Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
ANDREA
Isat across from my roommate and closest friend in a diner about two blocks from our apartment.
Cindel wasn’t too keen to start the day smelling like a combination of Febreze and smoke, so I waited in my room for her to shower and get ready for breakfast. A call came through right as I was in the middle of reading an article about my favorite movie star.
Apparently, there is speculation about her partnering back up with Mr. Reeves to make a Speed 3!
“Hello, sir… No, I’m alone,” I say, pulling on a pair of dark leggings as I listen. “Yes, sir.”
I hold the phone to my head and tuck the tail of my shirt in, then search for a pair of clean socks.
“Correct… I plan to head over there today.”
I reluctantly smell a rolled-up pair of white socks I find beneath the bed. Clean enough.
“I’ll keep you informed.”
The phone call ends as I hear Cindel’s bedroom door close from the other side of the apartment.
“Ready!” she hollers.
Between my cooking skills and our wacky work hours, we find ourselves at Benny’s at least three times a week.
Since I can’t bear to look at another waffle and it’s so close to noon, I decide on the lunch menu.
Cindel orders her usual stacked pancakes with maple syrup. My friend is blessed with the ability to eat loads of empty calories, without so much as an added inch to her waist. With how much she’s been through, I think she deserves to eat as much sugar as a child would on their birthday.
After we order, I watch her across the table, I can’t help but notice how quiet and withdrawn she’s being today. I reach across the laminate surface and take her hand in mine.
“How are you?” I ask, searching her face for an indication of how she may be doing.
Her soft smile pulls on my heart's strings. I know yesterday was hard for her. It’s been about six months since Cindel’s boyfriend, Brodi, up and disappeared.
She’s still holding onto hope, convinced that one day, he’ll just show up with some kind of whirlwind story explaining why he’s been missing.
Call me a pessimist, but I’m confident the little weasel is dead.
I rub my thumb over the top of her hand in reassuring circles as I continue to wait patiently for her to share.
I know Cindel well, probably better than she knows herself.
I can practically see the wheels turning in her overactive brain, as she imagines all the outcomes of the conversation before she attempts to speak.
She always does this… overthinks everything.
This isn’t the first time we have spoken about this. We’ve had countless conversations about Brodi, however, the more I share my opinion on the matter, the more she pulls away. Lately, I’m trying to listen more than I’m trying to make her change her mind.
“I’m just…” she finally starts. “I’m just so tired.” Her eyes float up toward the grid patterned ceiling. She blinks a few times before attempting to look back at my face. “I know he’s gone. Probably ran off with… someone else.”
Damn. Why did I have to put that idea in her head? She wouldn’t come out of her room for a week when I stupidly suggested that.
“I just feel weird. Like something’s different?”
I have to wonder what could have possibly changed at her jobs, or with me, to make her feel this way.
She gingerly pulls her hand from mine, indicating she’s not in the mood for being touchy feely. Instead, her hands fall below the chrome edged table. I can only hope she’s not mutilating her cuticles again.
This year has affected her worse than the one before.
The circles under her eyes don’t seem to ever reduce no matter how much sleep she gets, while her clothes continue looking baggier and baggier.
She’s hurting and honestly, I don’t know how to help her emotionally.
I’m able to protect her, but this? This is foreign territory for me.
I remember when we first met, she had the ability to light up any room she entered.
Her professors used her work as examples, while her classmates fought for the chance to partner with her.
She had this way about her that just made you feel good, simply by being in her presence.
Everyone wanted to know the girl with a bubbly personality and ambitious goals.
Cindel and I became real close, real quick.
People thought we were a thing in college, because we were always together.
That was never going to happen with her, that’s not why I’m here.
We moved into our current apartment about five years ago and have been together ever since. It’s been about three years since her brother died; no one saw it coming. Mental illness is real, but I never saw the signs with him.
My mom was unwell, never really met my dad, but mom tried to do right by me. She left this world when I was too young to understand. That’s why I value Cindel so much. She’s like the sister I never had and her folks, the family I so desperately needed.
Things were different after Theo was gone.
Cindel was lost. She met Brodi shortly after her he died.
I think she was still going through a crisis.
Looking for something exciting. Something dangerous.
Brodi was the quintessential bad boy covered in tattoos, rode a Harley, and had a habit of getting into trouble.
She fell hard and fast for him. I strongly advised against the pairing, but she wouldn’t hear it.
Whatever the reasoning, she clung to Brodi like a lifeline.
I couldn’t fathom taking anything from her that brought her happiness, so I let it go.
Cindel attempted to keep her relationship with said miscreant, from her parents.
The very ideal was comical! Nothing gets past them.
At first, Cindel tried ignoring their phone calls when Brodi was around.
She even went so far as to feign an illness to get out of a visit from her mom.
The ruse didn’t last long though; Mama Terri showed up within the week to chew her daughter out.
I may have been the one to inform them about her biker boy.
But despite the intervention, Cindel kept seeing him.
Just because he made her happy, didn’t mean he was good for her.
He had these grandiose ideas. Constantly telling her, when he gets enough money saved, they’ll move to Montana, live off the land on the side of some mountain.
He said it so often; she actually started to believe him.
During their relationship, her personal goals went out the window, replaced with pipe dreams from a man with Peter Pan syndrome.
She started replacing her wants with his needs.
I even had a short stint of learning to pickle foods in our apartment.
Unfortunately, during one of her homesteading extravaganzas, she knocked over a huge jar of pickled eggs, causing the apartment to reek of vinegar and garlic for weeks.
But she was on cloud nine with that piece of trash. Hell, I’m surprised she didn’t brand her skin with a traditional Japanese dragon to match his. At least as far as I know, she hadn’t done anything that permanent.
After graduation, I was able to fall into freelancing positions.
Companies in the city always seemed to need a graphic designer, in one form or another.
Cindel, however, struggled to find her footing in the fashion world.
She took on any and every job, just to scrape by.
Sadly, it seemed as though each job she accepted took her father away from her dream career.
Her parents took a huge step back from her life.
They didn’t have to explain themselves to me; I knew why.
Cindel didn’t. But I was here for the long haul, no intention of leaving Cindel to face this city alone.
She is the one who insisted on staying here in Boston, after her parents left.
I may not agree with her uninformed choices, but I’m here for her.
When Brodi disappeared, a part of my best friend went with him.
Now, it feels like I have to reach deep inside just to get any idea of what’s going on with her.
I desperately want to uncover the Cindel I once knew in there.
I swear that fucker Brodi better be dead, because if I find him alive, I’ll kill him myself.
Cindel and I barely speak until our meals arrive, both of us are lost in our thoughts.
I dig into my veggie hummus wrap while she douses her meal in sticky amber colored goo. Girl is gonna have diabetes before forty at the rate she consumes sugar.
We eat, I pay, and we find ourselves once again at a loss for words, just outside the diner. I look up at my best friend, who is even taller than me with her beloved Doc Martens on.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
She chews on her bottom lip while she thinks about my question. She looks so… broken. Long minutes pass before she finally makes eye contact with me. Her tired eyes wrinkle at the corners while her mouth strains into a smile.
“No… thank you. For always being there for me.” She throws her arms around me in a tight embrace, before she leaves, heading to her other shit job.
The giant calendar on the fridge in our apartment displays her work schedule for the month. Today, she’s at Star Mart. A supermarket chain with multiple locations. She started working at the one off Washington Street about a year or so ago.
I make sure I always know where she is, but she can’t say the same for me. Cindel rarely knows my whereabouts. In fact, I have an important errand to run today that she, thankfully, has no idea about.