland scratches the cue ball and Caitlin jumps forward to fish it out of the side pocket.
“What’d I miss?” Holland leans his weight onto his pool stick and glances between us.
“Aubrey was just about to tell me about all the classes she wants to take at MSU.”
“If she ends up at MSU,” Holland says wryly before I can offer a comeback.
Webster’s smirk falters. “I thought that was a done deal.”
“She’s still deciding,” Holland says, answering for me again.
I lick my lips and try to ignore the crackle of tension that runs down my spine, the pressure like a storm brewing inside my chest. “I’m...yeah.”
Caitlin sinks the eight ball. We win. Holland immediately demands a rematch, and while he reracks, I make another trip to the keg. I’ve had only two—or maybe it was three, but in any case, it’s not enough.
When I return, Holland’s arm slips across my shoulders. Webster has his hand on Caitlin’s waist, and together the four of us look like a sketch of a double date, so cute I could scream.
It’s Webster’s turn to break, and then he’s back on the sidelines with me. Only, he won’t even look at me now. Instead he stares into his beer, swirling it around his cup. I watch as he tilts his head back and drains the rest of his drink in one go. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and something about the way his lips twist makes him look a little ill.
I drain half my beer and move to take my turn. I get another ball in—though technically not the one I was aiming for, and when I hand off the stick to Holland, he trades it for a cup of water he got during my turn.
“Don’t want you to dehydrate.”
I take a sip and smile at the floor because I’m having trouble focusing on anything else. Having trouble standing without swaying, come to think of it. “Sure, Dr. Sawyer.”
This game is slower than the last. I miss my next two shots in a row—can’t seem to keep my stick straight. I go refill my cup again, and Webster keeps on ignoring me when I get back, even though he seems more interested in chalking the pool stick than actually playing at this point.
Finally I bump my shoulder against his. He’s so warm, standing this close. “Having a good time?”
“A blast.”
I scratch my cheek and glance at Caitlin as she lines up another shot. Then I turn back to Webster. “You mad at me or something?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know.” My voice grows tense. “That’s why I’m asking.”
“Well, no worries. I’m not angry.” His tone implies he’s not anything—not affected by my presence at all.
Every time. Every single time I let myself get sucked in, I start to care—always more than he does. Always to the point where I get hurt and he gets the last laugh. I’m sick of it.
“Thank god for that.”
Across the table, Holland tries to get my attention. I’m about to go over to him, but Webster rests his weight against the pool stick and says, “Do I detect sarcasm?”
“Nope.” I curl my lips in to keep myself from saying anything I might regret.
“Oh, my mistake. You probably want to save all that fire for Holland, huh?”
My mind flashes to the other night, when Holland and I were alone in my room. What happened after Holland left. My skin goes hot. “Stop.”
His forehead pinches. “Stop what, exactly?”
“You’re just—you’re so immature. I know Holland wants us to get along, but I don’t even know why I try anymore.”
Webster huffs a humorless laugh. His mouth twists into a tight-lipped smirk. “Me, either.”
I slowly become aware of Holland standing at my side. I glance up to find both him and Caitlin watching us. And seeing the crease between Holland’s brow, wondering how much he heard—it’s like two fists closing around my stomach and twisting in opposite directions.
Caitlin holds out the pool stick. “It’s your turn, Aubrey.”
I take the stick from her and glance once more at Holland. He’s examining the blue chalk now, wearing an expression like he very much wants to escape this moment.
Which makes two of us.
Only the eight ball remains at this point. How is Caitlin so good at everything? Meanwhile I keep seeing three balls instead of one. I close one eye and squint. And miss the cue ball completely.
I’m bent over the table now and I can’t stop laughing. Holland walks around to me and pulls me upright. “Okay, I think you’ve had enough.”
“No. You don’t get to decide everything.” I lift my chin and stare at him with as much defiance as I can muster. “S’your turn.”
Holland plucks the pool stick away from me. He gets the eight ball in a corner pocket on his first try. Game over.
He tosses the stick onto the table and brings all that intensity right back over to me. I grab what’s left of my beer before he has the chance and take a sip.
“Aubrey, come on.”
“Come on, what?”
He steps closer and I instinctively stumble back a step. “You don’t need any more—you’ll feel sick. Can you please give that to me?”
I bring the cup close to my chest. “Get your own.”
He heaves a frustrated sigh. “Aubrey...”
“I’m fine. You just don’t get it, okay?”
I’m vaguely aware of how loud my voice has gotten. But Holland is always better than me, so he doesn’t yell back.
“What don’t I get?” he asks calmly.
“You’re all like, oh, it’s gonna work out. ’Cause everything always has an upside, right? And no problem’s too big. But it’s so stupid. Like, yeah, we’ll just become vets and work in the same clinic and stay together forever. You think it’s so simple.”
The line between his brows relaxes, the confusion slowly melting off his face. His expression is blank now. Detached. He stares at me for a long moment. “That’s stupid, huh?”
