Funny Story(104)

“Daphne. Chill for a second,” she says, somehow stern without being unkind. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I shake my head. “We’re talking about us. I can deal with the other stuff later.”

“Honey!” She tugs me over to sit at the foot of her velvet-upholstered bed. “Friends talk about the other stuff.”

When I meet her gaze, her brow is grooved with concern. I feel an intense crush of love for her then, and fresh shame that I could ever forget this person’s birthday, regret that I missed out on what, honestly, would’ve been an amazing Saturday night. After everything with Dad, I’d wanted so badly to escape myself, my life, that I forgot about all the beautiful little pieces of it I’ve been acquiring like sea glass these last few months. Things that no one can take from me.

I sniff. “It’s really okay. I feel better just having everything out in the open between us.”

“Hey,” she says. “Remember me? Ashleigh? I always want to talk about it. So back up. Is this or is it not about you shitting where you eat, with regard to Miles?”

“There was no shitting involved,” I say. “I’m not that adventurous.”

“Holy shit!” she cries, at the nonverbal confirmation. She scoots forward, dropping her voice. “It happened! How was it? Did he just stare lovingly into your eyes the whole time? He seems like a loving-starer.”

My cheeks heat. “No, we didn’t make unblinking eye contact for forty minutes straight.”

“Forty minutes?” she shrieks.

“Not all at once!” I hurry to add. “It was more like a very intense fifteen minutes, a cooldown period, and then a more well-paced thirty later.”

“Okay, now this surprises me,” she says.

“Trust me,” I say. “I’m well aware of how little sense he and I make.”

She scoffs. “No, you two make perfect sense. I just would’ve imagined Miles would be so overeager that he’d sail straight through to the finish line, with no decorum.”

“There was decorum,” I say.

“Hot, charming guys never learn how to work for it,” she muses.

“He worked for it.” Immediately I want to take it back.

I’ve never had this kind of friendship before, the sort you see women have in movies, where they spare each other none of the gory or lusty details, the best friend who teaches you how to put in a tampon at thirteen, or texts you from the bathroom the night she sleeps with someone for the first time.

Sadie was the closest to that I ever got, but she’d grown up with brothers and always had more guy friends than girls. She was talkative and funny, but never open about things like this.

And as close as I’ve gotten to Ashleigh, I’m also worried this is a betrayal. I don’t know how Miles would feel about me sharing this. I have the somewhat ludicrous thought that I should have asked him when we last talked.

Actually, it’s not ludicrous. I can easily imagine the conversation, how not weird it would feel to ask, Can I tell Ashleigh?

Which only makes me feel more emotionally hungover and confused. Every time I think of Miles, I think of what he said, and my heart starts racing, my whole body responding like I’m being hunted. No fight, pure flight.

“I shouldn’t be talking about this,” I say.

“Maybe,” she says gently, “you need to?”

I must look suspicious, because she adds, “I swear, I’m saying this as a friend, not the friendly neighborhood gossipmonger.”

“I need to talk about it,” I relent. “Just not about it. I feel like that should’ve stayed private.”

She pantomimes zipping her lips shut, but hasn’t even finished when she chimes in, “But for what it’s worth, everything you’ve said has only made me love and respect him more.”

“Miles is great,” I say. “I just don’t think Miles and I are great for each other.”

“Why?” Ashleigh asks. “You’re unbelievably happy when you’re around him. That’s kind of the main thing that matters.”

“I’m exactly the kind of person he can’t handle being with, and he’s exactly the kind who could destroy me,” I explain.

“Honey.” Ashleigh touches my hand. “That’s how it works. That’s love.”

“I get too swept up in him, Ash,” I say. “I almost let myself get absorbed again, and for what? I know better.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” she says.

“He ran, Ashleigh.” My voice breaks. “He was supposed to pick me up from work the next day, and he just . . . never came.”

Her mouth falls open as she takes in my meaning.

“I didn’t hear from him for hours. Until I texted him.”

“Oh, god, Miles, no,” she groans, like he’s here to reason with.

“And then, Peter came by,” I say.

“Holy fuck!” she yelps.

“He and Petra broke up.”

Another shocked gasp. “No,” she says, aghast. “Miles didn’t . . .”

“He says he was just helping her move her stuff out,” I say. “But Peter said they’re on the path to rekindling.”

“What in Satan’s ball sack?” she demands, then, thinking better of it, says, “Look, Peter’s bitter, and Miles is a nice guy. Of course he helped her move out.”