by Mary Frame
Chapter Seventeen
The same may be said of friendship at first sight as of love at first sight: it is the only true one, the only noble one.
—Herman Melville, The Confidence-Man
Annabel
“What’s Fitz up to tonight?” I ask Reese right before shoving an egg roll in my mouth.
“He’s over at Jude’s.” She crosses her legs on the couch next to me, holding her bowl of food in one hand. “There’s no party tonight. They’re watching Two Weeks Notice. Jude really loves Hugh Grant.”
I snort. “He loves anyone in romance movies.”
Meanwhile, we’re watching Keanu Reeves kick some butt as John Wick while we chow down on homemade Chinese food Beast made for us. There are no Chinese restaurants in Blue Falls, but who needs it when you’ve got Beast?
“I can’t believe he made this from scratch.” Egg rolls, fried rice, and sweet and sour pineapple with chicken and rice and bell peppers. And it’s delicious.
“He’s a prince. How is it going with the article?” Reese asks. “Is it whatever you were helping Jude with the other night, or something different?”
“Different.”
“What’s it about?”
“Um. I can’t really talk about it yet.”
“Fine. Then tell me what’s up with Jude.”
“Eh . . .”
“We don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Fair enough.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes while Keanu murders people on the screen.
“Can I tell you something about Fitz?” Reese says in a soft voice.
I eyeball her. “Maybe?”
“We haven’t had sex yet.”
Dear lord, where is this going? The last time she asked me for sex advice, she started talking about the mating habits of seahorses. “Okay?”
“I want to, but he’s all sweet and doesn’t want me to feel rushed.”
“Maybe he’s not ready.”
“You’re probably right. How do I find out if he is?”
“Reese. You’re the smartest person I know. Just ask him.”
“Right. You’re so right. Why is this so hard? I’m . . . nervous to talk to him about this, and I can’t quite figure out why.
I know exactly why. And the words remind me of the conversation with Jude. The events are different, the emotions the same. “Because telling someone how you feel is hard. It’s opening yourself to rejection. But you don’t have to worry about that with Fitz. He loves you. Just be safe. Use a condom and for God’s sake keep me out of it and don’t do it when I’m home.”
“Fine. I need more friends who aren’t related to my boyfriend,” she grumbles.
My phone buzzes on the couch between us.
“Taylor?” Reese reads out the caller ID.
“Hey, Nosy McGee!” I snatch up my phone and decline the call.
“Isn’t that the old friend you told me about? The one who lied and isn’t your friend anymore?”
“No.”
She raises one brow.
“Maybe.”
She waits.
“Okay, fine. Yes, it is. You really want to know all the gory details?”
“Of course.”
I take a breath. I’ve already done this once, and I trust Reese, like I trusted Jude. She won’t discard my feelings or me. I believe that.
So I open up and let it out. The repeat is surprisingly easy to endure.
The anxiety I had been holding on to was hard and heavy. And now it’s . . . not. Not quite as light as a feather, but lighter than the anvil it was.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Reese reaches out and puts a hand on my arm.
I shrug. “It’s over now.”
“Then why is it still affecting you?”
It’s not. Is it? I guess it is. “I—”
My phone rings.
Taylor. Again.
I move to decline the call but Reese snatches it up and answers, holding it up to her ear. “Annabel’s phone.”
“Reese!” I grab at her but she smacks my hand away and stands up, moving away a few paces.
“Oh, hi, Taylor! My name is Reese and I’m friends with Annabel and I’ve heard so much about you.”
“God dammit, Reese!” I follow her around the living room. She swerves around the coffee table and I follow, but she steps over the table and avoids me easily.
She’s surprisingly agile and wily all of a sudden.
I grab her by the shoulder and she jerks away.
“It’s so nice to meet you, even if it’s just over the phone.”
Frustrated, I leap up on the coffee table and monkey climb onto her back, wrapping my arms around her neck and prying at the phone with my nails. Her fingers are like claws around my phone and she’s talking and fighting me at the same time.
