The Friend Zone

by Abby Jimenez

  There’s my girl. I put a hand on her shoulder. “Well, no one’s saying you should give up your hobbies, honey bunny.”

  Kristen choked and spit her drink back into her glass, and we both launched into laughter.

  Steam came out of Evelyn’s ears and she glared at us. Kristen descended into a giggling fit, leaning into my shoulder.

  The spell was broken. She was back.

  Evelyn dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and raised a finger at the waiter. “Well, it’s good to see that you’ve found someone to celebrate mediocrity with, Kristen.”

  Kristen grinned up at me, still laughing. “We do know how to celebrate, don’t we, Joshua?”

  “I’m all worn out after last night’s celebration.” I chuckled, wiping at my eyes. I slid my plate away from me and dropped my napkin onto it. “Ready to go?” I pulled out my wallet and tossed some bills onto the table. “Thank you for the invite,” I said to Evelyn as I pushed out my chair. “Kristen?” I gave her my hand.

  She didn’t move.

  Come on, Kristen—let’s go. Don’t stand for this shit.

  She took my hand with a sideways grin and got up.

  “Mom, this has been fun, as always.” Then she grabbed the money I put on the table, tucked it into my back pocket, gave my ass a squeeze, and led me by the hand out of the restaurant.

  TWENTY

  Kristen

  We burst from the restaurant into the warm noon air and made our way past the valet down the sidewalk to the fast click of my heels.

  “Jesus, was she for real?” Josh asked, still laughing a little. We walked along a row of boutiques and salons. “I didn’t think people like that really existed.”

  I scoffed. “Oh yes, she’s for real. Sloan calls her the Ice Queen.”

  He shook his head. “Why do you let her talk to you like that? You don’t actually believe that stuff, do you?” He looked at me, his thick eyebrows knitted.

  I believed I disappointed her. And it was hard not to take what she said to heart. I did drop out of law school. I gave up on piano, which I was somewhat gifted at. Turned down scholarships. Considering what I could have been doing, what I was probably capable of if I wanted to apply myself and live a life I hated, yeah, I could be considered a disappointment. She had a point.

  I didn’t answer him.

  “Kristen.” He stopped me on the sidewalk and put his hands on my arms. “Hey, you know that nothing she said was true, right?”

  I looked him in the eye. “She wasn’t wrong about all of it, Josh.” I was nothing if not self-aware.

  He took a step closer and his warm eyes anchored me. “None of what she said about you is true,” he said seriously. “You’re one of the most driven people I’ve ever met. You’re smart and successful, and Tyler’s a fucking asshole for breaking up with you like that. That shit wasn’t your fault.”

  Tyler.

  He’d been calling almost every day since he broke up with me. I wasn’t interested in hearing what he had to say.

  I couldn’t decide if the ruling emotion was guilt for falling in love with Josh while we were together, or fury that Tyler had ended two years by breaking all his promises and letting me know via voicemail.

  He had to have known he was going to leave me, and he’d probably known for a while. He hadn’t been any more forthcoming with his plans or reservations about our relationship than I’d been about my growing love for Josh.

  I had feelings about this, and zero desire to explore them.

  So I did with Tyler what I did with most of the shitty things in my life. I put him where I kept my hysterectomy and my childhood—in its own little room.

  I tossed Tyler into his storage space, pulled the string on the light bulb, shut the heavy metal door, and latched the lock so I wouldn’t have to look at the things that hurt, and I could go on with my life unaffected.

  It was why I didn’t cry. It was how I lived using only the left side of my brain.

  But for some reason, compartmentalizing today didn’t seem possible. I knew it the second I saw Josh standing in my living room with Mom. It was like things that happened with Josh couldn’t be locked up. They just smeared all over, messy and impossible to put away.

  The feeling was a little terrifying, like I’d lost my defense mechanism and I was naked and unarmed. With Josh’s eyes looking into mine, I was emotionally exhausted and actually a little embarrassed about what happened today—and I didn’t get embarrassed.

  The tightness in my throat threatened to turn into crying. Crying. Again. For the second time in as many days. I didn’t even recognize myself anymore.

  He put a hand to my cheek as his stare wandered my face, and I was afraid he was going to kiss me. I was afraid because if he did, in that raw moment, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. I had to keep that stuff under control. For both of us. I couldn’t let lines blur.

  But the side of his mouth came up into a smile. “You’re hungry. Come on.”

  He pulled me into the nearest cafe.

  Like, seriously. The nearest one. He didn’t even look at the menu on the easel.

  “What?” I said, horrified as he dragged me inside by the hand. “Aren’t we going to at least check the reviews? What if it only has three stars?”

  He held up two fingers to the hostess and turned to me. “You kill me, you know that? On one hand you embrace danger at every turn, and on the other you won’t risk getting bad pancakes. And anyway, I’m buying.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’ll pay for myself. We’re not on a date.”

  “I know. Don’t worry—I’m not trying to slip a date past you.” He made a face like the idea was crazy. “I’d just like to buy you breakfast. I like feeding you.”

  “Why?”

  He grinned at me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Because you’re a lot nicer to me when you’ve eaten. It’s more for me than you, really.”

