Cadence couldn’t block the scene playing in her mind—cloth napkins and a stupid, drunk bitch who sat across the table from her, waxing on and on about the real world and all its responsibilities and how Cadence just didn’t understand. But she would. She’d eventually understand.
The entire night was embarrassing. She was ashamed at herself for making a big fuss about that dinner. Cloth napkins. She’d gone out to purchase them specifically for that dinner. She was trying so hard to be older. And she ended up looking like a fool.
She glared at the cloth napkin balled on her plate.
“Stop trying to act like you’re all grown up!” she screamed at Avery. “This isn’t your life!”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” Avery replied. “It’s a fucking cloth napkin!”
But it wasn’t. It wasn’t just a cloth napkin. It was Cadence lost—lost to this world of grownup dinners with friends, living with her boyfriend, paying rent, paying car insurance. She felt like a wanderer. She was one. She recalled wandering around the store searching for those cloth napkins, trying to be someone she wasn’t, and now she felt the napkin wrap itself around her face, suffocating her. Punishing her for playing the charlatan.
“It’s not!” Cadence roared.
“Cadence, stop,” Mark said. He took her hand, and she jerked away.
“We’re leaving!” she screamed in Avery’s face.
“Good! You weren’t invited to the movie, anyway!”
Cadence grabbed her purse and stormed out. She didn’t wait for Mark. She knew he’d hang back and give their apologies.
“Fuck that,” she said to the night air as she stood by the car. They weren’t her apologies. She wasn’t sorry for anything she said.
Mark approached the car and took a deep breath.
“If you even think about saying anything to me right now, I’ll scream bloody murder,” Cadence warned.
They locked eyes, and Mark nodded. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but he stored them up instead. The explosion was coming. He knew. And he thought he ought to make it a good one. She most certainly would. So he sealed his mouth and seethed in silence, setting the countdown timer in his heart.
***
“Whoa. Somebody’s a sassafras,” Michael said, eyeing Cadence. They were ten minutes early for their composition class.
“Where do you come up with this stuff? You’re such a dork,” she spat.
He watched her pretty face screw up in a most unattractive scowl, and chuckled.
“What?” Cadence barked.
“What is your problem? How can you be this irritable already at nine in the morning? What the hell did I do?”
Cadence sighed. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. You covered your bases with me. But now you need to apologize to all that.” He swept his hand across the window.
“Apologize to what?”
“The world.”
She cracked a smile.
“Seriously. What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled. She didn’t trust sharing her problems with Michael. He always seemed a little too eager to know what was wrong with her and even more eager to help her feel better.
“Try again.”
“I had a fight with Avery.” That was partially true. She cringed remembering the dinner night.
“About?”
“Stuff.”
“Elaborate.”
“No, because you’ll say I’m completely childish,” Cadence replied. She flipped open her notebook.
“Probably, but then isn’t that what you’re really after? Perspective?”
“Oh, you’re so wise, Michael,” Cadence said.
“I know. Now tell me what this fight was about.”
“It’s stupid,” Cadence muttered.
“Then you should get over it and stop being grouchy,” Michael pointed out.
“She’s all like, ‘Oh, let’s all go and listen to some DJs next month’. Seriously? Since when does she listen to instrumental hip hop?”
Michael stared at her. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”
“Whatever.”
“Since when do you? You only like it ‘cause your boyfriend likes it.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So why can’t she?”
Cadence shrugged.
“I don’t think this has anything to do with instrumental hip hop,” Michael said. He waited.
“Mark and I aren’t . . . in a good place right now,” Cadence whispered.
“So you take it out on Avery?”
She nodded automatically.
“That doesn’t seem very fair.” He leaned forward and picked up her pen. She watched him draw stars on her notebook.
“I know.”
“Perhaps you oughta be nice to her. She is your best friend.”
It was good advice, but it sounded like it came with a price. She could hear it underlining his words—weighty and wanting, and she couldn’t give him what he wanted.
“So what’s going on with you and your boyfriend?” he asked softly.
No, Cadence.
“He kept a secret from me,” she replied.
Shut up, Cadence.
“What secret?” Michael asked. He spread her hand out on the page and traced it slowly, winding the pen up and over each tiny finger.
“A big one,” she breathed. She was mesmerized watching the pen glide along the page. Up down. Up down. Up down and all around.
Pull back your hand.
“Like what? He’s a murderer or something?” He barely whispered it.