Chapter 26
twenty-six
GRANT
There have been major changes to Derek’s apartment since I helped him move in last summer.
The shelf where he displayed his Dodgers memorabilia is barren, only decorated with a diffuser that’s too pink to be his.
The dining area is different, too. The cedar table with matching chairs and embordered cushions is gone, replaced by lighter oak and matching showroom seats.
Derek doesn’t say anything while I observe the changes Scarlet has made to his life. The silence between us indicates the change she’s made in our friendship, too.
Some lifelong best friends go months without speaking.
I’ve tried to understand that Derek moving back to Boston means he’s serious about a life with Scarlet, regardless of her track record.
After moving in, marriage would be on the horizon, and kids to follow.
In all the years I’ve known him, Derek’s dream of a wife and kids has never wavered.
Good friends support one another when their dreams are in reach. I do support Derek and want him to be happy. I just never expected it to come at the cost of our friendship.
When he texted me this morning, asking if I wanted to hang out, my instinct was to ignore him like he’s done to me on countless occasions. Those actions would be valid, I think, with how lonely he’s left me recently.
Then the thought of my girl, and the promise I made her, appeared in my mind.
I’ve been giddy remembering that night despite its rough beginning.
I’m not proud of how I acted and some of the things I said.
But at the end of it, Lily gave me three things.
A highlight of my bad habits, the realization that good things are to come if I can reflect on myself, and most importantly, her love.
My finals next week can’t even stress me out when the girl of my dreams loves me. And the irritation I felt seeing Derek’s text can’t overpower the dedication I have to her, and the promise that I would work on things.
He offered to come to my place, but I wanted to be here and see what it is—or who it is—consuming so much of his time.
I didn’t have much faith that his girlfriend would be here, though. When we walked into an empty apartment, free of tinkering around the kitchen and the pattering of shoes on hardwood floor, I knew I was right.
“Something up with Scarlet?” It’s the first thing I say to him when I take a seat at the dining room table.
Derek nods, short and small, his curls poking out of the backwards baseball cap.
In our second year of college, Derek got into a huge fight with Scarlet, featuring hours long phone calls spent crying and asking how he could fix their relationship.
The argument lasted three weeks, two of which were just my best friend groveling over unanswered text messages after Scarlet dumped him.
They got back together, like they always do, but with the contention that he “watch his words” next time they talk about professional baseball.
Because the fight that sent him spiraling for nearly a month stemmed from his new love for the Los Angeles Dodgers, and Scarlet was a huge Red Sox fan, upset that her boyfriend “betrayed her” after he “abandoned her .”
I gave her the benefit of the doubt back then. It was hard for them to be apart so young after dating through their formative years. I coughed it up to Scarlet being too immature to realize how unimportant MLB teams were to a serious relationship.
Just like their relationship, though, Scarlet never really changes.
Derek cracks open two beers from his fridge, keeping the wider, Modelo bottle for himself and sliding the Blue Moon Belgian White to me wordlessly. I pick up the bottle, white wisps still pouring out from the neck. It's cold around my hand but manages to warm me.
I’m not much of a beer drinker, and Blue Moon is the only brew I’ve ever enjoyed.
The drinks were waiting in the fridge for me. It’s good to know Derek hasn’t forgotten me completely.
He pulls out the seat directly to my left, wood scraping against wood. Two swigs of his Modelo are chugged down before he opens his mouth to speak.
“Scarlet went to stay with her parents for the week,” he says, voice raspy and defeated.
I tap the side of my bottle, condensation gathering on my skin. It’s usually Derek who has to leave. Scarlet stays while yelling at him to get out and to only come back when he’s ready to admit he’s wrong.
My hand grips onto the neck of the bottle, ready to drink if this means what I think it means.
“It’s bad, then?” Derek nods. Drinks again. “Same thing?”
“Same thing.” He repeats my words, studying the label of the bottle like it’ll uncover why his high school sweetheart acts the way she does.
There’s been countless things Scarlet has started a fight over. But as far as I know, there’s one topic they keep going back to.
“Hinge on the bathroom door broke. Started going off about how dumb it was of me not to go pro. Said if I had kept with baseball we’d be living in a high rise in Los Angeles and not a shitty apartment in Massachusetts.
