It’s harder to hang out with the crew when Matt’s around. Asha and, by extension, Spencer know the whole truth, so they stay close to me, and Bree follows their lead. But Eliza is barely tolerating my presence, and everyone else is just awkward. I know Matt sees it and does what he can to alleviate the weirdness. He even toughed it out for a Christmas Eve hug, which I suspect was as terrible for him as it was for me. But we’re not rebuilding a friendship. We’re just providing scaffolding to hold up the others.
Christmas morning was almost fun, though. My household declared it a “DIY holiday” and made each other hideous handmade gifts. I knitted Eddie a lumpy hat that he insists on wearing in public, much to Mom’s horror. “Do you want me to take it off?” he asks as he drops me at Spencer’s parents’ house for one last party. “Someone might see.”
“Definitely not. You should come in and model it.”
He laughs. “Call us if you need a ride home.”
I won’t call—he’s taking my mom to a fancy-ish hotel tonight for their one-year anniversary—but I thank him and go inside. Spencer’s folks are letting us use their basement. They look the other way, literally, when Nathan and Fischer walk by with two cases of beer. They’re probably just glad their son’s back together with Asha—and glad it was just a promise ring he gave her for Christmas.
Matt nods at me and I nod back. We move around one another like repelled magnets. It’s some kind of force. I want to punch him. I want to hug him. I want him to understand.
But mostly I just want the holidays to be over so we can all move on. And I don’t feel that guilty about it. I’ll never, ever use the phrase “Andrew would have wanted it that way,” but he definitely would have kicked our asses by now.
MATT
I have to get up at the crack of dawn to leave for Memphis, and I use that as an excuse to leave Spencer’s early. They’re all used to saying goodbye and it doesn’t make them sad anymore, having started practicing at the end of last summer, but I’m saying goodbye to a lot more. When I get to Raychel, she doesn’t even pretend to smile. I intend to hug her quickly and move on, but instead I hear myself saying, “Walk me to my car?”
It comes out too much like a demand, which I can tell makes her balk. But she comes with me, fidgeting while I try to figure out what to say. “So … this is it.”
“Yeah.” The streetlight reflects in her eyes. “Are you nervous?”
I shrug, but I know she can tell. “A little.”
“You’ll do great.” She hides her hands under her arms for warmth.
“Thanks.” We stand for another moment. “It’s freezing,” I say. “You should go in.”
She doesn’t move. “Well…”
The hug starts awkward, like the last one, all limbs and pats on the back, but then we remember how to do it right. We cling to each other and I remember that hug after the hike where she hurt her ankle. I can’t even contemplate how different things might be now if I had just told her then how I felt. She would have been mad, I know now. But maybe we could have still been friends after.
Finally, she pulls herself out of my grasp. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I say again. She turns. “Raych,” I say, my voice cracking. She turns back. “I really am sorry.”
“For what?” she asks. I stand there, frozen, and she nods. “That’s what I thought.” She runs into the house before I can reply.
RAYCHEL
Inside, I pretend like nothing’s wrong. That’s all I ever do these days anyway. I destroy Bree at Ping-Pong and she kills me at air hockey, so we call it a draw. “This summer,” she says, when everyone else is playing darts. “We’ll hang out lots. Maybe you can come to Chicago for spring break? Check out the school? The dorms will be closed, but we can stay at my aunt’s or my grandma’s.”
“That’d be great.” I didn’t apply to Northwestern, but I appreciate the offer more than anything, and when Bree gets ready to leave the party, I decide to go too. We get our coats and give a round of goodbyes. Eliza makes a big show of avoiding a hug from me and I don’t press it.
It gives the ride home an awkward tone, and Bree tries to chatter it away, complaining that she has to sit through another twelve-hour car ride with The Nuge and the awful metal bands he likes. “At least his boyfriend’s not with him this time,” she says. “He sings along. Loudly.”
She tells me some funny stories about their last trip home, but halfway through she realizes they were coming for Andrew’s funeral, and the story ends on yet another uncomfortable note. Then the only sounds are her fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel and the hum of road under the tires.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask out of nowhere.
She looks genuinely terrified at the prospect.
“I’ve never liked Eliza.”
She bursts out laughing. “Me neither.”
“But Nathan does,” I say, leaning back against the seat. “So we put up with her.”
Bree doesn’t answer, and I wonder if we’re thinking the same thing. Spencer likes Asha, so the boys put up with her. Matt liked me, so they put up with me. But why do we have to put up with them? I try to remember if Bree and I ever hung out, just the two of us, and wonder why not. “We should definitely try for spring break,” I say.
“And I’ll be home all summer. If nothing else, maybe we can, like, go on a road trip or something. Bring Asha, maybe? And your friend Keri?”
“That would be awesome.” And I mean it. I need to make some new friends. Starting with the ones I already have.
MATT
I have no idea what I’m doing here.
I sit in the car so long that the windows steam over. I don’t like the trapped feeling they give me, so I climb out to sit on the hood. The cold air feels good, like it’s hardening my resolve to do this, whatever it is. My breath clouds as a wind chime dings lonely nearby.
I don’t know what I’m going to say, but Raychel needs to know all the things I’m really sorry for, and this feels like my last chance to tell her.
When Bree’s car rolls up, she and Raychel both pile out, laughing. Bree comes over to slap me on the chest. “You left without hugging me!”
“I’m sorry,” I say, ducking my head. “I didn’t want to make a scene.” They both snort. “What?”
“Eliza,” Bree says. “She … never mind, who cares.”
“I care,” I want to say. But I don’t. And then I realize that’s the mistake I always make. “I care,” I say, and she gives me a huge hug. Then she squeezes Raychel and gets in the car, hollering something about spring break and how maybe they should go somewhere warmer. Her headlights cut us in half and slice down the street, disappearing as she turns.
Raychel watches, hugging herself and shivering. “Hey,” I say lamely.