Friend Is a Four Letter Word

by Steph Campbell

  “Don’t!” I cry. I hear his surprised chuckle and feel a hot blush. “Um, it’s valuable. I wouldn’t want it to get lost in the mail.”

  “Okay,” Carter says slowly. “But it’s a shame that you haven’t had a chance to wear them, doll. You looked so beautiful in those earrings.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry,” I assure him, rubbing the little bit of glitter between my fingers. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “You can’t just leave,” Mom says, her voice rising up high enough to actually draw attention from the neighbors. I know how incredibly pissed she is at me if she’s not worried about what the neighbors might overhear. She pulls the bag I just shoved into the trunk of my car right back out and tosses it onto the driveway. “David, tell her she can’t leave.”

  “Shayna,” Dad says sharply. He looks over the rim of his glasses at me. “This is a terrible idea. Have you thought this through at all?”

  “Of course I have,” I say, tugging the duffel back to the truck. Of course I’ve thought about this all.

  For like, a solid couple of hours.

  “Where are you going to stay?” he demands, pacing back and forth. Is that where I get my terrible pacing habit from? I never noticed before. “What will you do for money?” he asks, crossing his arms in triumph when I look up at him, gaping like a fish out of water.

  Alright, so I hadn’t thought it totally through. My plan is to head to Quinn’s place in California. That’s it. No further plan. Money wise, I still have all of my graduation cash, which should be enough until I figure things out more.

  I take a deep breath. “Look, I know you guys wanted me to volunteer at Bible class with Nolan. And I’m sorry to pull out at the last second like this—”

  “Is it Nolan?” my mother asks, her hand pressed to her chest. “Did you do something to make him upset.”

  I don’t bother to hide my eyeroll. Of course, if something happened between me and Nolan, it just had to be my fault.

  What makes me even more annoyed is that she guessed right. Well, she guessed one piece right. There are a dozen other pieces my mother doesn’t even realize are on the board at all.

  “I know this may upset you.” I put a hand on Mom’s arm, my fingers brushing the pink cashmere of her sweater. “Nolan and I decided to take a break.”

  Mom bites her bottom lip and gives Dad a look that clearly says, She’s out of her ever-loving mind and ruining her good prospects. If you don’t want your daughter to die an old maid, do something!

  My father clears his throat. “Shayna, trust us, your mother and I know how much love can… hurt. Be confusing. And if things aren’t right with you and Nolan, by all means, take a break. But running away?”

  I nibble on my lip, wondering how the hell I can manage this without hurting them or losing myself. There may be no way to completely avoid both of these things, but I take my best stab.

  “It’s… Quinn,” I say, watching Mom wrinkle her nose in distaste.

  “The wild dark haired one?” she asks, shaking her head.

  There is a heaping load of irony connected to the fact that my mother thinks Quinn is the ‘wild one.’ She obviously has blinders on when it comes to me.

  “She’s my friend, Mom. And we’ve been talking since she left for California. She’s so in love with being out there, and she said I have to see it. We’ve barely traveled since we came back from Uganda. I miss traveling.” I hold my breath and watch my parents have a very long conversation using nothing but pointed looks and head shakes.

  “So… this is just a visit to a friend?” my father says, his voice measured with caution.

  “Um, yes,” I half lie. Of course I want to see Quinn. And—though I’ve yet to call her—I’m sure she’d like to see me.

  At least, I’m sure she wouldn’t turn me out cold.

  At least, I hope I’m sure.

  Shit! Why didn’t I just text her last night? Because I crashed after flirting with Carter, then woke up this morning giddy on the adrenaline of my plan. Plus, I don’t want her to tell me why it’s not a good idea. If Quinn can’t put me up, I’ll find another way. But I want to be out there, free. I want to see Carter face to face and figure it all out with him. I want to know what I want for once in my damn life.

  “What about school, Shayna? You’re in the middle of a semester,” Dad says.

