“Yeah,” Gabe says as we make our way back to the table and begin to clear the dishes. “But no surprise there. We both knew that was going to happen.”
“I guess so,” I say. “But I always think she’ll be different.”
“You know that’s the definition of insanity according to Einstein?” Gabe says, raising one eyebrow. “Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?”
I sigh and say, “Yeah. Well, I knew she wouldn’t embrace the idea, but I thought she’d at least stay for dinner.”
“I didn’t,” Gabe says. “Although it is pretty hard to resist my cooking.”
“True,” I say, cursorily acknowledging his culinary prowess. “But she wouldn’t even listen….Her mind is so made up about everything.”
“She really is closed-minded,” he says. “I’ll give you that.”
“Mom is, too,” I say, thinking about some of her remarks during dinner—how many different ways she suggested that I just go on a few more dates.
“Yeah, but it’s kind of different. Your mom’s just…traditional. Conservative. She wants you to follow that set boy-meets-girl path because she thinks that’s the only path to happiness….Meredith’s not really traditional—she’s just judgmental toward you. If another friend came to her with this same half-baked idea, she’d be all over it. Praising her independence.”
“Exactly!” I say, so excited by how well Gabe always captures and articulates what I’m feeling that I choose to overlook his slightly offensive choice of adjectives. After all, he is correct—the idea hasn’t fully baked yet. But it has been slid into the preheated oven.
“Meredith has no faith in me whatsoever,” I continue. “Did you see how she acted about Harper? It was as if she thought I was going to start discussing orgies or heroin in front of a four-year-old.”
“You do like a good heroin orgy,” Gabe says with a little grin.
I don’t crack a smile; I’m too worked up now. “And can you believe she brought up Will like that? As if that is at all relevant at this point…”
I return to the table for another armful of dishes as Gabe trails behind me. “Were you at all tempted to set the record straight?” he asks. “She really thinks you cheated on him—”
“No. Not one bit,” I say, cutting him off. Because I know what he’s thinking, and he knows what I’m thinking, and I see no reason to rehash all of it.
“Okay, okay. Just asking,” he says, palms up, facing out. His gesture would suggest that he’s offended, but I know it takes a lot more than a few terse words to offend Gabe.
For the next several minutes, neither of us speaks as I rinse our dishes, glasses, and utensils, handing them to Gabe to load in the dishwasher.
“There’s no point in discussing ancient history,” I finally say, trying to soften my retort. “Especially with Meredith.”
“I hear you,” Gabe mutters, glancing at me.
“I mean…what’s done is done,” I say, handing him the final few steak knives.
“Right,” Gabe says. “What’s done is most definitely done.”
We are speaking in code, of course, the way best friends do, talking about several layers of things at once. The night Daniel died. And also the night, years later, on which we discovered that there was more to the story than we once thought.
—
IT HAPPENED ABOUT halfway between then and now, seven years after Daniel died. Gabe picked me up for dinner, no destination in mind, and we landed at Tin Lizzy’s, a Mexican dive. It was just the two of us, which had become something of a rarity, as Will and I were approaching engagement, and one of his terms of marriage seemed to be curtailing my time with Gabe. He insisted that he wasn’t jealous; he just thought my friendship with Gabe was “odd” (which of course meant that he was jealous). Trying to accommodate him, I mostly obliged his request.
But on that particular Friday night, Gabe and I had Will’s blessing, likely because he was going to a bachelor party and figured this was a way to keep me from whining about the strip club antics that were sure to come.
“So ol’ Willy gave you a hall pass tonight?” Gabe asked over fish tacos, guacamole, and a couple of ice-cold Coronas.
“Ha-ha. Very funny,” I said, feeling defensive. “I don’t need his permission to hang with you.”
“Oh, yeah, ya do,” Gabe said, raising his eyebrows. At that point, he had never directly told me what he thought of Will, nor would he ever tell me he missed me, but I knew the truth, on both fronts. “So what’s he got tonight? A bachelor party or something?”
I reluctantly nodded, marveling at his uncanny ability to read a situation.
“Where is it?” he asked, nonchalantly making conversation, though he’d unwittingly stumbled onto very sensitive terrain.
“They started out at Five Paces,” I said, feeling myself tense as I looked away. Then I blurted out that I hadn’t been back there since the night Daniel died.