I left my sister Evie to fend for herself, but she’s probably already faked her own death or at least a severe gastrointestinal emergency to get out of helping.
Last Thanksgiving, she claimed she had explosive diarrhea and stayed locked in the downstairs bathroom for four straight hours. Meanwhile, I was elbow-deep in potato peels and hand-whipping mashed sweet potatoes like I was training for the Great British Bake Off. When I finally went into the bathroom afterward, expecting it to smell like a garbage truck lit on fire, it smelled like vanilla. She’d lit a candle, put on spa music, and read an entire Sarah J. Maas novel in the bathtub while I got barked at about undersalting the gravy.
I had to get out of there, and thankfully, my nonnegotiable plans with two of my best friends made it temporarily possible. It’s remarkably quiet here at the mall with Scottie and Kayla, flipping through racks of clothes.
So, so quiet. I sigh.
The three of us have been trying to plan this little Fourth of July preparation shopping trip for a couple of weeks, and with my dad’s birthday party tonight and no outfit to wear to that either, today was an opportune time. Kayla’s doing a summer internship here with some sunglass company, which means she’s busy during the week, and Scottie’s physical therapy is usually reserved for Monday through Friday too.
I flip past a navy halter with little stars on the hem, my phone buzzing in my back pocket for what has to be the fiftieth time today. I pull it out, glance at the screen, and smile despite myself.
Scottie looks at me curiously and asks, “Drew?”
“Just Ace. He’s been texting me nonstop since Wednesday night. Funny memes, jokes, and yesterday and today, all different stuff for my apartment. I showed him my Pinterest vision board on Thursday when he came over to formally apologize, and he’s been busy looking for stuff from it ever since.”
“That’s…really sweet,” Scottie says, glancing to Kayla out of the corner of her eye before looking back at me. “Um…wait… What happened Wednesday that Ace had to formally apologize for?”
I laugh. “Oh, you know, just Ace shit. I made the mistake of telling him where I was having my date with Drew, and he interrupted in spectacular fashion by trying to catch a Frisbee and landing in the middle of our picnic. Smashed the cake Drew got and busted open the chips and dip. Drew had French onion all over his shirt and had to take it off for the ride home, it smelled so bad.”
“My God,” Kayla mutters with a shake of her head as she thumbs through red, white, and blue bathing suits. “Ace Kelly is something.”
“Don’t I know it,” I agree with a laugh.
“So, was it just Ace who crashed your date?” Scottie asks, and when I look over at her, her gaze is fixated on a cute red crop top. “Or were there other…people involved?”
“Well, if anyone else was involved, Ace’s body was the only one that dive-bombed into the center of the blanket Drew had set up,” I answer with a roll of my eyes.
“So…were you mad?” Scottie asks. “Like, really mad?”
Kayla laughs and nudges Scottie playfully. “At least she got a shirtless Drew Bettencourt out of it.”
“I was definitely a little pissed,” I answer bluntly. “I mean, I have no idea why Ace felt the need to crash my date. But we have the fifteen-minute rule, so I got over it pretty quickly. All the stuff he’s been doing since is sweet, but it’s overkill. I’ve moved on.”
“Afifteen-minute rule? What the hell does that mean?” Scottie asks, wheeling around the rack of bathing suits to look me in the eye. I avoid hers, knowing the explanation I’m about to give is a little farfetched for anyone outside of the Ace and Julia duo and feeling a little embarrassed by it.
“It started in second grade after our first real fight over a sidewalk-chalk masterpiece. I tried to break up with him as a friend, and he cried and said that wasn’t allowed unless we both agreed. So, we came up with the fifteen-minute rule to keep the grudges from getting out of control. Fifteen minutes, and then you get over it.”
“Let me get this straight.” Kayla cracks up. “You guys have a time limit on being mad?”
“Yeah…technically, we do.” I shrug and smile, but internally, I’m realizing how crazy it all must sound to them. “We knew we were going to fight. It’s inevitable when you’ve known someone your whole life. So, we made a rule. Fifteen minutes to be pissed. Yell. Ice out. Dramatically slam doors. But at the end of the fifteen minutes, the wrongdoer has to apologize and mean it, and the other personhasto forgive them.”
Scottie and Kayla share a look I can’t quite discern, probablybecause they’ve never experienced a best-friendship with someone like Ace Kelly.
“We didn’t need it for a few years at the end of primary school, but it had to be reinstated in sixth grade,” I add, concentrating hard on a red halter with white stars all over it instead of polka dots. “I tie-dyed his signed Mavericks jersey. I thought it would be a cool surprise. It was…not.”
“Wow,” Kayla says. “And you two really stick to this fifteen-minute-rule thing? Like, you’ve never been mad longer than that?”
I snort. “Sure, sometimes the anger simmers a little, but we’ve always kept up our end of the bargain. Most of the time, I’m over it before the fifteen minutes are even up because Ace starts apologizing with his big brown puppy-dog eyes.”
“Not gonna lie, girlfriend,” Kayla teases with a smile in my direction. “The two of you are quite the pair. Your friendship is…”
“A little weird?” I offer.
“I was thinking more ‘hard to define,’ but sure, I guess weird works too.”
“And just think,” I add with a self-deprecating smile, knowing full well that this story will truly blow their minds. “I haven’t even told you guys about our official decree notebook we made when he was eight and I was seven and we agreed to get married at twenty-five.”
Scottie chokes. “You agreed to what?”