  “I’ll take a short leave. I’ll work it out. I promise. I won’t drop out,” I say. I mean it. One thing I’ve always managed to pull off no matter how shit things have been are decent grades. I have no illusions that I’ll be able to make a decent living if I have no skills.

  My father takes out his wallet and presses a few bills to me. When I shake my head, he presses harder. “Everything is outrageously expensive in California, Shayna,” he warns. “I’ll up the limit on your American Express. Take some time to see the state. But please be careful.”

  His look says, ‘don’t make me regret this.’

  Mom presses her fingers to her lips. “David,” she begs, but Dad puts an arm around her shoulders and gives her a quick hug.

  “Don’t be upset, sweetie. Don’t you remember how excited we were the first time we drove up to Vermont for our honeymoon?” Dad looks down into Mom’s eyes and smiles.

  She tries to smile back, but her mouth falls. “That was different. I had you, my husband, to protect me. Shayla will be on her own for days before she gets there.” She wrings her hands, but Dad smooths her hair.

  “It’s not our choice. We tried our best.”

  I know he’s trying to give my mother some kind of comfort, but part of me shocks at the thought that he’s giving up on me. That he’s basically saying there’s no more anyone can do for me.

  Which is exactly what I wanted.

  Right?

  He kisses me and so does Mom, though she’s crying hard. They make me promise to call. They make me promise not to talk to strangers, to use my AAA card, to pull into hotels that are four-star before I get too tired.

  And then the only parents I’ve ever known, the people who gave up everything for me and have held me too tight my entire life, wave as I pull out of the driveway.

  I let the tears drip down my face, not sure if I’ll be back. Not sure if this goodbye is going to be much longer than any of us expects. I can tell from the way my parents’ bodies slump against each other that aren’t sure either.

  I walk up to the door hold my hand up, but stop mid-knock. What the hell am I doing here? I readjust the strap of my duffel bag—a duffel bag for Christ sake. What am I, a gypsy? This is insane. I suddenly feel like my life has become one long, drawn out, Country song.

  I’ve been driving for days, staying in hotels alone, eating alone at restaurants for the first time in my life and feeling stronger and braver every day. Which is good, because I spent the first five hundred miles thinking about turning my ass back around at every exit.

  But now the solitude of my trip is interrupted by the reality of being here. The place I was headed all along. The place I’m not sure I’ll fit into any better than I fit back home.

  I slide my phone out of my pocket and quadruple check the address I’d saved in Quinn’s contact info, take a deep breath and knock for real this time.

  The door jerks open, and it’s not Quinn.

  Those abs and that smile belong to someone I do know, though.

  Carter.

  I’ve spent the last several months texting him and just talked to him the other night, but standing here in front of him feels almost like we’re strangers all over again. Maybe it’s because some of what we said and especially what we texted was… flirty… intimate. And now—face to face—well, we may as well be standing here naked, as awkward as this feels.

  “Hey?” he greets me with a question. He doesn’t say it, but his expression shows the exact question I’ve been running through my head for miles, the question that would have made me turn around and go home if I wasn’t thousands of miles into this journey
already: ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  “Hey, Carter. I—I came to see Quinn. I had some time off of school.” Lie. “And thought I’d see the Pacific. I’ve never been out this way before.”

  The look of confusion melts from his face and he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning one strong shoulder against the door frame. “C’mon, Shayna. Let me see.”

  “See?” I stutter, wondering if he’s expecting way more than those naughty texts promised.

  “The goods.” He grins as I gasp. The delicate Southern lady I’ve pretended to be for all these months is deeply offended. The rebel badass I put on hold for just as long is seriously tempted to strip right in front of him. Before I can give into that urge, he says, “I mean, I think it’s sweet you’d come all this way to hand deliver boiled peanuts—”

  “Boiled peanuts?” I repeat stupidly.

  “Ah.” His dark eyes go wide for a second. “No peanuts for me? Shit. I was really craving some. I guess you’re here for the earring then?”