“Annabel would love to speak with you. She’s not busy at all, she’s right here,” Reese yells and then puts the phone next to my ear, which is easy since my head is pressed against hers.
“Hi.” I’m breathing too heavy. This is so not normal.
“Hi,” Taylor says.
I clamber off Reese, pushing her away as I go and she collapses onto the couch in a heap of laughter.
I hold a fake gun to my head with my fingers, making shoot me now gestures.
Reese rolls her eyes. “You’re dorkier than I am. Talk to her.”
Taylor is speaking at the same time. “I know Chad tried to get you to call me, but I figured I should call you instead. Your number is the same.”
“It is. I was planning on calling, I just, uh . . . you know, I’m real busy.”
“That’s a lame excuse,” Reese yells in the background.
Taylor laughs. “Who is the woman that answered?”
“It’s Fitz’s girlfriend, Reese.” I wave my hand at her to shush her and turn away. I can’t look at her face while I’m having this conversation. “Ignore her. Look, I’m sorry I haven’t called. I’m just . . . I’m embarrassed.” I can’t believe I admitted it out loud. To Taylor. I’m talking to Taylor, my bestest friend in the whole world who I’ve been avoiding for four years.
“You shouldn’t be. This whole situation was all my fault. I should have told you from the beginning about Chad but I was so worried about hurting you. I kept it from you, and then I kept things from him and the end result was everything falling apart. I was young and stupid. I’m the one who’s embarrassed. Please forgive me?”
Well, shit. “It’s fine. I forgive you.” God, this is uncomfortable. I pace back and forth. “I already talked about all this with Chad, didn’t he tell you?”
“He isn’t a part of this, it’s about me and you. Remember? Taybel?”
A snort of laughter escapes from me. I had nearly forgotten. “I think we agreed it was Annalor. Sounds like a character from Lord of the Rings. Taybel sounds like an awkward Hollywood couple that doesn’t last more than two weeks and ends with a Twitter war.”
She laughs and there’s a beat of silence. “I really want to see you. What are you doing now? Can you come over? Chad’s working tonight and I hate being here alone and . . .” she trails off uncertainly.
“I’m hanging out with Reese. We have kind of a standing date.”
“But we can do something else. We don’t have plans,” Reese yells in the background. “I would like to meet you. I don’t have many friends.”
“Reese!” I hiss. “That’s not the way to get people to think you’re cool.”
“Why would I want people to think I’m cool? They’d figure out the truth eventually anyway.”
Taylor is cracking up on the other end of the line. “I love her already. Seriously. Come over. I have wine and cheese and . . . I’ve even got some apple pie from the diner.”
Because it’s my favorite and she knows it.
Reese is giving me puppy-dog eyes, her hands clasped together in front of her.
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I can’t fight both of them.
“Fine.” I swallow. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Reese is happy dancing when I hang up the phone.
“If this all goes to hell, I’m gonna blame you.”
Taylor and Chad live in a one-story house in an older part of town filled with small families and retirees on a budget. Their home is in the center of a block of houses that are all basically the same, brick with white shutters, except theirs has a porch swing. The yard is well maintained and there’s a stout white picket fence out front that makes my heart hurt, only because it’s something Taylor used to talk about all the time, having a home and family with the white picket fence.
I knock on the door and shush Reese, who hasn’t shut up since we left my apartment. She’s bouncing around like a little kid on a trampoline for the first time.
Taylor opens the door. She’s got on a nice button-up blouse over her jeans and she’s wearing mascara and blush. She must be nervous, because she never puts makeup on unless she’s trying to make an impression. It’s how she always was.
“Come in, please.” She holds the door wider and we enter.
I introduce her to Reese and they shake hands and maintain the polite Southern standard of “So pleased to meet you” and “Thank you so much for coming over” and “Your home is beautiful,” as we do.
