“We’ve been friends since we were five. Do you really think I’d give up on you?”
“I don’t know.” I hug myself. “No.”
“Good.” Bowie purses their lips, blows out a breath. “I can be mad at you and still love you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Sometimes I can’t help myself. “Jasmine says I have abandonment issues.”
“Well, she’s been pretty awful to you lately, but I’m not sure she’s wrong.”
“Maybe.”
“I really think you should talk to someone about this, Jacks. Like... go back to therapy or something.”
“You think?”
“I do.”
“But my therapist was the one who told me to make lists in the first place.”
“Are you sure they weren’t supposed to be, like, pro-con lists?”
I shrug. “He always talked slow to me anyway.”
“Sounds like you had a shit therapist.”
“Maybe.” I grab the tongs and stir the spaghetti. “I’m really sorry, Bowie. I messed up. And you’re right. I’ll ask Dad about therapy.”
“I forgive you. And don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And I know you’re scared about college. But it’ll be okay. Did it ever occur to you that I’m going to miss you too?”
Honestly?
I’m not sure it did.
“But we can’t let that stop us from chasing our dreams. I want you to reach yours, Jackson.”
“I want you to reach yours too. You know that. Right?”
Bowie finally smiles. “I do.”
When the pasta’s cooked, I drain it, then Bowie cracks the jar and pours the sauce all over. I serve them a big pile and then myself.
“Carbs don’t cure everything, but they come close,” Bowie says. “It’s going to be okay, Jacks.”
I sigh. “But I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?”
“Everything. Jasmine. The show.” I swallow. “Liam.”
I feel another cry coming on and stare at the ceiling, but that doesn’t help.
“I really hurt him.”
“Yeah.”
