“Hey! Badasses,” I tell him, “come in all shapes and sizes.”
A soft laugh rumbles in his throat, and I smile reflexively. I love making Alex laugh.
Alex tips back another gulp of his melted gelato. I make a point of not watching his throat work as he swallows.
“You would pick a therapist namedSusan,” he says.
“She goes by Sue, I’ll have you know. And she’smykind of badass. Calm and soft-spoken and unnervingly good at gently but firmly calling out my dysfunctional coping mechanisms.”
He glances my way. “Yeah?”
I nod, spooning myself a mouthful of gelato. “Ohhh, yeah.”
Silence settles between us. I swallow my bite, and when I peer up, I catch Alex looking at me, his expression tight. I hate that something’s upsetting him, that I don’t know what it is, that it seems like he doesn’twantme to know.
I kick off my Birkenstocks and turn to face him on the bench, wedging my toes beneath his thigh. “Alex.”
He holds my eyes. “Ted.”
“No pressure to talk about what’s bothering you. But Idowant to know, if you want to tell me. At any point. You can always talk to me.”
A soft smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Thanks, Ted.”
“Of course,” I tell him. “That’s what friends do for each other.”
He squeezes my ankle, but it doesn’t linger, no thumb brushing my skin, no fingertips tickling the back of my leg. I try not to read into it. He says to me, “You’re a good friend.”
“So are you,” I tell him. “The best there is.”
“Wow.” He reaches for his back pocket. “I’m telling Lauren.”
“Don’t you dare!” I grab his wrist. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “So I’m not the best?”
I groan. “You know I can’t do this with you two. It’s like asking a mom to choose which kid is her favorite.”
“First of all,” he says, “I don’t appreciate that analogy’s parentification of our relationship. Second, my mom absolutely has a favorite. All moms do.”
“Let me guess,” I say wearily, letting go of his wrist. “You’re Lydia’s.”
“Obviously.” Alex grins as he pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and proceeds to say to it, “Ted just told me I’m her favorite.”
“Alex!” I yelp. “You did not just voice-memo Lauren.”
He shrugs and pockets his phone. I’d be more annoyed if I wasn’t so relieved that he’s up to his usual antics, being playful. Smiling.
My phone buzzes in my shorts pocket. I sigh. “Youdidjust voice-memo Lauren.”
Alex sips his gelato. “Actually, I voice-memoed both of you. The good old group chat.”
I pull out my phone as it buzzes again. I read Lauren’s response and snort a laugh.
It’s called Stockholm syndrome, ALEC. Just remember, I had to leave before she gave you the time of day.
Alex pulls his phone from his pocket again. He reads Lauren’s text, and his smug grin morphs to a scowl. He hates when she calls him Alec. Pocketing his phone, he says, “That woman is a pestilence.”
“Who just renamed our chat WHY IS ALEC STILL HERE.” I laugh again as I set my phone on the bench. “She loves getting under your skin.”
