“How are your parents?” Natalie asks as we come to a stop at an intersection. We’ve just barely missed the walk sign. I would’ve pushed it, but Natalie stops when she knows it will soon switch to Don’t Walk.
“You must be a mind reader. I was just thinking about my mom.”
“I wish I were a mind reader. That would be cool.” Natalie smiles. “So, how are they?”
“Good.” I nod and shrug. “They’re always good.”
Natalie watches me, tipping her head to the side. I’ve always answered that question the exact same way, so she shouldn’t be surprised to hear me say it again tonight. My parents have a perfect marriage, one that my mother made into a best-selling book nearly twenty years ago. That book was made into a movie, and the movie won an award. The entire world was in love with my parents’ marriage. A popular book reviewer called itEpic. Transcendent. The power of love at its finest.
The progeny of such a union should be happily married by now, with a boy and a girl and a yellow Labrador Retriever. He shouldn’t be on dating apps that are really just an excuse to have casual sex. Natalie attributes my proclivities to a cycle of extended adolescent rebellion that has now become a habit, and I let her. It’s easier that way.
“No shock that your parents are perfect.” Her voice is dreamy, and she doesn’t notice me flinch at the wordperfect.I hate that word. “Are you going there for Thanksgiving?”
“Yes. Are you doing the turkey day shuffle?” Poor Natalie. Her Thanksgiving is never about giving thanks. Mostly it’s about Natalie splitting her time between two different houses and trying to have some semblance of a relaxing, enjoyable holiday. An enjoyable holiday can only be had if the company is enjoyable, and Natalie’s parents are not. Her mom drinks too much wine and complains that her life hasn’t turned out the way she envisioned. To be fair, it hasn’t. The problem is that she places the blame for this on everybody else. Natalie’s dad has a new wife and a five-year-old son. As hard as Natalie tries, she hasn’t been able to feel comfortable in his new home.
Natalie groans, but the sound is mostly lost in the noise from the passing cars. “Yes, of course. Mom will attempt to stain the inside of her body with copious amounts of wine, and Dad will proudly present the Upgrades.”
Even though it’s fucking freezing outside, I remove my hand from my pocket and wrap it around Natalie’s shoulders. She might sayUpgradelike it doesn’t bother her, but her dad’s new family gutted her twice. Once when he remarried, and then again when his new wife announced her pregnancy. And they are definitely not upgrades. I can’t speak for Natalie’s mother, but Natalie is pinnacle. Paramount. Summit. Apex. Every synonym for highest point. The best friend in me rises to her defense, automatic and strong.
We maintain our pace down the street, but I lean in and tell her the words she so desperately needs to hear. “Your dad created a new family to fulfill something inside of him. He was not making up for a deficit with you.”
She looks up at me, and in the lights from the oncoming cars I see the hint of moisture, the tears she refuses to shed. “Thank you,” she whispers and leans her head on my shoulder. The embrace does not last longer than a few seconds. We are careful, so careful, not to touch for too long. Other than that stunt I pulled at brunch this morning, which probably only lasted about fifteen seconds, our touches do not linger. A thousand times we’ve heard the opinions of those who don’t believe a guy and a girl can be best friends.
We have a thousand people to prove wrong.
7
Natalie
The wine poolsin my mouth, warm and spicy, and I let it stay there a moment longer before swallowing.
I hate talking about my dad. A divorce is one thing, but a whole new family?Hey wound, it looks like you could use some salt.
Aidan leans against my kitchen counter and reaches into his pockets, emptying them of his keys and wallet. The metal scrapes the counter as he pushes them away and hops up.
“You ready for that profile?” He sips his wine and raises one eyebrow.
I don’t know how he makes that face. If I try to raise one eyebrow, I end up squinting one eye.
I make a sound, a cross between a grumble and a whine, and grab my laptop off the couch. Sitting down, I place my wine on the coffee table and open up the computer. Aidan settles next to me, sitting back against the couch and spreading his legs wide until his left knee bumps my right leg.
I offer him the laptop. I have no idea what website to type in. I know some are used for sex, but I think those might be apps. Feeling stupid, I grab my wine and feel the movement of my computer being taken from me.
Aidan types and a website pops up. He keys in a username and password and a new screen appears.
The screen has my name.
The screen has information about me.
The screen has my picture.
“Aidan, what the hell?” I look to Aidan, back to the computer, and back to Aidan again. He’s watching me, waiting to see if he’s in trouble. “You already created an account for me?”
“I had some free time today.” His voice is even, but he’s holding back a smile.
“Aidan…”
“What?”
