“I’m just putting a few things away,” I tell her. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
“Okay. Teeny’s going to be here with Everett and Sadie for dinner.” She turns to leave, and I shut the door behind her before slumping onto my bed.
Fuck.I can’t believe the shit show of my life. With rent due next month and almost zero income, I had to let go of my apartment. Luckily, my lease was up—silver linings or whatever. And, of course, there was the awkward conversation with my parents. I explained to them I lost my job, claiming budget cuts and unforeseen layoffs, an easy cover for the truth. Now, I’m turning in my keys Monday morning and trading my independence for my childhood room, floral bedding and all.
Considering how quickly these changes are happening, it feels like my argument with Grace was ages ago. I miss her so much. I want to tell her it’s all okay. That we can forget abouteverything and just go to my apartment, or hers, and go back to the way things were when we’d settle in for a quiet evening of television and home-cooked meals. But I don’t even have an apartment to bring her back to anymore. How can we move on from this when I can’t even give her anything beyond sneaking her into my parents’ house in the middle of the night like I’m some delinquent teenager. Maybe once I have my shit together, I can talk to her. Unless she’s found someone better. Like that doctor guy I saw her with who absolutely seems to have his shit together. No wonder she didn’t want to tell anyone about us.
It’s another hour before Teeny arrives at my parents’ house. I hear them pull up into the driveway. The light slams of the car door and the carefree chatter from her, Everett, and Sadie can be heard from my room, and I know it’ll be minutes before my mom comes back upstairs to get me. I trudge downstairs, and just as predicted, I run into her at the base of the stairs.
“There you are,” my mom greets me. “Teeny’s here.”
I nod, walking past her to the kitchen to greet Teeny’s brood. “Hey,” I call morosely. Teeny and the rest of my siblings know about my big move back home. They haven’t called me with a lecture about saving money for emergencies like this. Though Josh texted to ask about Thad and whether I’ve heard from him. I told him Thad has been courteous enough to respond to my emails but no news about a job opening. Just a kind “It’s good to hear from you” followed by a regretful “I’ll be in touch if we open up the finance position,” adding a considerate “I hope it’s sooner than later” before ending it with his sign off.
“Hey, Andrew,” Teeny says with a sympathetic grimace on her face. It catches me off guard, but I guess it’s expected. Thirty and moving back with your parents is enough to earn a look of pity.
I wave with a tight-lipped smile, passing the silent greeting to Everett and Sadie too. Sadie, dressed in what looks like hertrack uniform, waves back while Everett tips his chin up to acknowledge me.
“Andrew,” my mom calls, walking into the kitchen. “Can you take out the trash?”
“Sure.” I open the pull-out trash can from under the kitchen island. As I’m tying the plastic strings together, Teeny picks up the recycle bin in the corner near the back door.
“I’ll help with the recyclables,” she announces.
“I can get them,” I tell her, gesturing my hand to the bin in her hands.
“No, no. I want to help.”
My brow furrows in confusion, but I don’t fight her. I walk out to the backyard in the direction of the trash bins when Teeny’s urgent steps round to my front, stopping me in my path.
“Hey,” she says, though not in a cheerful greeting sort of way, but as if she’s asking me what’s wrong with me in the single-syllable word.
“What?”
“You want to tell me what happened?”
“You mean moving back in with Mom and Dad?” I ask. “I thought they told you. I lost my job and had to give up my?—”
“No,” she interrupts. “With you and Grace.”
My eyes round. “What?”
“What happened?” she asks again, this time not clarifying. She wants the details. Actually she might already know the details, and this inquisitive snooping for more may be her search for my side of the story.
“You talked to her?” She walks away from me, emptying the empty bottles and cans into the recycling bin a few feet away. I follow suit, heaving the trash bag into the regular trash bin. “Why did she tell you?”
“Because she’s my best friend,” she tells me matter-of-factly. “And she’s going through a rough time, and she needs me. So, are you going to tell me what happened?”
“What do you mean she’s going through a rough time? Is she okay?”
Teeny doesn’t answer me. As if holding back the details I want like a hostage situation will force what she wants from me. I cross my arms, and when a weary sigh softens my lingering hurt and frustration, I give.
“I’m not who she should be with,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“What do you mean ‘why?’ Do youwantme to be with her?”
Her hands meet her sides as she considers my question. “That’s not up to me,” she says. “All I know is she’s spending her time watching sappy romance movies and cries during all the sad parts. And she feels horrible about everything.”
