“I’m tired, Grant.” My eyebrows raise. This isn’t something I’ve heard during other breakups. “Fighting with her is one thing. But if it’s going to affect our friendship, I don’t know if I want to do this with her anymore.”
My mouth drops, back stiffening in surprise. If I had to guess, Derek and Scarlet have broken up no less than thirty times. None of which were initiated by him. My pleas for him to find his senses over the years fell on deaf ears every time.
I gave up on Derek realizing the strain his toxic girlfriend puts on our friendship. I figured that this time would be like every other—where I help him through his emotions and he loyally returns to her.
Hearing him acknowledge the toll she takes on his life is already miles of progress.
I take another swig of my beer and Derek chugs what’s left of his Modelo.
Tanned hands fit his hat back over his head. He pushes up, walks to the fridge, and returns with a brand new cold one.
If I wish for my best friend’s relationship to fail, does that make me a bad friend?
If I watch him crumble and think about how angry I am with him, instead of empathize with what he’s going through, does that make me aworsefriend?
Heat reaches my ears. Pushing for a breakup between them would mean inserting myself into their relationship, even just for a moment, because I think it’s what I need to support someone I care about.
My foot taps lightly under the table and I consider this was what Lily felt too.
Half of his beer is gone before either of us speak again.
“Enough about me. What’s life been like with you?”
I hide my shock behind another drink of beer. Mid-fight convos don’t usually steer away from ideas on how to win Scarlet back, let alone completely to another subject.
The half-empty Blue Moon bottle hits wood, ale and hope that maybe it won’t be another half a year before I see my best friend again.
I immediately want to tell him about Lily. Describe everything I’ve learned about her, detail what her freckles look like when the light hits her just right. Tell him how dedicated I’ve become to making her happy. Explain that when she walks into a room, existing becomes living.
Instinctively, I want to catch him up on our relationship, too. Just like he’s told me about every not-so-happy conversation he’s had with his girlfriend, I want to tell him about the night Iwas scared half to death that I’d lost the love of my life, and even more, how we worked through it.
It feels wrong to bring that up when he’s chugging down alcohol at the mention of his relationship, though.
“Life’s been good. Working on some art stuff, getting through classes.” I search for something in my brain that doesn’t sound so generic. “Clem knows how to write her name now.”
The seemingly rare, genuine Derek grin curves into short but deep smile lines.
“That’s amazing. Howisthe best girl in the whole world?”
“She’s good. Got sent home early from the other week for trying to flush a pack of crayons down the toilet, but good.”
“Sounds like her.” We share a laugh. A sound I didn’t realize I missed so much until I’m reminded how common they used to be. “Has she said anything about her favorite uncle recently?”
“Oh.” My smile spreads too, falling back into our familiar, lighthearted dynamic. “She said I don’t wear enough colors. Thinking about switching it up after that, maybe some purples or blues?”
Derek nods, still grinning. “Good idea. Actually, did I say favorite uncle? I meant best-looking uncle.”
“Dude.” I slap a hand over his shoulder again, but this time, my comfort is sarcastic and fun. This is what I’m used to with Derek. “Don’t know how to break this to you. But that’s me, too.”
“You wish.”
We chuckle, loud and reckless like we have during my favorite memories of us together. It feels like old times.
“Seriously though,” Derek says, “I miss that girl. Has she said anything about me?”
He’s watching me intently over the lip of his bottle, and by his newly relaxed face and features, I can’t tell him the truth. That Clementine has been asking to see him repeatedly, only to be told he’s too busy to come to see me, let alone her.
“Yeah. She heard some old song and said you taught her how to sing it, and then proceeded to sing said song.” I hide behind the lip of my own bottle and hope he’s too distracted to notice my nervousness.