“Oh, I don’t want to hold y’all up here in the entry.” Taylor laughs nervously. “Come into the kitchen. I have food and drinks and—” While backing away she turns and runs into the wall.
“Are you okay?” I reach out for her and she whirls around, her cheeks flaming red.
She rubs her nose with a palm. “Other than feeling like a right fool, I’m just peachy. Let’s pretend that didn’t happen.” She takes a large step to the side and goes into the kitchen.
Reese and I follow, sharing a glance, mine alarmed, but Reese is still grinning like she did the whole way here.
“I’m sorry if you’re in any kind of pain, but I’m so happy right now,” Reese says. “I’m normally the one saying weird things and running into walls.”
“Actually, I find it kind of nice, too,” I add. “Tamps my own anxiety down to a low simmer.”
Taylor blows out a breath and turns around to face us. The kitchen is as quaint as the exterior, with white cupboards and new tiled floors. She stands in the middle of it with her hands on her hips. “Well I’m glad my complete inability to function makes you guys feel better, but I feel as jumpy as a fart in a fan factory.”
There’s a collective pause and then we’re all laughing. If mine is a little forced, at least no one mentions it.
“I think you remember sayings about as good as my granny does,” Reese says.
“Do farts really get jumpy?” I ask.
Taylor’s leaning forward, arms around her stomach. “Remember when I told Tommy Milner he was so ugly he fell out the ugly tree and missed every branch on the way down?”
My laughter redoubles, the genuine article this time. “You’ve never been any good at making sense when you’re swimming with nerves.”
When the humor subsides a bit, I’m smiling at Taylor and she’s grinning back and it’s like everything is back like it was five years ago. Before.
But then reality reaches out and slaps me in the face and my smile wavers and drops.
Taylor sees it and takes a step toward me but then falters. “I have to explain.”
Wow, we’re just diving into this? I mean, I know that’s why I’m here, but I’m not ready.
“That day, when you asked me about Chad, I . . . I panicked. I have no excuse for lying. None. I was stupid and thoughtless and so worried about hurting you that I lied and made it worse. But I knew you would be upset about us, and I was so focused on keeping it a secret it became all I could see. I loved Chad and I was so happy and so guilty because I knew you had feelings for him, too, and I couldn’t tell him about you and I couldn’t tell you about him without someone getting hurt. It was this strange time because the love I felt was always overshadowed by horrible shame.” She’s crying now, the tears falling.
I don’t know what to do with myself. Do I comfort her? Do I smack her? Instead, I do nothing and she keeps speaking.
“I’m so, so sorry. For everything. Truly. Do you think you could ever forgive me? I promise I will never lie to you again. Ever. About anything.”
An hour and two drinks later, we’re sitting on comfortable, oversized recliners set around a coffee table.
After listening to Reese and Taylor totally hit it off, I’m feeling way too good and happy about everything in the universe. I really need to drink more. Why don’t I do this more often? Oh right, my liver and basic physical well-being. Man, I’m going to regret this tomorrow.
We’re sharing our most embarrassing moments—Reese is explaining how she got mixed up in one of Jude’s games and had to break into the pen with the school mascot, Begonia the pig, and put her in a dress.
We laugh and then Taylor says, “This one time, Chad and I . . .” She glances over at me and her laughter trails off. Then her gaze drops to her lap. “Well, it doesn’t matter.” She tosses back a gulp of wine.
“Okay. No.” I set my wine glass down on the table a little too hard. “It does matter. If we’re really gonna be friends, we can talk about anything. Even Chad. It’s not uncomfortable for me. I don’t like him. Not like that, and I haven’t for a really long time.”
Taylor watches me skeptically and I rush to assure her.
“You know that, right? Stop stressing about it and you have to tell me everything. Chad or not. Them’s the rules.”
Reese’s head tilts. “There are rules?”
