“Sure, I’ll have a vodka cranberry,” I said.
A server in a black Revs t-shirt appeared at our table, notepad ready. “Hey! What can I get you guys?”
Kane smiled at her. “I’ll have a Stella, and my friend will have a vodka cranberry.”
“Anything to eat?”
“We might need a bit more time to look at the menu,” he said before glancing at me. “Unless you’ve already picked something?”
“I’d love to try the Caesar salad,” I said.
“Cool. In that case, I’ll do the beef burger with a double side of fries.”
After the server had jotted down our order and walked away, I leaned forward and tried again. “So were you and Cal close?”
Kane hesitated, a distant look appearing in his eyes. “We were pretty close,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “But I wouldn’t say we were best friends. She had, like… a ‘main’ friend group with her actual best friend.”
“Cherry,” I said nodding.
“Right, yeah. But anyway, I think Calista liked having a friend from a different group to talk to sometimes. You know, if there was any drama in the main group, or whatever. Or if she just wanted to hear an opinion that wasn’t coming from the echo chamber.”
“Makes sense,” I said, nodding again. Calista had always been a social butterfly, capable of maintaining many friendships over multiple groups. “Do you remember when you first met her?”
Before he could respond, another server appeared with our drinks. Kane smiled politely at her and took a long sip of his beer before looking back at me. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I was wondering where you met Cal.”
“Ah.” He frowned slightly, head tilting. “Must’ve been freshman year, at a party,” he said. “And by the way, speaking of freshmen, you don't look young enough to be one.” He suddenly sat up straighter, lifting a palm. “I mean... shit, I'm not saying you lookold. It’s just that you’re new here, and—”
I laughed and cut him off. “It's okay, I get what you mean, and you're right. I'm a junior. I transferred here from Ravenswood.”
“Ah, cool. What are you studying?”
“Business. I’ve always wanted to build something of my own one day,” I said. I waved a hand. “But enough about me, I guess. We're not here to discuss that.”
“It's all good,” Kane said, grinning. “We've got the whole night to chat. Unless you have to be in bed by eight.”
I nodded, sucking in a deep breath. He was right. We had plenty of time. I didn’t need to hit him with a barrage of questions about my sister right off the bat. I could afford to let the conversation breathe a little, give the beer a chance to loosen his lips.
We spent the next several minutes chatting about surface-level stuff—our classes, favorite movies, a local sports team mascot that recently tripped and faceplanted on live TV. After our food finally arrived, along with Kane’s second beer, I decided to steer the conversation back into deeper waters.
“So, I was just wondering something,” I said. “How come I never saw you on Cal’s phone?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked, reaching for his new beer. As he did so, he accidentally knocked the edge of the glass, sending foam flying all over the table, along with a few splashes of beer. “Shit,” he muttered, grabbing a napkin to mop up the mess.
“I mean Cal’s texts,” I said, grabbing a napkin so I could help with the spill. “I had a look at them after she died, and I don’t think I ever saw your name.”
“Oh, right, yeah. I’m not a big texter,” Kane replied. “I hate calls, too. I’m more of an in-person conversationalist, y’know? And Cal and I had a lot of the same classes, so we’d usually link up afterwards and go somewhere. So we hung out a lot, but we barely ever texted.”
“Ah, okay.” I nodded slowly. “What kind of stuff did you guys talk about when you hung out?”
“Everything, really. Class stuff, drama with other friends, personal stuff.”
“Personal stuff?” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Does that mean she talked about relationships with you?”
Kane’s eyes lifted to something over my shoulder, and his expression shifted to a grimace. “Oh, shit. Just try to ignore these guys, okay?” he muttered.
I turned to see three guys in matching Sigma Chi shirts weaving through the tables toward us, beers in hand and grins plastered across their flushed faces.