  “I—” And then I laugh, and it feels like someone has opened me up and set me free. “You know what? I bought a bunch of fresh peanuts at a roadside stand. If you point me to the kitchen, I’ll whip up some boiled peanuts that will melt in your mouth. Promise.”

  Carter pulls the door open wide so I can step into the apartment. It’s spotless and neatly organized. All of the furnishings have clean lines. There are walls covered in precisely lined shelves full of books, and others painted dark with nothing cluttering them. But I immediately notice something is missing: Ben’s exquisite photographs are nowhere on display. Not at all how I pictured Quinn’s place looking.

  “All joking about peanuts aside, Quinn’s not around. Did she know you were coming?” Carter’s looking at my face with that serious expression that lets me know he truly cares about hearing my answer.

  Despite all of my normal brashness, I suddenly feel so self-conscious standing here.

  “No,” I say, pulling my sweater closed, like that’ll leave me feeling less exposed. I shake my head and push my bangs off of my forehead. “No. I just, I was in town—”

  “Oh yeah? Where are you staying?” Carter asks, grinning like he knows better.

  “Oh, um, I haven’t checked in anywhere yet. But I’ll find something close by, I’m sure.” Or not. Maybe I’ll just get in my car and drive right back to Georgia. Except I can barely keep my eyes open. I stopped a couple of times the last few hundred miles. Every mile marker I passed seemed to laugh at me, mocking my belief that I would ever get to where I was going. I pulled over into rest stops and cat napped before hitting the gas station to fuel up and pour energy drinks down my throat. What kept me going despite how tired I was, was being so sure that when I got here, Quinn would welcome me with a big, delicious meal—something like her famous lentil soup or something local and fresh. And after I stuffed myself, I’d curl up and sleep for days. Maybe even wake up with some semblance of an actual plan. “I’ll just hang out until Quinn gets home. You know, so I can say hello.”

  “Oh, I should’ve been more clear. Quinn is out of town. She and Ben went up north for some culinary underground thing she enrolled in.” For a few beats we just look at each other as the reality of this situation sinks in.

  “So, you’re apartment sitting?” I should have called. Why didn’t I just call first?

  Carter shakes his head and says, “Nope, this is my place. Quinn and Ben have the apartment down the hall.”

  That makes so much more sense. “I thought—Quinn said you lived across town.”

  All of the texting Carter and I had done over the last few months, you’d think he could have mentioned a move.

  Carter plops down onto one of the fabric bolstered chairs so I take the one across from him, setting my bag next to my feet awkwardly.

  “I did, but it was a hike to work. Spent more of my day on the freeway than I did at the office. They wanted a little more room for all of Quinn’s cooking junk and Ben’s photography equipment so when an apartment down the hall opened up, they moved and I took this one.” he says. It’s strange thinking of him as a suit. With a real job. The last time I saw him, he needed a haircut and a shave to be deemed presentable for your average blue collar job.

  “How is it? Work I mean?” I ask.

  “It’s good. You caught me on a weird day, working from home,” he says. He stretches back in the chair, pulling the plain white t-shirt tight across his chest. “Can I get you something to drink? Eat? I was kidding about you making me peanuts, by the way.”

  I wave him off. “No, I’m good. Actually, I guess I should probably get going. And I promise I will make them for you one of these days.” I get up from the chair, sling my bag over my shoulder and start toward the door. “Could you tell Quinn I stopped by? Maybe I’ll catch her the next time I’m in town.”

  I turn back toward Carter, but he’s already up. Close. So close I catch the faintest scent of his cologne. It’s earthy with a little spice. I remember it from last Christmas. Back then I’d thought it was the smell of the rain in the trees as we stood outside at that lookout point. But it’s not. It’s just Carter.

  “You’re forgetting something,” he says, his voice low and sexy in my ear. I wait, my body trembling, as he walks to a side table, slides open the drawer and picks up one glinting diamond stud. He walks it back over and hands it to me.

