He hugs me one more time, cracking actual vertebrae. I try to envision a chiropractic adjustment and squeeze back without squirming away. He must need it, because he’s been on a hugging spree lately. I’m going to need ibuprofen and a nap.
“Derf reminds me of Jace. Kinda mean but funny,” he says handing my phone back.
“Her name’s Alex, and you’re right.” He’s entirely correct, but I never made the connection until now. “She’s like you and Jace morphed together. Pretty scary.”
Sam and I do our weird handshake, and I call Alex back in the car.
“Dude! What’s that guy on?” She must be driving too. It’s the only time she’d make or receive a phone call rather than text.
“I’m guessing a less than therapeutic dose of Adderall.” I shrug, though she can’t see me.
“Ha. Same. Why would he want to sing to me? Is he always like that?” she asks, sounding half irritated and half curious.
“Yep, raging extrovert. He’s a two-hundred-thirty-pound moose puppy, but he can sing.”
“Sounds like a drummer.”
“Agent of chaos.” I laugh. We’ve known a few drummers.
“Ohhhh, well, that explains it. I really just called to tell you I can’t stand your fiancé. If I see one more selfie or cryptic post about his demanding job and the pressure he’s under, I’m going to ask about the life choices that got him there.” I can practically hear the air quotes and condescension, and that’s after I filter out the four-letter words.
“Please don’t.”
“Please dump him,” she says dryly.
“Things are difficult right now. Maybe it’ll get better.” I don’t believe that at this point, but Alex isn’t my go-to for relationship advice. We usually only talk about the hard things once they’re over.
“Well, my mom wanted me to tell you that breakups are easier than divorces. I’d say go for the drummer, but he seems like … a lot.”
“Oh, heck no. He’s just a baby. We sang last night, though. There might’ve been video. Look up Sam Haynes.”
“Sure, if you say so, Snotface. Gotta go,” Alex says, clearly reaching the end of her limited attention span. “Dump the whiner.”
“Bye, Derf.”
Chapter 16
Everywhere You Look
Iplanned to change into an embroidered Pop’s polo shirt to go with the dark jeans I’m already wearing, but I can’t find it, so I settle for a newer red “Pop’s Diner” T-shirt. I still look more professional than usual.
Dave doesn’t care what I wear anyway, so I put my hair in a ponytail and pull it through the back of my Braves cap and slip my feet into red-and-white checkered Vans. I’ll probably regret wearing these to work, but I like the crisp red, white, and blue look.
My phone has finally calmed down. I’ve lived in three states in the last five years, not counting Kentucky twice. That doesn’t even touch all the childhood moves, but between moves and meeting people at concerts, I keep in touch with a lot of friends and family.
Visiting hours are over, though. I need to call Nathan before work and do something about this funk we’ve been in. Being around Jude is too easy. I’ve gotten spoiled. Life can’t be uncomplicated all the time.
Communicating by text and rushed phone calls doesn’t help matters, but I don’t think wecanreconnect at this point. Every time I talk to Nathan, I hear some level of disdain in his voice making me question why I still try. Don’t even ask how I feel. I don’t think I feel anything but stupid.
But obligation wins again, so I make the call sitting in my car before I leave for work. It’s unusual not to cross paths with Jude at this time of day, and the absence of his black SUV gives me a twinge of disappointment.
I crank the engine to get the air-conditioning going and try not to think about the person I really want to talk to when it’s only been thirteen and a half hours since I saw him. Not that I’m counting.
My stomach swoops remembering how I fell asleep, then sinks with guilt and shame. Nathan would be livid if he knew, but I’ve practically begged for … what? Friendship?
He won’t eat anything I cook. Without work, we have no inside jokes or playful conversations. I can’t even get a Sunday afternoon baseball game without him screaming at the TV or trying cheap frat-boy-level moves. Being my friend isn’t part of his agenda. I don’t think he knows how.
Was it ever real?
