Chapter 21
Friends
I pedal hard.
I could have taken the car, but the early summer warmth made me want to reunite with my bicycle.
I like feeling the air on my face. And I like feeling my knees move as I push myself forward.
And turning the handlebars from one side to the other and pretending they’re the captain’s wheel of my crazy life.
I chain my bike to the light post outside the door and enter.
Paul smiles when he sees me. I walk to the bar and sit on one of the high stools. The place is full of lights and shadows. Kind of like the two guys who run it.
“How are you?” Paul comes over.
“Good. Did Will get here yet?”
“Yeah, he’ll be right out.”
I look around. There are some young guys at a round table in the back, and I think I’ve seen one of them before. Two guys at another table are playing cards and drinking beer. By the door, three women seem to be enjoying a night without responsibilities. They cackle loud and strident.
“Will told me it was chill in here on Fridays.”
“Yeah, since they opened the other place across the street, business has fallen off a lot. They play dance music or something, I think. But it’s fine, really. We don’t care that much for crowds. What can I get you?” He grabs a glass. “My treat.”
“That’s a big deal, coming from Paul,” Will says, appearing suddenly. “You’ll never meet a cheaper man, I can tell you that.”
“He’s right. I’m thrifty.” Paul laughs.
“I’ll take an orange soda, but if Will’s right and it’s too painful for you, I can pay. I have a little loose change,” I joke.
“Funny. But I wouldn’t expect less of the only friend of Will’s I’ve ever met and, I assume, the only friend he has. What’s it feel like, being the exception to the rule?”
“Lucky. Scared. Astonishing. I’m the chosen one.”
Paul laughs, and soon I’m laughing too. Will rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to mind being made fun of, and he remains silent as Paul pours me a soda and leaves to take care of his tables.
I smile and stir my drink. “So I’m your only friend. Sounds exclusive.”
“I’m selective,” he says, shrugging.
Will sets aside the bottle in his hand, looks up at me, smiles, and continues with his work. Just a little smile, one you could easily miss, but it’s comforting and it warms me up inside. I’m starting to realize that his silences and these little gestures mean more than words when it comes to him.
I continue watching as he makes drinks and takes care of a few customers who have just come in. Paul comes and goes in the meanwhile. When he sees I’ve finished my soda, Will serves me another without asking, with a piece of fruit and a pink straw. I drink as he watches me.
“So things went well in the session yesterday with your mother…”
“Yeah. At least she’s willing to try. That’s progress.”
“I’m happy for you. And for her.”
“Thanks.”
My lips separate from the straw and Will stares at them. I smile, and he clears his throat and pours a shot.
“I guess you found what you were looking for.”
“What are we talking about?”
“Beauty,” he explains.
“Yeah. I figured out where it was hiding.”
His eyes pierce me, and there’s something in them so intense that, for a moment, I think he can see the real me and will soon say, Greta, of course beauty is inside you, with all your wounds and imperfections, your doubts and cracks, your insecurities and the fears you still haven’t overcome.
But he doesn’t. He turns and serves another round of shots.
“Shall we toast with one of those?” I ask. “To our very exclusive friendship. Or whatever you want. It’s not like we actually need a reason.”
“I don’t drink.”
Paul appears, hands Will the next order, and walks off with the tray of shots.
“What about the next step in the game, then?” I ask instead.
“I’ve got the envelope in my pocket,” he says, wiping his hands off with a rag. “When I get a free second, we can open it if you feel like it.”
“Yeah. I don’t mind waiting.”
Before I can take another sip through my straw, the door opens and Taylor, Nelson, Rick, and two other guys come in.
Taylor smiles at me sarcastically. That isn’t good.
It’s been more than a month since the last time we hung out, and I think we both know it wasn’t just a cooling-off period for us to hook up with other people before getting back together.
It’s not just that my heart skips a beat when Will looks at me in that peculiar way of his, it’s also that the night I saw myself in the mirror, I realized how my inability to value myself was directly related to my tendency to engage in empty relationships, the kind that only led to disappointments.
“Look who’s here.” Taylor grabs a barstool and sits down. “I saw your bike outside. How are things, Greta? Hanging out with your new friend?”
Will purses his lips and turns around to get ice.
“Yeah. And having a free soda,” I respond.
Taylor doesn’t seem to like me pretending to be in a good mood. But since he can’t come up with anything to say, he hisses at Will condescendingly, “Bartender, five beers. Chop, chop.”
Will scowls, but he doesn’t fall into the trap. He knows Taylor’s trying to provoke him. He grabs the beers and pops the tops off one by one, setting them down on the bar, one in front of each member of the group.
“That’ll be twenty bucks.”
Nelson lifts his bottle, but before he can bring it to his lips, Taylor grabs his arm and smiles at Will.
“We didn’t order beers, buddy. I said five tequilas.”
Will’s face and body stiffen, and he struggles to keep a handle on himself.
I’d have never thought Will was the type to let his emotions get the better of him, but now, with Taylor’s face reflected in his gaze, I have my doubts.
Will’s holding himself back, but there’s a darkness in him that’s making me hold my breath.