  “If I knew you were actually headed across the whole damn country, I would have at least made reservations somewhere good.” He places the earring on my palm, the same way he put my car key there on Christmas Eve. “So, tell me the truth, Shayna. Why are you here?”

  He’s standing too close. All I can see is Carter, and all I can smell is his aftershave. All I can hear is his voice in my ears. I want to scream that I came for freedom and to find myself and, yes, I also came because I wanted to see if what we had in text and phone form could translate into something amazing once we were face to face.

  But I chicken out. I start my whole renaissance with a stupid, bumbling lie.

  “I had—you know this thing across town and—” I stumble over my words. Why didn’t I come up with a story on the drive over?

  Carter reaches out and slips the duffel from my shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down. I’ll order in some food.”

  “I don’t want to be in the way,” I say, my blood pumping hard under my skin.

  “Shayna, you’re not in the way. I was about to break for lunch anyway. You can keep me company. Come on, I haven’t seen you in forever. It’ll be good to catch up.”

  I let the last of the weight of my bag fall into Carter’s hand and then follow him back to the living room.

  “You really don’t have to do this,” I say, slumping back into the crazy comfortable chair.

  “I’m happy to. Like I said, it’ll give us a chance to catch up. One liner texts here and there don’t really tell the whole story. And we barely ever talk on the phone. Which sucks.”

  He’s right. Things are missed in informal text messages. Carter didn’t mention a move. But I failed to mention my entire life detonating. I don’t want to catch up. I want to forget. He starts rummaging through a drawer. “There’s a great deli down the street that delivers. Sandwiches okay?”

  Carter offers to let me shower while we wait for the food, which I happily take him up on. It’s been three days since I’ve seen hot water and I don’t wait for him to ask twice.

  But it still feels strange to be here at all.

  Once I’ve pulled on fresh leggings and a comfortable sweatshirt, I twist my still damp hair back into a sloppy bun and make my way back to my chair.

  I love how I’ve already claimed furniture in his house as my own.

  Carter has food set up and I waste no time diving in.

  “This is delicious,” I say around a thick roast beef sandwich with provolone and spicy mustard.

  “Good, glad you like it. One of the best parts about living here is that everything is su
per close. You could stay in the apartment forever and have anything you needed delivered in a half hour.”

  “Do you spend a lot of time here?” I glance around, and notice that it’s gorgeous, but a little cramped to never leave.

  Carter wipes his mouth. “I try not to. In fact, I’m going camping Saturday. As much as I like it here, it’s good to get away, too.”

  “I hear that,” I say. He goes camping, I skip several state lines.

  “So, when was the last time we saw each other?” Carter asks. I know exactly when it was, but I pause and tilt my head like I’m racking my memory.

  “I guess it was that Christmas,” I try to hold back the smile that pulls at the corners of my mouth, but I can’t do it. And it’s okay, because I see a grin form on Carter’s face as well.

  He smirks and nods. “That was a good one.”

  I push the crumbs from the sandwich I’ve just devoured around on my plate with a scrap of crust and debate whether or not I should tell him. Tell him that after he dropped me off that night, my entire life changed.

  “It was,” I say.

  “And since then, what have you been up to?” Carter picks up our plates and carries them to the kitchen. “Are you in school?”

  “I…” Does leaving town in the middle of a semester with no notice count as still enrolled? “I am.”

  “And you’re on break?” he asks.

  “Something like that.”

  “Something like what? Did you decide on a school?”

  “I did.” My answers give nothing away, except maybe how uncomfortable I am. It’s clear to me that Carter is digging for more.

  “I’m—maybe I should go.” The familiar feeling of walls closing in squeezes my chest.

  Carter crosses the room and says, “Hiraeth.”

  “Excuse me?” I say.

  He’s here. Beside me. He may as well have a pick ax in hand the way that stare could tear down walls. Jesus.

  “That nagging restlessness. Last Christmas you said there’s probably a word for it.”

  So he does remember. I fight the curve of a smile.

  “I figured it out. It’s called hiraeth. I’m guessing that’s why you’re here now.”