I used to feel like I could balance it all so well. Lately…there’s just this feeling I can’t describe that follows me everywhere I go. It’s like everything is swirling around me at all times. There’s no way to make it settle down.
I don’t know…I’ll be fine. It’s probably just playoff jitters.
I look toward the conference room, knowing I need to get in there before I’m officially late. “Listen, Bree—”
“I DIDN’T MEAN ANY OF IT,” she shouts in a rush.
My lungs deflate, and I turn my back to the meeting I should be in. “Are we talking about the video?”
“Yes. And Nathan, I’m so sorry! You know how I get when I drink tequila. Drunk Bree is a territorial hussy, and I said a lot of crap about you having feelings for me and me stain-removing other women from your life, but it was the drink talking. It was all tequila’s fault.”
I can’t speak, because I don’t know what to say. A tumbleweed rolls across my thoughts.
I let myself dream too much this morning. I should have known better. Bree has been telling me for six years that she’d never want to date me. Why, after one drunken speech, did I think her feelings had changed?
“Right.” I force a small chuckle because I will not get weird and lose her over this. “I thought so. Don’t worry about it. It’s forgotten.”
“A-are you sure? Do we need to talk more about this? Do you need more convincing? Because we’re such good friends it would practically be incest if we dated! Can you even imagine?!” She laughs weakly.
My hand clenches at my side because, yes, I can imagine. And it looks nothing like incest to me.
I feel like I just stepped on a rusty nail while barefoot. I take in a deep breath and rub the back of my neck. “Seriously, we’re good, Bree. I believe you. But I’ve got to get into this meeting.”
“Oh right! Sure! So sorry to bug you. We can talk later.”
“Definitely.”
“Dinner tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ll text you when practice is over. Probably around 6:30.”
“Great!” she says in an overly peppy voice that grates on my shriveled nerves. “I’ll make veggie lasagna.”
I sigh at her obvious attempts to neutralize the situation. I’m so tired of neutral. I’m ready to provoke the hell out of something. “You don’t have to do that. We can just order takeout and I’ll pick it up on my way home.”
“No! I want to! It’s the least I can do after all of this. I’ll make lasagna and we’ll play Mario like normal and everything will be great!”
Yep. Completely normal.
Everything will be great.
I get home after practice to the smell of Bree’s amazing veggie lasagna and the sight of her buzzing around my kitchen and dancing to “Do You Believe in Magic?” Bree worked in the kitchen of a little diner after school from the time we met until she graduated high school. I tried to get a job there to spend more time with her, but my parents found out and made me quit. They didn’t want me focusing on anything besides my game, and since my parents were pretty well off, I never actually needed a job.
Bree’s parents, however, worked hard for every dime they made, and so did Bree. I don’t know how she did it all—school, dance, and work—but she did. Part of me was envious of her and the way she was able to work and save up to buy her own car. Oh man was it a beater, but it was hers. Everything was handed to me and even then usually spoon-fed. I drove a forty-thousand-dollar truck at age sixteen. Bree’s bumper was held on with neon green duct tape.
I can’t complain too much because my parents got me to where I am now, but something in me apparently hasn’t completely forgiven them for how hard they drove me to success since any time I see one of their names on my caller ID, I have to take a deep breath before answering.