Ellie hums in thought, studying the wall like it’s a two-page spread in a Where’s Waldo? book, and my chest constricts a little around my breath. I don’t even remember what all’s up there. Nothing I would want to hide, obviously, or I wouldn’t havetaped it to my wall, but the longer she stares, the more it feels like she’s sorting through the intimate details of my personal history. I toss my phone on the bed and stand up to join her, trying to follow her gaze over the chaos in case there’s anything incriminating that warrants an explanation.
“I was in that.” Ellie points to a light-blue piece of paper: the program from our high school’s production ofGrease. “Just in the ensemble. The only show I ever did.”
“Yeah? Kat played in the pit orchestra.”
“What about this one?” Ellie points to a photo of Kat and me, blue lipped and baby faced in matching Cubs hats.
“Kat’s first Cubs game. It was her eighth grade graduation present from my parents. We housed, like, four snow cones each.”
“Huh,” Ellie says with a nod, but I don’t miss the tiny pinch of her eyebrows that has me concerned that I’ve accidentally built a wall-size shrine to my best friend. It’s not my fault that most of my favorite memories include Kat, but it does mean she takes up about a third of the wall. The early stages of my panic spiral are interrupted by Ellie’s snort-laugh. “Is this you?”
I follow her finger to an even older photo of me and my family on one of our first Florida trips. Mom hadn’t committed to growing out her bangs yet, and Dad’s wire-framed glasses are half the size of his face. Between them, I’m a third grader with one front tooth missing, grinning behind purple heart-shaped sunglasses.
“That’s me. That might’ve been our first Thanksgiving in Florida.”
“Is that where your parents are now?” she asks.
“Yup.”
“And you’re not there because of…”
That’s a fill-in-the-blank question with multiple correct answers. “Kat, finals, and the Sip reopening,” I list off. “In no particular order.”
“Gotcha.” Ellie steps away from the Wall of Fame, seemingly remembering her hangover. She scrunches her face tight, groans, then relaxes it again. “God, I feel rough.”
“I can offer you Tums, but they’re expired.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “We have some at home.” She pulls her phone out, checking the time. “I should probably get going anyway.”
“I can drive you,” I volunteer. “If I can find my keys.”
“If they’re the ones with the, uh…” she taps her thumb against the rest of her fingers as she searches for a word. “The key chain thing? The pink one?”
“Oh, the bottle opener that says ‘dyke’ on it?” I laugh.
The corner of Ellie’s mouth hooks into a smile. “Yeah. They’re on the counter downstairs.”
I follow Ellie out of my bedroom, but not before catching my reflection in the mirror and immediately wishing I hadn’t. Last night’s minimal eye makeup has melted into two not so minimal smudges, and my hair has committed to falling in every direction at once. Not exactly the look for impressing a cute girl who just spent the night. I’d love to at least brush my teeth, but I don’t want to make Ellie wait, so I grab a swig of mouthwash and call it good enough. If we’re gross, at least we’re gross together.
Downstairs, Ellie points out my keys on the counter before hunting down her coat, which was ditched somewhere amongthe living room snack pile. She’s done a little cleanup since I’ve been down here—the couch cushions are back in their place, and the air mattress is almost fully deflated. “Do you want help cleaning the rest of this up?” Her lip twitches toward some pita chip crumbs crushed into the carpet.
“I’ve got it,” I say. “It’ll give me something to do today.”
She pins her twitchy lip with her teeth. “You’re not going to Kat’s?”
I toss my keys from one hand to the other, then back again, letting the “dyke” key chain knock against my wrist a little harder with every throw. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’ve gotta figure that out.”
In lieu of repeating this painful conversation for a second time this morning, I launch into some diatribe about Mom’s obsession with keeping a clean house. Ellie nods along while I shove my arms into my coat, yammering without even knowing what I’m saying. My brain is too dedicated to creating a pros and cons list for going to the Flemings this afternoon.Pro: I get to see Kat. Con: It’s all about Daniel. Pro: I’m not alone on Thanksgiving. Con: I’m playing third wheel to the happy couple.
Ellie graciously cuts me off midsentence. Only then do I realize how heated I was getting about carpet cleaner. “Ready?”
“Yup.” I zip my coat to my chin. “Let’s hit it.”
It’s a quick drive, and we’re quiet for most of it, leaving me plenty of headspace to work on my pros and cons list.Pro: Kat’s Thanksgiving will have stuffing made out of challah bread. Con: Kat’s Thanksgiving will have Daniel. Pro: I’d love to see Mr. and Mrs. Fleming. Con: Mr. and Mrs. Fleming are going to be way more interested in getting to know their daughter’s boyfriend.
“Right here.” Ellie points toward a dusty-blue Subaruturning down an approaching side street. “That’s my parents’ car. Just follow them.”
As advised, I pull up behind the Subaru into the last driveway on the block. I can practically hear my mother going full realtor mode in my head.A two-story colonial! Great curb appeal! Just steps from Colfax Elementary!I imagine her playing up the big yard to Ellie’s parents. Who knows, maybe she did. There are only so many realtors in this town. There’s a nonzero chance Mom sold them the house.