“You didn’t. Twelve bucks.”
“Sorry, bartender, we’re not going to pay you just because you’re deaf.” Taylor smiles and his friends giggle around him. “Bring out that bottle of tequila. We don’t have all day.”
I run out of patience and interrupt. Behind Will’s anger and coldness, I can sense he’s also vulnerable, and that makes me act.
“Taylor, are you an idiot?”
“Stay out of this, Greta.”
Will says nothing, just stares. “I’ll say it again,” he says. “You owe me for five beers.”
Taylor bends over the bar, which is the only thing separating them. His stare is an ugly mix of fury and frustration. It’s not me—it’s not like he cares about what we had. He just can’t stand losing.
“Are you calling me a liar? Because if that’s what you’re doing, I guess you better meet me outside.”
“Cool. Let’s go.” Will points at the door.
I’m about to try to put a stop to this stupidity when Paul arrives, looking very unfriendly, ready to establish order.
“What’s going on here?”
“I ordered tequila and he served me beer,” Taylor says.
“He’s lying,” Will grunts.
Paul tells the group, “If you don’t want to pay for the beers, no worries. There’s the door. We don’t want trouble, but this is my place, and I make the rules.”
Taylor clenches his teeth and waits a few seconds. Then one of his friends whispers to him, and that seems to tip the scale. He stands, looks at Will defiantly, sneers at me, and walks out the door with his band of losers. The mood immediately calms down.
“What was that?” Paul asks.
“Nothing. Just some dumbass.” Will grabs a glass.
“A dumbass who seems to have a personal problem with you,” he replies. “Listen, I don’t want trouble at the bar, okay? Why don’t you take a break for twenty minutes? It’s not too busy. I can handle it. You look like you could use a breath of fresh air.”
Will nods and gestures for me to follow him.
The wind takes our minds off what happened inside.
We walk through the streets to an alley, the same place he went the day I met him, when I showed up with Lucy’s letter and the Map of Longing.
It’s been two months since then, but it feels like much longer.
I still don’t know who I am, but I’m certainly not the same girl who introduced herself to him that day.
I’ve found some of the puzzle pieces of my life, and even if they don’t fit together yet, I’m getting there.
He sits down on a step.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
“It’s not your fault,” he murmurs.
“I’ve never seen him act that way. I mean, I’ve always known he wasn’t exactly a gentleman, but…” I don’t know what to add, so I just sit down next to him.
We’re very close to each other. His leg is touching mine. His arm is touching my arm. Our shoes are lined up next to each other, as in a display window.
“Why are you with him, Greta?”
“Why was I,” I correct him. “I don’t know. He was better than nothing, I guess. Or I was lonely. Or maybe I just liked making one of those catastrophic errors that attract and repel you at the same time.”
Will rubs his face and sighs. We’re just a few inches apart, and he isn’t trying to keep his distance the way he usually does—a distance both physical and emotional.
Instead, he leans in. His eyes roam my face for what seems like an eternity, then he turns away and it feels as if the air is flowing again between us, as if for a moment, the world had stopped before spinning in a different direction.
“I’m not judging you, that’s not it,” he whispers. “I just wanted to know what it was you saw in him, if there was something deeper there.”
“I’m a specialist in being superficial.”
“That doesn’t sound very flattering.”
“If you don’t let anyone inside, you don’t have to risk anything valuable disappearing when you’re least ready for it.
It’s like a home: Inviting someone into the front yard is fine, there’s nothing intense there, the worst thing they can do is trample your flowers, and those will grow back.
It’s only once they’re inside that they can do real damage. Do you know what I’m saying, Will?”
“Yeah. I think so. I’m trying, anyway.” He takes a deep breath.
“What about you?” I ask. “Are you going out with anyone?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We should probably get back.”
“Sure.”
But we don’t get up. We sit there in silence until I finally have to ask the question that’s been stuck in my head since the incident a few minutes ago. I nudge him with my knee to get his attention. He seems to concentrate on this place where our bones have touched.
“Were you really going to go outside and fight him?”
“No. I just didn’t want trouble to break out in the bar. I’d have come up with something.” I look in his eyes and see a storm within him. “I’m not like that. I’m not like him.”
“I wasn’t implying you were.”
Will shakes his head and stands up. He’s uncomfortable.
But he always is. It must be exhausting, that constant distress inside your own skin, never being able to escape it.
Almost everyone has felt that before, but he told me he was angry at himself all the time.
And you can tell. I think that as I watch him stick his hand in his back pocket and take out Lucy’s letter.
It’s for him, but I appreciate his willingness to open it in front of me.
In ten seconds, he has it read. Then he sighs, closes his eyes, and passes it to me.
Go with Greta on a new and inspiring adventure: leaving the state of Nebraska! Bon voyage!
“She’s outdone herself this time.” I whistle.
“She sure has.” Will pulls up the hood of his sweatshirt. “We’ll talk about it in a week. I need to get back to work. Good night, Greta.”
He walks off. I feel like I’m on a dating show or something and they’re asking me: What does the boy with the green eyes feel like? (A) irritated, (B) sad, or (C) confused.
Maybe it’s all those things at once.