” He sighs. I drink. It’s nothing new. The argument has been reenacted so many times, it could be scripted.
Derek’s tone drops again, whispered and fighting through his words. “I love Massachusetts.”
My feelings are hard to navigate. I’m fighting my bitterness.
It’s been months since I’ve heard from Derek.
And like every other time he’s ghosted me, the reason goes back to his toxic girlfriend that’s been in his life for fewer years than I have.
My instinct is to hold a grudge, but I force myself to consider other things.
Derek is the oldest friend I have. He’s been with me through every milestone of my life. The best memories of my formative years feature him, either with me or supporting me however I needed. And being friends for so long means I know how deep his girlfriend has sunk her claws into him.
He’s partially at fault. Just partially.
I scoot my seat closer to him, left knee readjusting around the corner leg of the dining table, and rub my hand over his back soothingly.
In this routine of back and forth between Derek and Scarlet, I have my lines down pact.
Memorized and perfected, because I’m the only person in his life who says them.
“Don’t listen to her. You did what felt best to you, and that’s what matters. If pursuing a career in business is what you’re passionate about, you should go for it. She should be happy for you, too.”
Now that I have someone who shows me unconditional love, the toxicity of my best friend’s relationship is even more jarring. Scarlet being unsupportive and hypercritical isn’t new, but I imagine my girl in this situation, making me feel less than and putting me down.
It makes me sick. Liliana would never. At our lowest point we still talked rationally and respected one another. If Scarlet can’t afford Derek that much, then he’s been in a cycle of torture for years.
“I wish she was happy for me,” he says, tossing his baseball cap off and setting it in front of him. There’s a red mark on his forehead where the seam sat against the skin for too long, and he rubs it in time with his temples.
“It’s the same thing over and over again. Doesn’t matter that I've gotten accepted into the grad program or that I have really good ideas for a business model. She doesn’t want to hear about any of it.”
“Wait.” I tug his shoulder back, catching his opaque brown eyes dulling in sadness. The weight of my chest feels too heavy to carry. Was this taking up so much of his mental space he didn’t think he could share it with someone? “You got accepted into the grad program?”
“Oh, right.” He chuckles and waves it off. “A couple of weeks ago. It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does!” I lean over and envelope him in a hug. For the first time since being here, he smiles. “I’m so happy for you dude!”
“Thanks, man.”
Derek’s grin doesn’t reach his eyes, barely lifting into his cheeks.
It reminds me of the smile that showed up after he performed badly in a game and his parents dragged him away screaming.
We were in high school back then, but they decided Derek was going to be a baseball star before they decided what middle school he was going to.
They didn’t give him a lot of grace when it came to their plans.
“Seriously, be proud of yourself. It’s great news.”
The corners of his mouth tug, but don’t raise even a centimeter. “I know, I know. Just a lot going on right now.”
“I wish you would’ve called me.”
I say it before I register its double meaning.
Derek seems to register the underlying message, throwing his head into his hands and groaning into the oak wood.
“I’m so fucking sorry, man.”
“It’s not a big deal.” Wood against wood screeches again when I retake my seat. Hopefully the sound drowns out my insincerity.
“It is a big deal.”
“You were going through some shit.”
“That’s not an excuse. You’re my best friend. You mean more to me than anyone else.” His breathing turns shaky. “Me and Scarlet are always going through some shit.”
A small noise of agreement makes its way through my throat.
“I’m tired, Grant.” My eyebrows raise. This isn’t something I’ve heard during other breakups. “Fighting with her is one thing. But if it’s going to affect our friendship, I don’t know if I want to do this with her anymore.”
My mouth drops, back stiffening in surprise. If I had to guess, Derek and Scarlet have broken up no less than thirty times. None of which were initiated by him. My pleas for him to find his senses over the years fell on deaf ears every time.
I gave up on Derek realizing the strain his toxic girlfriend puts on our friendship. I figured that this time would be like every other—where I help him through his emotions and he loyally returns to her.
Hearing him acknowledge the toll she takes on his life is already miles of progress.
I take another swig of my beer and Derek chugs what’s left of his Modelo.