“Just...” I shake my head. Lose my train of thought and end up looking beside us instead. At Caitlin, who seems embarrassed for some reason. Then Webster, who won’t even meet my eye.
“Come on, I’m taking you home,” Holland says. “Give me the cup.”
“No.”
He steps forward. I twist away as he reaches for the cup. “Let go—”
I yank my arm back, out of his grip. The beer splashes everywhere. But mostly on Caitlin.
She yelps and looks down at her soaked shirt. Webster puts himself between us a beat too late. “What the hell, Aubrey?”
I get a flash of meeting Holland on New Year’s Eve and fumble for an apology. “That was—accident. I didn’t mean... Caitlin, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says without looking at me.
“Here, follow me.” Webster takes her hand and starts leading her across the basement, toward the laundry room.
I stumble after them. We pass Reese—who seems to know something is wrong with just one look. She catches up with us as Webster is unrolling some paper towel and handing it to Caitlin. “What happened?”
“Just a little spill,” Caitlin explains at the same time Webster growls, “Ask Aubrey.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again. I try to get a better look at the damage done and stumble to the side.
“Shit, how much did you drink?” Reese asks me.
I run my hand over my face. I’m starting to not feel great. “Like. A few?”
She glances over her shoulder. “Where’s Holland?”
“I can’t drive home in this shirt,” Caitlin says to Webster. “If I get pulled over, I’m screwed.”
“You can have my shirt,” I blurt out.
She avoids looking at me, and I get the sense they’d both rather pretend I wasn’t here. Then again, Webster is good at that. “Thanks, but...I think I’m gonna go see if Megan has something I can borrow.”
“I just saw her a second ago,” Reese says, and motions for Caitlin to follow her.
Webster keeps messing with the roll of paper towel, like if he doesn’t have something to do with his hands, he’ll snap.
“I didn’t mean to,” I say quietly. My body sways. I concentrate on standing still.
He tosses the paper towel on top of the dryer and laughs bitterly. “Yeah. I know. Just a side effect of being close to you.”
My teeth clench. “What’s that mean?”
Webster finally looks at me. “Just, you don’t seem too concerned with who you hurt.”
My gaze wanders outside the room. I can see Holland talking to Reese, his arms crossed. My legs aren’t so stable right now. The floor keeps shifting under my feet. I stumble over and prop myself up against the washing machine.
I frown up at Webster. “That’s not true.”
“No? You literally just said you only talk to me because of Holland. Remember that? Had a pretty familiar ring to it, actually.”
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
“You know, it doesn’t even matter. Because you were right—we’re not actually friends, you and I. Who knows? After graduation, we might not ever have to see each other again.”
His words swirl around in my head and I want to fight back, tell him—he’s the one who acts better than me, like I’m not good enough for Holland, like I’m pathetic for even trying to have a boyfriend, and none of our history matters, not now, because we’re nothing and the only relationships he should worry about are his own. But my tongue is heavy and the room is spinning and I’m clinging to cold metal, sliding down to the floor. My face is hot, neck sweaty. My vision blurs harder and my next breath comes out sounding like a sob. “I fucking—” I’m not sure he’s still there, can even hear me over the thump thump thump of the music. My arms curl over my head. “I fucking hate you.”
Someone is pulling on my arm. It falls limp at my side and I open my eyes to see Reese crouched in front of me. Her voice is soft and soothing. “Hey, girly. We’re gonna get you home, okay?”
I tilt my head back. It hits the washer door with a thunk. Webster is standing across the room, his face paler than before. Kevin’s hand is on his shoulder, like he’s expecting to have to hold Webster back. Reese shifts to my side. “Kevin, can you give me a hand?”
“I got her.” Holland comes into my line of sight, kneels down and drapes my arm around his neck, then stands, hoisting me with him. I fall against his side but his arm is secure around my waist. He dips his head. “Okay?”
I lift my other arm to his neck and lean my weight entirely against him. His arms envelop me and I mumble against his chest, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
“I know.” He pulls back and wipes my cheeks with the pads of his fingers. I blink the room into focus. Webster is gone. “You ready to walk?”
I nod and Holland half carries me toward the door. Reese leads the way, clearing our path and opening the sliding door. When we make it to his car, she climbs into the back seat first. Holland helps me inside, and my head rests against Reese’s shoulder.
“I think she should stay at my house tonight,” Reese tells him. “I’ll text her mom.”
No one talks for the whole drive, except for Reese giving occasional directions to her house. When we get there, I spill out of the car and falter, reaching for Holland’s arm through his open window. “Thank you.”
“Yep.”
“No, but I mean...” I grip his arm tighter. “You’re so good to me.”
His hands twist around the steering wheel. His head is turned toward mine, but he’s not looking at me. Not really. I step forward, lean in to kiss him and his head tilts away, shifts so he’s staring out the front. “Remember to drink water,” is the last thing he says before pulling out of the driveway.