Friend Is a Four Letter Word

by Steph Campbell

  Shayna’s face explodes with a smile that I feel a sense of pride for putting there.

  “You’re what?”

  “You heard me. What do you think? Can I invite them?”

  “I’ll think about it,” she says. Her own hand smacks her forehead. “Oh, shit!”

  “What is it, doll?” I search her face in a panic.

  “My mom! She sent a gift to me. It’s in my car, has been for weeks!”

  “A gift? Wait, have you talked to her?”

  Shayna shakes her head and looks a little flustered.

  “No. I haven’t. I’ve got to go and get it.” She runs to grab her keys off of the kitchen counter. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Shay,” I say. “I’m going to head out for a bit.”

  Shayna slows her pace and turns to me.

  “Where are you going?” She says the words slowly, uneasily, as if she’s wondering if it’s okay if she asks them.

  “There’s something I have to do.”

  “Carter…”

  “It’s not a bad thing. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay. But you can tell me if you need to go to a meeting.”

  “It’s nothing like that. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Carter—”

  “Listen to me,” I kiss her again and then say, “I’m going to go next door and talk to Quinn. That way, if you want some privacy after you open your gift… well, you’ve got it.”

  She raises a brow and asks, “You’re going to talk-to-Quinn, talk-to-Quinn?”

  “Yes, warden. I’m gonna take care of it. But you’d better be prepared to earn your keep when I get back.”

  She laughs and bolts for the door.

  And now I’ve got to go tell my kid sister I’m an addict.

  I race down to my car and pop the glove box open. I can’t believe I forgot it there all of these weeks. No matter what it was, I should have at least sent a thank you to my mom. That’s proper. That’s how she raised me.

  She raised me. I repeat in my head.

  She’s my mother.

  I’m glad that Carter is going to talk to Quinn—and I’m even happier about the little bit of quiet that I have to open the gift.

  I sink deep into the cushions of the sofa and set the box neatly on my lap. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Mostly I just feel scared. Scared that it’s some final tie being cut. I guess it would serve me right after dropping off the face of the earth all of these months. I think I suppressed the anger and betrayal I felt about them lying to me about my birth parents for so long that when it finally hit me, I didn’t know how to deal.

  So I left.

  I’m not going to say that I regret it. It brought me to Carter. But I regret cutting them off completely. I need to make things right. Maybe Carter is right. Maybe asking them to come out would be a good first step. And if Carter can tell Quinn the truth—I can confront my own parents about my adoption. Because one thing hasn’t changed in my mind—they are my parents.

  I slip the lavender ribbon off and open the lid of the box.

  Inside, resting on top of a white, cloud like pillow of tissue paper is a dainty necklace. It’s a simple silver chain with a clear, resin orb on the end. I raise it up to the light to see what’s inside the glass ball. It’s a dandelion.

  My lips curl into a smile as I instantly remember all of the afternoons I spent picking dandelions behind the parsonage with my mom when I was little. I’d collect dozens of them and then sit on the back porch and insist on making a wish on every single one—blowing on the buds and sending those feather light petals floating into the air. It took me hours to collect them and then wish on each one, but Mom never lost patience with me.

  Inside the box is a tiny card with my mom’s familiar handwriting. The same cursive that is in every birthday card I’ve ever been given by her, every note about dinner, every Valentine in my lunch box, every inscription in each bible I was gifted. I run my finger over the familiar lettering.

  I feel my throat tighten with the emotion I can’t push down and bury deep inside me anymore. I am my mother’s daughter. And I miss her.

  I slide my phone out of my purse and tap on her name and hold my breath as it starts to ring.

  “Shayna!” Mom’s voice beams as soon as she answers. I pull the phone back and inspect it, surprised for a second that she knew it was me before my nerves remind me that I’m an idiot and of course her phone alerted her that it was me.

  “Mom,” I start. “I just—I opened the gift that you sent. I’m so sorry that I didn’t get to it sooner—”

  “That’s okay,” Mom says.

  “No, no it’s not. I meant to save it to open for a quiet moment and I just—I love it. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome, Shayna. Are you okay?”

  I smile because I am. I so am. “I’m great.”

  “You have enough money? Your dad and I left your credit card on—we wanted to make sure you weren’t hungry—we’ve been so worried.”

  “I know. Nolan came to see me.”

  “He told us. He’s a good man.”

  “He is.” I say, tightly. “For someone else.”

  “We understand that now, Shayna. You being gone has been a learning experience for us, too. We didn’t mean to force anything on you. We only wanted to make sure you were okay, well taken care of. We just wanted you to be alright. I’m sorry if pushing you in his direction made you leave.”

