It sounds like petty bullshit, but it’s not. It’s fucking betrayal.
On my fourth lap around the block, I see Hannah sitting in the doorway to my building as I approach my stoop. She’s in a tank top with her arms wrapped around herself. My first thought is She must be freezing. But then I remember her heart is made of ice so she’s probably plenty comfortable out here.
I consider walking the other way and pretending I didn’t see her, but I’m starting to get cold, and I want to go inside. Maybe I’ll try punching a wall in my apartment and see if that works—straight bros seem to love that move. Maybe I’ll leave the city and move back to Boston and the hole I punch in the wall can be someone else’s problem. My friends are the only thing keeping me here and clearly they don’t give a crap about me.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I announce when I’m a few yards away. She can sit out here all night and freeze for all I care. I note that Theo hasn’t even bothered to show up.
“Well, too bad. I’m not leaving,” she yells back. Her voice is too loud and betrays how drunk she is.
“Suit yourself. I don’t care if you stay out here all night. I’m going inside.”
She stands up and puts herself between me and the front door. You know what, if she wants to make a scene on the street, that’s fine with me. We can have it out and end things. Right here, right now. There’s no coming back from this. There’s no explanation that makes this acceptable.
“I’m sorry.”
The fact that she thinks she can fix this with a simple apology makes blood ring in my ears. “I don’t care.”
“But clearly you do care.”
Ugh, fighting with drunk people is the absolute worst. “I don’t care that you’re sorry,” I clarify. “Let me save you the time because there’s nothing you can say to make this alright.”
She tries again anyway. “I shouldn’t have done it. We were drunk and on molly, but we still shouldn’t have done it.” She pauses, probably waiting for me to forgive her.
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have done it,” I say. “There. Are we done? Can I go upstairs, please?”
“No, we’re not done here, Finn. I’m trying to apologize, which, let me say, is ridiculous. You have a boyfriend. One you haven’t stopped talking about all day. Jeremy looooves tea. Did you know Jeremy’s parents have a German shepherd? Have you seen Jeremy’s dumb bubble butt from his dumb bike he never shuts up about?” she says in a whiny voice that’s supposed to be an imitation of me. World’s worst apology. “So, yeah, it shouldn’t matter who Theo kisses. You have no claim on him, plus you know it didn’t mean anything. It was a stupid drunk kiss.”
Mentally I am shouting at full volume off the side of a canyon. Physically I am standing on my stoop trying not to slap my ex–best friend, who would definitely deserve it. “You should have known better! This isn’t some rando, this is Theo. It’s . . . I . . .”
“Oh, you love him? Maybe you should tell him instead of telling me over and over and over. Then maybe you’d be with him instead of with this boyfriend you clearly don’t even like and are only with to prove a point to yourself. Or maybe to Theo? I can’t decide which is more pathetic.”
“Well, you’d know about pathetic,” I yell. “You’re so obsessed with Christmas. You moped around all afternoon when Priya left for two whole hours, you hate it whenever any of us have lives outside this group that don’t involve you, and you’ve always been jealous of Theo.”
“Oh, I’m jealous? Do tell!” She crosses her arms over her chest and shifts her weight to one side.
“You’ve been jealous of Theo since the first day I brought him around. You’re threatened by him, terrified that I’ll get closer to him than I am to you. So now you went and kissed him. To what? Steal him from me? Make me jealous? Just because you’re content living this sexless loner lifestyle doesn’t mean the rest of us are. You know I’m not your boyfriend, right?! You know what, Hannah, this was too far. You should have known better.”
“Oh? Just like Theo should have known you’re in love with him even though you’ve never told him? And you probably never will? That’s not how it works, Finn. We’re not freaking mind readers. You’re never going to be with Theo because you’re a coward. And I’m sorry you went out and got yourself a new boyfriend you don’t love, but that’s your shit to deal with.”
For a minute we stare at each other, both of us out of breath from screaming, waiting to see if the other one cracks.
I’m prepared to wait all night, but Hannah caves first. Her tone is softened. “I think we should talk about this in the morning, once we’ve both sobered up and cooled off.”
“I’ve said everything I need to say.”
“Well, I haven’t,” she says and stomps her foot like a petulant toddler.
“Can I go inside now?”
“Fine.” She moves aside to unblock the door. “I’ll text you in the morning. Late breakfast at Waverly Diner? This is nothing hash browns can’t solve. I’m, uh, going to go back to the bar and get my jacket. I can get yours, too. I’ll bring it for you in the morning.”
I scoff. Like I give two shits about the dumb, bedazzled jackets she made us. “Frankly, Hannah, I don’t want to be part of any club that would have you as a member.”
I open the door and pull it closed behind me so she can’t follow me in.
That’s the last time we speak for a year.
fifteen
Finn
This year, December 14
My cab pulls up to Theo’s building and I swipe my credit card while the driver wrangles my bags from the trunk. Two hard-shell suitcases, a shopping bag of gifts, and my beat-up old backpack are all that’s left of my life in New York. Everything else I own is on a moving truck heading for LA.
Until the truck’s slatted rolling door slammed shut, the move didn’t feel real.
It didn’t feel real when I signed my job offer or when I told my friends. It certainly didn’t feel real when I flew to LA two weeks ago to find an apartment. That felt like playing the Game of Life, picking a place to live for a fictional version of myself. My little blue peg is moving up in the world!
But it is real. An hour ago, I closed the door to my newly empty apartment and left the keys under the super’s doormat. It’s weird to think I’ll never see the inside of the place I called home for the past three years ever again. I snapped a few pictures on my way out as a keepsake, but they already look like nothing. The kind of photos you take when the camera app opens by accident.