“Not really.”
“I’ve got leftovers and Evie can bring us stale bakery goods. And once you feel better, you can tell us about Mateo’s little morning coffee concha run you’ve been keeping to yourself this last week.”
It was a gross, snotty laugh—but I still laughed. “I’ll be there soon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Avery
June’s house was ten minutes from mine, and five from Evie’s. I barreled through June’s front door, kicked off my shoes, ran straight to the living room, and threw myself on June’s couch between the two of them to sob.
“Oh honey,” Evie said, rubbing my back. “What in the hell happened tonight?”
I couldn’t form the words to explain yet. I just needed to cry it out. They were patient with me, holding me between them as I cried. I was an ugly crier too—one of the ugliest—but they didn’t care. They just loved me the way my mom should have.
June got up and left for a couple minutes, then returned with three plates full of pasta and garlic bread. I sat up slightly, sniffling as I took my plate, clearing my throat.
“Sorry,” I sighed. “It was bad.”
“Whatever she said clearly hit something,” Evie said.
The three of us settled on the couch and dug into our food. Despite the fact I couldn’t breathe through my nose, the pasta and bread cut straight through the sadness like a soothing carb balm.
“She’s depressed,” I finally said. “She’s not going out anymore. She’s lost weight. I think the first year, we expectedher to be grieving, but it’s been a lot longer than that now. And I think she’s gotten worse. Dallas came over on Friday for dinner and Austin stopped by too. We decided we wanted to talk to her tonight about going to therapy.”
June let out an abrupt laugh and covered her mouth. “Sorry. I just know that didn’t go over well.”
“It did not,” I said.
Evie sighed. “I do not envy either of you. My mom will be your mom too.”
“She is,” June chuckled. “I’m tempted to call her up just so Avery can have a hug without strings attached.”
I chuckled and took another bite of fettuccine, thinking about Evie’s family. Out of the three of us, her relationship with her parents was by far the healthiest. They were both happy and good and loved her. They were so fucking proud of her. And June and I haddefinitely notspent hours at this point in our friendship with Evie talking about how much we wished our moms were like hers.
“I think being an only child helps,” Evie said. “I got all their love.”
“There should be plenty to spread around,” June said. “I think you just have good parents, Evie. They’re balanced people.”
I nodded in agreement. “So true.”
“Well, they love when you come over. Their door is always open, too. But maybe knock first.”
I grinned and laid my head on her shoulder, stretching my legs out. June’s couch was large and comfortable. We called it the “Breakdown Couch,” because if one of us needed to cry, we always convened here. The cushions were permanently stained with our tears.
“The kicker was that she said my dad always understood me,” I said. “And she said she was sorry she wasn’t him, but inthat sarcastic, condescending tone. And it just sent me over the edge.”
“Damn,” Evie muttered. “That’s low. Even for her. Your mom has her issues, but she’s not usually mean like that.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “So I’m done. Dallas walked me out.”
“I bet he was worried,” June said.
“He was. And Austin started arguing with her. I didn’t hear what they said, but I could hear his tone on the way out.”
“Good,” Evie said. “Maybe she’ll listen to them.”
“I hope so,” I said. “I do want her to be better, you know? I’m hurt and angry, but I don’t want her to be depressed. I want her to be happy. I want her to want to know me.”
