I side-eye her. “Of courseit’s because of Chase. Dad tried talking me into setting these ridiculous rules with him—like enforcing supervised visits where he has to pass a breathalyzer first and getting child support payments in writing now. I told him neither of those would be happening over Christmas dinner, and now he’s even more butthurt.”
“Chase?” She prods a finger into my fleshy thigh, a deviant grin sweeping across her face. “You told me you guys were casually hooking up, not that you’re falling in love.”
“Because I’m not. We’re friends, and he likes me calling him Chase. It’s called being respectful to the father of your unborn child.”
He told me he likes when I call him Chase, but I didn’t need him to. The way his eyes glimmer is evidence enough. And, when I call him Chase during sex? It’s like kicking him with spurs, encouraging him to push harder, give me just a bit more.
“I bet he does.” Blair raises an eyebrow. “Because everyone knows calling a guy by his real name instead of his nickname means a girl’s in love.”
“Everyone doesnotknow that. It’s completely casual. There could be a thousand red flags, and I would look right past them because of how horny I’ve been lately. Not a good head space to be in if I wanted to start a relationship. He’s scratching an itch because he got all possessive and said I couldn’t sleep with anybody else while I’m pregnant. It’s literally just sex… like, we don’t even kiss.”
“Ah, yes. How Vivian Ward of you. Super logical to be fine with his tongue everywhere except your mouth. That’s a good place to draw a line in the sand, dummy.”
“I know we need to stop sleeping together before it gets messy, but it’s been so nice. Not just the sex. It’s nice having somebody to eat dinner with, a warm body to sleep next to, y’know?”
“No. I don’t know because I amverysingle. But thank you for rubbing in whatever weird not-dating thing you have going on.” Her palms skirt along her thighs as she moves to stand. “Non-alcoholic sparkling juice?”
I nod and watch as she strides across the expansive eleventh floor apartment. In high school, we spent countless hours talking about sharing a place like this one, with exposed brick, impossibly high ceilings, and a small balcony so we could people-watch while drinking wine. I spent so much time daydreaming about it, I might’ve actually manifested this entire building.
But Blair had big goals, and I could never find a good enough reason to leave our hometown. I spent my twenties telling myself the time would come. I’d find my calling. Surely it couldn’t be working at my dad’s bar, one day taking over when he retires. Now I’m thirty-one, single, pregnant, and visiting my best friend in our dream apartment. Though I’ve been here plenty of times, it’s hitting harder this trip. Because even if I found something that was worth leaving Wells Canyon for, I can’t skip town now. Leaving on a whim is something my mother would do—did do.
Trying to clear the negativity like an Etch A Sketch,I turn and watch Blair pouring sparkling juice into two wine glasses. Even in matching purple loungewear, no makeup, and long brown hair up in a claw clip, she’s elegant. Maybe it’s due to the influencer-esque apartment with perfect natural lighting. “Enough about my weird life. What’s going on with you? How was your Christmas?”
“Um…” Her face falls as she walks over and hands me a glass, her own clinking down on the glass coffee table. “So you know how I said my mom seemedoffwhen I visited during the summer? Lots of inconsistencies in things she’d say, and she couldn’t keep track of her schedule, money, car keys… I guess my parents were actually lying to me then.Back in the spring Dad got her to see a doctor, and she…” Tears pool and dampen her lashes. “Um, so turns out… she has early onset Alzheimer’s.”
“Fuck, Blair.” I set down my glass and slide across the couch to wrap my arms around my best friend. “You sat here listening to my bullshit and waited to tell me this?Shit. How are you? How are your parents taking it?”
Jesus Christ. Blair’s mom, Faye, isn’t even old. I try to remember how long ago we had her fiftieth birthday party… maybe eight years ago? She’s an elementary school teacher, and I know Blair’s parents have been eagerly looking forward to enjoying their retirement as snowbirds in a few years.
“I don’t know what to think.” She exhales, relaxing into our embrace. “Neither of them seem too worked up about it. But they’ve also known for months, and I assume they had suspicions before then since they decided to see a doctor about it. My sister knew, too. They just didn’t tell me because they ‘didn’t want me to worry’.”
“I’m so sorry, Blair. How… advanced is it?”
“It’s already so much worse than it was last time I saw her. Back in June it was mostly little things—misplacing stuff, repeating questions, forgetting to pay bills, struggling to remember some people’s names. When I was home for Christmas she asked me how university was going… Like she had completely forgotten that I’ve been out of school for literal years.”
“Holy shit.”I press a finger to my tear duct, simultaneously squeezing my best friend’s shaky hand. “I’ll have to go visit them. It’s pretty terrible how little I see your parents considering we live in such a tiny town.”
“You should.” She smiles half-heartedly and picks up her glass, taking a slow sip. “I know she’ll want to snuggle your belly.”
“Blair, I appreciate your solidarity with the non-alcoholic juice. But please go pour some real fucking wine in that glass. You need it.”
She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “Thank God. I wasn’t going to drink anything while you’re here, but this stuff doesn’t even taste good.”
She peels herself from the couch and heads back to the kitchen. Then dumps the juice down the drain and uncorks a bottle of white wine, swigging directly from the bottle as she curls up next to me.
The next day, I yawn into my coffee mug before taking a long sip, praying the caffeine will perform a miracle. As expected, I struggled to sleep without Chase… or maybe it was only because I didn’t orgasm. Either way, I tossed and turned throughout the night. Half-asleep, I felt Blair leave the bed to go to the gym shortly after six o’clock this morning, and I slunk into the kitchen after the slam of her apartment door. It’s quiet, calm, and too easy to pretend like this is my life. That this is my apartment—my white aesthetic couch, my elegant vintage decor, my view of… well, it’s not a great view, admittedly. A grungy street peppered with miserable people travelling to work, and boring buildings taller than this one, which block the real view.
I wonder where Chase lived when he was here with his family.
I nearly blow coffee out of my nose at the image of him anywhere in this city. Cleaned up in his dark blue jeans and a plaid button-up, he could probably pass as a hipster. Nobody in Vancouver would bat an eye. But to me, he’d be hilariously out of place. I tuck my feet under me, pull a cozy blanket across my legs, and stare down at the street below.
Cass:Did you dress like a cowboy even when you lived in the city? Or did you try to fit in?
Red:I wasn’t wearing chaps around town, if that’s what you’re asking
Red:I dressed like I do now… why?
Cass:I was trying to picture you here
