Just Friends(39)

“I could support her too,” he adds.

It feels like the walls start closing in at the sound of his words.

“Declan,” I start, shaking my head again. Trying desperately to clear it. “Do you not understand anything about me?”

“What are you talking about, Blair?” he says, exasperated. “If I make it to the NFL, and I will make it, those contracts would be able to support this entire town. You wouldn’t have to think about working at all. Your mom could retire. Isn’t that your dream?”

The words he’s saying are nothing but nectar, and yet, my vision is blackening at the periphery.

“You don’t get it, do you?” I plead.

He shakes his head infinitesimally, and the tiny movement breaks my heart.

“That’s what my mom did,” I say in a tiny, ragged voice, feeling a thousand miles away.

“What?” Declan says, voice softening. “I didn’t hear you.”

“That’s what my mom did.” I repeat, louder this time. “She followed her husband who promised her a good life.” I laugh. The sound is ugly. “And look where she ended up.”

Declan looks fearful for the first time.

“It’s not about what you could provide me, Declan. It’s about not putting my life in the hands of other people. What you’ll accomplish will be great, but I need to do the same for myself. I won’t let anyone else be responsible for that.” I shake my head through the tears blurring my vision. “Plus, you wouldn’t want that. All the pressure of supporting me and my mom? I thought you hated pressure.” I spit his earlier words back at him. “You don’t need to feel any pressure juggling me and football anymore. I want to do this for myself anyways.”

“Blair, I understand that but—come on. It’s us we’re talking about. I love you. We were going to build our lives together. College is just the one step in the way. You can trust me on this,” he tries, voice taking on a new kind of urgency.

“Hah.” The sound gurgles out of me without warning. “That’s what my dad said too. Oh, and let’s see,” I fake confusion, looking around. “Hmm, where is he? Anywhere around here?”

“Blair—”

“Oop! That’s what I thought. Nowhere to be found.” My laugh comes out sadistic, I hardly recognize the sound. I feel like I floating outside my body. “Right. My mom believed him when he promised that, unlike me right now, and where did she end up?”

I shake my head, voice finally losing its snide lilt. “I’m all she has, Declan. I’m sorry but I can’t rely on you. That’s what she did. I won’t be making the same mistake.”

I walk away before he can stop me. I hold the image of my mother’s face in my head as I rush down the staircase, out the front door, and into my car. I didn’t realize Gwen was standing in the garden until I shoved my keys in the ignition. I look down sheepishly at the sight of her and put the car in drive. I let the inability to conjure my father’s face fuel me all the way home.





Chapter 12


The second my eyes open to the bright sunlight peering through the guesthouse, the memory of crying in front of Declan last night bombards me. I have to shove my face deeper into the bedsheets to endure the physical cringe cascading down my body.

This, I realize, must be what people refer to as a vulnerability hangover. Obsessively, I replay the moment my eyes welled with tears, and I feel the persistent, nagging shame of… of what? Why did it have to be so embarrassing? Lottie died days ago. But it wasn’t my deep-seated hatred of displaying emotions that was the problem. It was the fact that Declan could see through my attempt at being okay. It was the fact that being in his presence again made me not okay.

On instinct, I grab my phone from the nightstand and swipe open my messages.


APARTMENT 302

Roshi

This girl in our incoming class is trying to get us to sign up for some janky app her brother made to connect us before the semester starts. Has she not heard of Facebook??





Faye

LMAO. Isn’t that like the exact origin story of Facebook





Roshi

Okay housewife! Didn’t know you knew so much about Zuckerburg’s origin story





Faye

Ever heard of Netflix?





Our group chat has been dying. The time between responses has slowly grown longer since we parted ways on that gloomy May evening in our apartment building’s parking lot. From text messages ping-ponging back and forth like a pickleball match to a few hours between stilted jokes and updates to a day or two before a single reply comes through.

We’ve never ventured through the murky waters of long-distance friendship, so a period of adjustment is to be expected, but I feel the bitter twinge of resentment flitter through me.

Roshi hasn’t called since Lottie’s death. I understand she’s busy, but the semester hasn’t even started yet. What will our friendship be like when law school does start? And Faye has called me, but she complained about her mother the entire time.

I can’t find it in me to reply to their messages. And as juvenile as it is, I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take for them to notice my absence.