She would pick up on that. She loves parameters on things. “Yes, rules. The rules of friendship and badass womenry.” I’m totally making all of this up, but it sounds really good.
Reese’s nose scrunches. “Womenry isn’t a word.”
Maybe good isn’t the right adjective. “Well I just made it one. I’m a writer. I can do that.”
Taylor blinks and puts her glass down. “I broke the rules of womenry. You were right to not talk to me for so long.” Her eyes fill.
The perils of too much wine.
“Okay, okay, stop.” I point at her. “No more weepiness.”
She stands up and then sits in my chair, squishing herself in beside me. We really don’t fit, but she’s so earnest and upset, I can’t tell her to go away.
“It’s fine now. It really is. No shame needed.”
She takes one of my hands in hers. “I hope so. And now you’re with Jude.” Her smile is wide even though her eyes are still watery. “You guys are so cute together.”
Reese, quiet until now, speaks up. “Um, what? Why? Jude? You refuse to talk about him with me.”
I shake my head. “I’m not with Jude. Nope.”
Taylor tilts her head and side-eyes me. “Then why are you always with him, like at Bodean’s? And when Chad caught you breaking into that shed?”
Reese moves over to where we’re sitting on the small chair and squeezes in on my other side.
“There really isn’t room here for this,” I tell them.
They ignore me.
“Wait a minute.” Reese leans an arm on my leg. I’m like the deaf monkey in the middle while they talk over me. “Why was she breaking into a shed? What happened at Bodean’s?”
Taylor looks at me. “Why do I feel like y’all are living a double life right now?”
Their gazes clash right on my face.
“I can’t tell you guys.”
“But we’re best friends now, right?” Reese glances back and forth between us.
Taylor shrugs and nods. “Okay.”
I smack Taylor with one hand. “Don’t encourage her.” Then I roll my eyes at Reese. “That’s not how friendship works.”
Reese huffs. “Well, I say it does work and so does my new best friend Taylor, and since you’re in this c
ircle, we tell each other everything. That was your rule. Remember? Womenry.” Reese lifts her glass.
“That wasn’t my rule. And some of it isn’t my story to tell.” Even though the booze is giving me loose lips and lowered inhibitions, I can’t break Jude’s trust. I just can’t.
Taylor nods. “Respectable. Then tell us what you can.”
I glance back and forth between them. “Okay, okay, but I need to stand because y’all are crowding me and I’m feeling claustrophobic.”
I stand on a deep breath. When I move out of the way, they collide in the middle of the recliner, shoulders crashing and wine splattering on their shirts. They both laugh and Taylor grabs a nearby napkin, patting Reese on the chest . . . well, on the boob with the napkin, which just makes them laugh harder.
“You guys ’bout done?”
“Yes, yes, we’re listening,” Reese says with a laugh.
I sigh. “You know how Jude said he had some business with the paper?”
Reese nods as Taylor says, “No.”
“Well, I’m helping him with that. Sort of. But it’s more like I’m helping him find . . . something important, and he’s giving me a story in return. We were at Bodean’s together because we had to pick up . . . stuff, and then the shed, I thought there was a thing that might be . . . critical to our investigation,” I finish and turn to them expectantly.
“That makes no sense,” Taylor says.
“What was in the shed?” Reese asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Probably nothing.”
“I know. Why don’t we go check out the shed right now?” Taylor suggests.
“Um, because your soon-to-be-husband is a cop and he told me not to?”
She shrugs. “He’s not the boss of me. Or you. Screw him. To womenry!” She lifts her glass in the air, sloshing more wine on her shirt.
Reese cheers. “To womenry! But really, we shouldn’t drive.”
I tap a finger against my lips. It’s been a full day since the parade anyway. Whatever I thought I saw is probably gone. But maybe there is evidence left behind. “It’s right off Main and Fourth, less than a mile. We could walk.”
Taylor gasps. “Yes! But we have to wear all black so no one can see us. Come on!”