  I cracked a smile and we followed the hostess through the restaurant to a table in a tiny enclosed patio. We had the space all to ourselves.

  It was actually a little romantic. Mismatched bistro chairs and reclaimed wood tables with little vases of carnations on them. The patio was full of potted plants. Several fountains trickled along the vine-twisted brick walls that enclosed us. Throw pillows with Aztec patterns in the booths, Christmas lights strung over us. Intimate and lovely.

  I was still going to check the reviews though.

  Once we’d ordered, Josh started hitting me with questions. I think the brunch from hell was starting to process.

  “I don’t think I appreciated my mom enough,” he said, taking the garnishes off his Bloody Mary and sliding them across to me on a napkin. “What was it like growing up with a mom like that?”

  I nibbled on the pickle spear. “Like that brunch—but for eighteen years.”

  “She reminds me of that lady from that movie…” He snapped his fingers. “The one with Meryl Streep?”

  I scoffed. “The Devil Wears Prada? She might be the devil. Nobody’s ever seen them in the same room at the same time before.”

  He chuckled and I smiled weakly at him. God, he was my hero. In the last thirty minutes, Josh had done the modern-day equivalent of slaying a dragon. He saved me. Twice. Once from the Ice Queen and then again from starvation.

  Food was my currency. Hungry was an emotion for me. I felt that shit in my soul.

  I looked at the napkin he gave me. He liked all this stuff—celery, pickles, olives, shrimp. Either my hangry was truly terrifying or he gave it to me because he was taking care of me. He hadn’t eaten yet either. He was hungry too, but he didn’t even keep an olive for himself.

  Josh was going to make a very good daddy one day. He was selfless and principled. Brave. Loyal.

  He’d make a good husband to someone too.

  I thought about how he’d given me his French toast earlier, and I had to clutch my heart through my dress.

  “You okay?” he asked, watching me squeeze my chest.
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  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  It’s just that you’re perfect, and my heart hurts.

  “Hey…” His eyes narrowed at my hand, and he reached for it over the table. “How’d you get this?” He ran a thumb along the purple mark just above my knuckles.

  The touch gave me butterflies.

  “Oh, it was a freak Pop-Tart accident while you were at work.”

  His thumb stilled, and he looked at me like I was about to tell him I was kidding. “A Pop-Tart accident? You got injured making a Pop-Tart?”

  I pulled my hand back and feigned indignation. “Yes, I did. The middle of those things are like molten lava when they’re hot. And me and this particular Pop-Tart had a run-in.”

  His eyes danced with amusement. “We really need to keep you out of the kitchen.”

  I shrugged. “So I cook the way you drive. Whatever.”

  He laughed.

  “Hey,” I said, after a moment. “I’m sorry she was insulting. It was meant to hurt me, not you.”

  He held his glass on the table. “You’re very different around her.”

  Yes. Because she has the key to every room.

  I’d never been able to keep her out.

  Or lock her in.

  I let out a long breath. “It’s like the second I’m in her presence, I’m six years old, disappointing her at her dinner party with my Mozart concerto.”

  “How long did you play the piano?”

  I reached down and pulled the backs off my heels. “Fifteen years. Every day for three hours, six days a week. Sunday was for tennis and whatever other activity she made me do.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Why did you stop?”

  “I stopped because she forced it on me.”

  He took a drink. “Were you any good?”

  “Well, I’d hope so. You spend three hours a day doing anything for fifteen years, you better be good at it,” I said, eating an olive.

  I would play for him if he asked. And I didn’t play for anyone.

  Piano was symbolic for me. The shackles of my childhood, the chain I cast off when I finally had some control of my own life. Picking it up again, even though I was good at it, felt like acknowledging that her tyranny had merit. So my stilled fingers were my rebellion.

  But for Josh? To have him look at me with admiration? I would play for Josh.

  It was such an odd feeling wanting him to be impressed with me but simultaneously hoping he didn’t like me too much.

  “You got into Harvard? And you were in law school?” he asked.

  I sighed. “Yes. I didn’t see why I had to leave Sloan to go to Massachusetts just to get a degree I didn’t even want. So I went to UCLA. I was in my first year of law school when I dropped out. Obviously my mom was pissed about it,” I mumbled into my coffee cup.

  “You didn’t want to be a lawyer?” He gave me a dimpled grin. “Arguing for a living? You? You were born for it.”

  I smirked. “I prefer to argue for fun.”

  Plus it had been too hard sitting in classes as my periods got worse and worse. The cramps, the anemia. Working from home was just easier on me. And I enjoyed having my own business. I was finally having fun with my life.

  “Your mom is older than I pictured. How old is she?” he asked.

  “Sixty-seven. She got pregnant with me when she was forty-three. A complete shock. She didn’t think she could get pregnant.” She’d had the same issues I did but less severe. “I basically ruined her life. Her career, her retirement plans—all put on hold.”

  I’d been a twin. She’d lost my brother in the fourth month of her pregnancy. If she had to be stuck with a baby, at least it could have been the boy so my dad could pass down the family name. But no. She’d gotten the girl instead. I disappointed her before I was even born.

