I’m about to tell Dallas that Noah isn’t into football anyway, which is silly, because I’m sure even someone with no knowledge about any sports would have trouble saying no to the VIP Box with us, and I don’t want to give my brother a reason to dislike him.
But Clay asks, “Doing what?” and there’s a slight edge of protectiveness to it, even though this isn’t spring break.
“A hockey tournament.” It should be obvious, after the amount of sports things we’ve crammed into our Christmas holidays over the years.
But then my face drops. Because it’s the first time I see Noah being in Florida as more than just not here with me. We haven’t firmly established what’s going on between us after…everything. It was fun having his house to ourselves, and he said he wants to see me once we get back, but I meant it when I said I had no experience with this, no idea how to be a friend with benefits. Can we date other people? Will he sleep with bunnies in Florida? Are we dating? Is the benefit orgasm-centric, or can we also be each other’s default plus ones? Even with his assurances about being friends and wanting to keep doing this, a huge part of me still expects him to end it before we get back to school. We both set boundaries before this started, and it keeps evolving, to the point that we’ve broken almost every one of them. Which I’m okay with, but I’m not sure he is.
“We’re just friends,” I say, but absolutely no one believes it. Especially not me.
They both look at me like they want to argue, but Brenda Crowley walks in the front door without knocking, like she has been doing since she and mom moved in across the street from each other and became best friends decades ago. “Merry Christmas!” she calls out.
I go over to say hi and get the casserole she brought, pasta by the looks of it, but it isn’t until she takes me in for a hug that I notice her daughter is with her and freeze.
I should have expected it, at least as a possibility, but I’ve been so lucky since everything happened that I was lulled into a false sense of security.
“Kinsey, you made it,” Mom says brightly from the living room. “I feel like we haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Not since summer,” she agrees, with a saccharine smile for my mom and a complete dismissal for me.
“Looking good, Dallas,” she acknowledges, her hand lingering on his bicep longer than he looks comfortable with, but he won’t say anything for the same reason I haven’t. We’re like family. And my hope is that one day she’ll get over my brother and stop being a bitch, but the more I look back on our friendship, the more I think the bitch was real, and being nice to me was the act. Because I have insecurities instilled from years of suspecting that maybe she doesn’t really like me, and I’m too much of a burden, but in the months since the change, I don’t think I’ve seen an inkling of remorse, or that she isn’t thoroughly enjoying making me feel less than and miserable.
The Crowleys go to the living room with my parents while I hang up the coats they left me, some more kindly than others.
“You okay?” Dallas asks me.
“I’ll be fine.” I shrug it off, trying to convince myself as much as him.
“Have you seen her since…”
“I’ve managed to avoid her since last spring,” I answer Clay. I was at camp this summer, then Kinsey went to Europe right before school started, and did Thanksgiving with her boyfriend’s family.
“Wanna go out for Chinese? Or you can teach me how to skate?” Dallas teases.
“Mom will ask questions,” I argue, but if it wasn’t Christmas Eve, I would already be waiting in his car.
“I can answer them.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warn. We decided, after Kinsey made her feelings about me very clear, that we wouldn’t ruin Mom’s friendship with Brenda over it.
“Video games downstairs?” Clay offers.
“I can survive a couple of hours,” I say more confidently than I feel.
“Not sure I can.” Dallas sighs.
“Isn’t she still in love with you?” We both ask.
“I meant survive hours of someone hurting you without being able to do anything. And before you argue, I see your face just from being in the same room as her.”
“I’ll use my poker face,” I assure him.
“I’m not sure you have one,” Dallas argues before the three of us go into the living room and take the couch across from the Crowleys.
“How’s it going with that football player you brought for the Fourth? Kevin?” Mom is asking, completely oblivious, because I can’t bear to tell her. Contrary to what my brothers think, I have an excellent poker face when needed.
“That’s over.” Kinsey waves her hand dismissively. “Most footballers fit a little too well into the whole dumb jocks stereotype, so as fun as they are to look at, I wanted someone with a little more substance.” She sighs. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Forgive her, she’s a little heartbroken and is taking it out on football players in general, which is an upgrade from when I last had my heart broken and blamed the entire male population,” Brenda defends her daughter.
