Chapter 6 Now #2
“I mean, that’s how I chose my therapist, too—badass-name vibes.”
He snorts. “Nothing says ‘badass’ like the name Susan.”
“Hey! Badasses,” I tell him, “come in all shapes and sizes.”
A soft laugh rumbles in his throat, and I smile reflexively. I love making Alex laugh.
Alex tips back another gulp of his melted gelato. I make a point of not watching his throat work as he swallows.
“You would pick a therapist named Susan,” he says.
“She goes by Sue, I’ll have you know. And she’s my kind of badass. Calm and soft-spoken and unnervingly good at gently but firmly calling out my dysfunctional coping mechanisms.”
He glances my way. “Yeah?”
I nod, spooning myself a mouthful of gelato. “Ohhh, yeah.”
Silence settles between us. I swallow my bite, and when I peer up, I catch Alex looking at me, his expression tight. I hate that something’s upsetting him, that I don’t know what it is, that it seems like he doesn’t want me to know.
I kick off my Birkenstocks and turn to face him on the bench, wedging my toes beneath his thigh. “Alex.”
He holds my eyes. “Ted.”
“No pressure to talk about what’s bothering you. But I do want to know, if you want to tell me. At any point. You can always talk to me.”
A soft smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Thanks, Ted.”
“Of course,” I tell him. “That’s what friends do for each other.”
He squeezes my ankle, but it doesn’t linger, no thumb brushing my skin, no fingertips tickling the back of my leg. I try not to read into it. He says to me, “You’re a good friend.”
“So are you,” I tell him. “The best there is.”
“Wow.” He reaches for his back pocket. “I’m telling Lauren.”
“Don’t you dare!” I grab his wrist. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “So I’m not the best?”
I groan. “You know I can’t do this with you two. It’s like asking a mom to choose which kid is her favorite.”
“First of all,” he says, “I don’t appreciate that analogy’s parentification of our relationship. Second, my mom absolutely has a favorite. All moms do.”
“Let me guess,” I say wearily, letting go of his wrist. “You’re Lydia’s.”
“Obviously.” Alex grins as he pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and proceeds to say to it, “Ted just told me I’m her favorite.”
“Alex!” I yelp. “You did not just voice-memo Lauren.”
He shrugs and pockets his phone. I’d be more annoyed if I wasn’t so relieved that he’s up to his usual antics, being playful. Smiling.
My phone buzzes in my shorts pocket. I sigh. “You did just voice-memo Lauren.”
Alex sips his gelato. “Actually, I voice-memoed both of you. The good old group chat.”
I pull out my phone as it buzzes again. I read Lauren’s response and snort a laugh.
It’s called Stockholm syndrome, ALEC. Just remember, I had to leave before she gave you the time of day.
Alex pulls his phone from his pocket again. He reads Lauren’s text, and his smug grin morphs to a scowl. He hates when she calls him Alec. Pocketing his phone, he says, “That woman is a pestilence.”
“Who just renamed our chat WHY IS ALEC STILL HERE.” I laugh again as I set my phone on the bench. “She loves getting under your skin.”
Alex glares at me.
That just makes me laugh harder. “Come on, you know what she said isn’t true. You and I got close before she moved away. And even if she hadn’t left, we’d still be exactly where we are.”
Alex tips his head. “You really think that?”
My smile fades. This is dangerous territory, the what-ifs about us.
What if we hadn’t sworn to be only friends.
What if we hadn’t said things in those early days that allowed only for a path paved for friendship, when so much of what we said we wanted would cause a fork in a path paved for anything beyond that?
So often, when we get to this place of what-ifs, I divert us with humor, goofiness, whatever sends us back on the straight and narrow. But I can’t tonight. Not when Alex is raw, when something hard is weighing on him, when I want him to know, as much as I can tell him, how much he means to me.
I wiggle my toes farther under his thigh, scooching close. “I know it, Alex.”
Alex wraps his hand around my ankle again, and this time it lingers. Soft, steady sweeps of his thumb along my skin. His fingertips grazing up and down just a few inches of my leg, but it feels like it’s everywhere, lighting me up.
His gaze is locked on mine. My heart pounds in my chest.
Slowly, Alex lifts his gelato cup and clinks it with mine. “Happy Friendiversary, Ted.”
I clink my cup with his. “Happy Friendiversary, Alec.”
“Not funny,” he says.
“A little funny?”
He shakes head. “Nope.”
I bite back a smile. “Cheers to…” I pause to do the mental math from the year of our fictional first meeting. “Twenty years? Is that right?”
A faint smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “That’s right.”
“Twenty. A milestone number. Should we take a photo? Make a little social media splash?”
His hand holding the gelato cup falters, like a plane bumping down with turbulence. His touch slips from my ankle.
My stomach knots. I feel like I’m right back where I was an hour ago, tossing and turning in bed. I believed Alex when he said it’s not my fault he’s upset, but I don’t feel like I’m helping him not be upset, either. I keep messing up. I’m still missing something.
“Forget it,” I tell him, smiling brightly. “Let’s get back on track.”
He rubs his shut eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “To what?”
“To us. To my toast.” I clink my gelato cup with his again and say, “Cheers to two years of friendship that feels like twenty, and to many more to come.”
I’ve barely finished my sentence when Alex tips his cup back, draining his gelato like he wishes it was something stronger. Following suit, I scoop up what’s left of mine and shovel it in. The result is an unattractively large mouthful. When I try to swallow, I gag.
Alex’s belly laugh rings through the quiet night air. He leans away from me, pulls out his phone, and snaps a picture.
“Awex!” I cover my chipmunk cheeks and glare at him. “No photos! And don’t waff. Owww.” I grimace, pressing a palm to my forehead. “Bwainfweeze.”
“Poor Ted.” Alex pulls me close, and my head falls into the crook of his neck. I sink into his touch, the heat of his body, the softness of his shirt, the warm spice clinging to his skin.
Alex rests his head on mine, then presses his thumb between my eyebrows. “Any better?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Sorry I laughed,” he says.
“And took a photo.” There’s still a frigid golf ball of gelato stuck in my mouth. I sigh through my nose.
“Sorry about that, too. Just not sorry enough to delete it.” He adds, softer, “It sparks my joy, okay?”
I poke his side, and he catches my hand, then squeezes it. He curls my arm across his stomach, resting it at his waist, then sinks his hand into my hair and scratches at my scalp. My eyes fall shut. I turn to goo when he does this.
“Dat feels nice,” I tell him. “But I’m stiw mad about da photo.”
He laughs softly. “I’ll keep it in my private folder—how’s that for a compromise?”
I answer with a squeeze to his waist hard enough to make him curse under his breath. And then I tell him, “I wuf you, Awex.”
He rubs his cheek against my hair and breathes in. “I wuf you, too, Ted.”