Page 118 of A Really Bad Idea

I deserved to have her puke on my Nikes, too.

That was why, a few weeks later, I said something to her. I told her she was my best friend. Was she? She was the best of all my friends, sure. The person who I wasn’t worried about being the coolest or best around. I wasn’t concerned about what she thought if I wanted to stay in on the weekend to study or watch SNL. She liked me for me, and that felt good.

Meadow was someone who, if I dated and we broke up, our relationship would never be the same.

I was also hoping I wouldn’t always have this attraction to her. I was wrong. It lasted past graduation and into the college years.

We went to different universities, but we spoke often. Mostly online. Our text chains were long and always up our computer screens. If I needed to talk to her, she was a click away.

Thanksgiving Eve was always the top party night for us. We’d get together with our old high school friends. Over the summers, we’d spend time with our parents at the club, play tennis, and swim. We dated other people, and as always, she liked none of my girlfriends. It was surprising because she always dated losers. More than once, I had a heart-to-heart with some guy in a parking lot. It was the classic you hurt her, and I hurt you speech.

I stayed on the West Coast for medical school, and she got her master’s back east. By then, I had my heart set on becoming a surgeon. My priorities had switched from girls to becoming the most advanced valve replacement surgeon in the field. I was obsessed, and it paid off.

I didn’t party at all, so I lived vicariously through Meadow and listened to her stories every Sunday. I don’t remember when that started, but for years, that was our day. We spoke about everything from books to what was on television to politics to friends and family. We learned more about each other over the phone than we had in all the years we’d known one another. I took her to a Justin Timberlake concert one year for her birthday, and she came out to San Francisco twice on her own and twice to see her boyfriend play hockey.

By twenty-five, I was taking part in research my peers would have killed to be part of. I spent my days in labs and my nights in research books. I had the lead and was doing everything to stay focused and seize my dream.

That was when Meadow got married.

She eloped.

It devastated her mother. It disappointed her dad because he hadn’t gotten to walk her down the aisle. They threw her a wedding party afterward to appease their need to give their daughter the wedding of their dreams.

My heart was broken for the second time in my life.

No, that’s a lie. It was the first and only time because what I’d thought was a broken heart at fifteen was just a pissed-off attitude. This was different. I didn’t actually feel it in my chest. It felt like my bones had lost their density. My gut was hollow, and I had this terrible headache that lasted for weeks.

I’d thought I had my life figured out. No, I did have my life figured out. I’d just forgotten to figure Meadow into it.

I was an idiot. It took Meadow getting married for me to realize for certain that I was in love with her. I was hoping it was jealousy, and it would pass. It didn’t.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” my father said when he picked me up at the airport.

“Why would you say something like that?”

“She made her vow to another man. If there’s one thing Gallagher men hold sacred, it’s marriage. Let her go. Let her be happy.”

On the day of her wedding party, I gave her a gift. A wishbone necklace. I’m always surprised when I see her wearing it. It’s like she knows why I picked it out.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, thankfully not questioning the fact that I’d bought something so personal.

“When I was in school, we had to break open the chest cavity of a bird. The wishbone protects the heart. It reminded me of you. Wishes and luck and … well, I saw it at the jeweler, and he said a wishbone meant hope for the future. I hope you like it.”

“I love it.” She threw her arms around me, and I didn’t hesitate to hold her a little longer than I should have.

My Meadow.

She belonged to someone else.

I flew back to San Francisco and devoted my life to my career for the next seven years until the day she called in tears.

She’d left Brock. I took the first flight home.

I held her when she cried.

I fed her when she said she couldn’t eat.

I made her laugh when I thought her smile had faded forever.