  How differently Josh and I had grown up. His parents had tried for a boy. He was exactly what they wanted when he came. And he was probably loved and cherished by every member of his family.

  Like he was loved and cherished by me.

  We were watching each other. Enjoying one of our comfortable silences. He was adorable. His hair was a little messy, his T-shirt tight over his broad chest.

  For a moment I thought about whether or not I could keep doing this. I didn’t know if I could. Because even if I was successful at keeping him from loving me, I was failing miserably at not loving him.

  I thought about waking up with my face pressed against his heart this morning, how he’d managed to finagle himself into my room last night.

  Josh was my drug, my dealer, and that really toxic friend who’s always pushing you into breaking your sobriety.

  He was like that puppy that you swear will never sleep in the bed. It’s so fucking cute, but you have to be the pack leader and lay down the law. Then it starts crying from the laundry room and you end up giving in the very first night.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “Drug dealers and puppies in laundry rooms.”

  He laughed. “Of course you are.”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “I’m thinking that your dad must have been pretty cool.” He took another sip of his Bloody Mary.

  “What makes you think that?”

  He shrugged. “A hunch. You lost your dad, right?”

  “Yeah. When I was twelve. He had a heart attack. A few months before I met Sloan.”

  “What was he like?”

  A little like you.

  I let out a slow breath. “He was fun. And laid back. You’d have to be to live with a woman like that. He was a literature professor.”

  Mom had listened to him. He softened her. And when he died, she’d gone from difficult to impossible.

  Our food arrived, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn’t want to talk about me anymore.

  My Spanish omelet actually looked pretty good. I pushed my hash browns over with the side of my fork and moved the toast so nothing touched.

  “What’s your family like?” I asked.

  He grinned and puffed air from his cheeks. “Well, let’s see. My parents are insanely in love. Dad worships the ground Mom walks on. They’ve got twelve grandkids so far, so holidays back home are like a Greek wedding. My sisters are all fiercely independent and competitive with each other. They fight over pretty much everything, but they’re super cliqued up. Right now they’re all united in their crusade to get me to move back home.”

  He salted his eggs. “Hey, Tyler didn’t let her talk to you like that in front of him, did he?”

  I took my first bite. It was perfect. I felt my mood improve almost immediately. “No. She didn’t talk to me like that with him. She liked him.”

  It had been a reprieve. I’d finally done something right.

  “Why?” he asked, putting ketchup on his hash browns.

  “Tyler was sophisticated. She liked that.”

  “Oh,” he said flatly, and I realized what I had implied.

  But Josh wasn’t sophisticated. He didn’t like the theater—he liked movies, like I did. He preferred hunting, not art galleries. Pizza and beer to tapas and wine.

  And he was perfect.

  “Do you miss your family?” I asked, changing the subject.

  He shrugged. “I’m glad I’m not there every day. It could get to be a bit much.” He took a bite and chewed for a moment. “You know what I think the trick to dealing with family is? I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.”

  “What?” I said, spreading strawberry jam on my toast.

  “Marrying your best friend.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You marry your best friend, and at family gatherings you deal with your shitty relatives together. You laugh about it and have each other’s backs. Share looks and text each other from across the room when everyone else is being an asshole. And nobody else really matters because you have your own universe.”

  He held my eyes for a moment. “That’s what I want. I want someone to be my universe.�
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  He’d have no problem finding that. No problem at all. Josh could have any woman he wanted. After all, he was the sun. Warm and vital. He would be the center of a big family one day, just like he wanted, and they’d all adore him.

  And I was just some passing comet. Momentarily distracting. Useless and unimportant. I was nice to look at, fun to observe, but I’d never give life or be the center of anything.

  I’d streak through and be gone, and Josh would forget me before we knew it.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Josh

  It was three and a half weeks to Brandon’s wedding, two weeks since brunch with the Ice Queen.

  Kristen and I had fallen into a new normal. When we hung out, it was like before. Friends only. No touching. No kissing. And occasionally, as long as we had sex first, she’d let me sleep in her bed and hold her. But only if we had sex. To her, the holding afterward was all part of it, I think. The second we left the bed, we had to shift back into friends-only mode. Of course this just made me that much more intent on making sure we ended up in bed. Not that I needed another reason to have sex with her, but now I was on a mission.

  I wished I could put an arm around her on the couch when we watched TV or kiss her when we passed in the hallway, but her rules were rigid. I’d tried holding her hand once on a walk with Stuntman Mike and she fucking lost it on me. Didn’t talk to me for three days, almost broke things off over it. Said I didn’t “get” what friends with benefits meant.

  After that, I didn’t try to make moves on her outside of her rules. She obviously wasn’t ready for an emotional relationship. It fucking sucked. But what was I going to do? It hadn’t even been a month since Tyler. I guess I couldn’t blame her for being hesitant to let me get close to her just yet.

  She asked me all the time if I was going on dates, like she needed to make sure I was keeping up that end of the bargain. At first I was honest—told her no, I wasn’t seeing other people. But she got really worked up about it.

  Really fucking worked up.