  “Nolan didn’t make me leave, Mom.”

  “How are things over there? What are your plans? Am I allowed to ask that?” Her voice is full of trepidation. It reminds me of the way she speaks to the congregants that come to the church in need of some kind of assistance. Help with their electric bill, a gift to put under their tree for their child. Mom always wants to offer help without asking any questions that might offend. She needs details in order to help, but she’s always thoughtful, each word selected with care. That is not how she should have to talk to her own daughter.

  I clear my throat and suddenly feel a wave of nausea wash over me as I prepare to speak the next words.

  “I know.” Even though I’m alone in the apartment, I still have the immediate urge to hide after uttering the words. To pull a blanket over my head and my heart.

  “You know what?”

  “I heard you and Dad talking last Christmas. I know that… I know that you adopted me.”

  I count the breaths on the other end of the line.

  I can almost see my mom jingling her gold bracelets with clammy hands, her shoulders tight, breath bursting in and out of her sharp and fast.

  “Mom?” I don’t know what I’ll do if she denies it. I can’t handle anymore secrets in my life.

  “I don’t—I don’t know what to say, Shayna.”

  “I thought—I mean, I was angry for the longest time that you hid it from me, even if I understood your reasons—at least the ones I heard you and Dad talking about that night. How you wanted to protect me from the image of who my real parents were.”

  “And that’s why you left?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “When I heard you—something clicked inside of me. All of the years of feeling like I didn’t fit in within my own family suddenly made sense to me,” I say. I take a deep breath before speaking again. “I was determined to try to fit that mold once and for all. But I couldn’t. I tried with Nolan, but it just never felt right. Nothing felt right. And that’s why I left.”

  “You’re our daughter,” Mom says. Her voice sounds weepy and it makes me choke up. “No matter what you do. No matter who you date. You’ve been our daughter since the day we brought you home. We’ve loved you since the second we saw you. Never doubt that Shayna. We are your real parents, Shayna, in every way that matters.”

  I swallow hard. “I know that.”

  We both sit in silence for several minutes before my mom finally speaks again.

  “We
can give you all of the information that we have on them—your birth mother and your biological father. It isn’t much, but if you want it—”

  “I don’t,” I say. Maybe someday that will change, but right now, I’ve never felt more sure of anything. I am the daughter of Pastor David and Trish Gillan.

  “We owed you honesty, my girl,” Mom says, regret hanging heavily in her words.

  I feel my throat pinch with the tightness that comes from holding in your tears. “I owed you and Dad a lot of honesty—a lot of things, too.”

  In the end, we don’t solve everything with one phone call. But it’s a start. We talk about Dad. We talk about school and we even talk about Carter. Mostly, the conversation is just full of truth. I’m slowly learning that that’s all that really matters when you love someone.

  “Hey, wasn’t expecting you,” Quinn says, pulling the door open and peering around me. “Where’s Shayna?”

  “She’s back at my place. I think she may be calling home,” I say.

  Quinn raises her eyebrows. “Oh, finally! Nice job, bro. Come in.”

  “Ben around?”

  “Not yet, he’ll be home soon. You need him for something?”

  “Nah, I just… I needed to talk to you about something.”

  Quinn taps her fingers together and grins. “I’m intrigued.”

  “It’s actually a couple of things.”

  “Alright, now you’re just getting greedy,” Quinn jokes. “Shoot, what do you need?”

  “I want to throw Shayna a birthday party—and a congratulatory party.”

  “Congrats for what?”

  “She got into USC.”

  “What?” Quinn beams. “What didn’t that little assface come and tell me herself?”

  “I’m gonna guess it’s because you refer to her as an assface?”

  “Whatever, that’s not even close to as bad as the stuff she calls me,” Quinn says, smiling. “Okay, so what? You need help planning?”

  I nod. “I do. I don’t know shit about decorations or napkins. I do have a contact at work that may be able to help with the space, but what I really need help with… is the food. You up for it?”

  “Obviously, Carter. I’d kick your ass if you hired someone else. I’d love to. You ready to talk menu now?”

  “Not quite,” I say. “You may not want to help me after I tell you what I need to.”

  “Alright, color me officially freaked out. Are you okay? Is Shayna okay?”

  For not being friends for long, Quinn and Shayna have this inexplicable loyalty to each other—whether they want to admit it or not. I probably won’t ever understand the friendship that my sister and Shayna have, but I’m damn grateful that they have it. It isn’t perfect—it isn’t typical, but it works for them, and they are lucky to have found each other. All of us—this weird little family foursome of me, Shay, Ben and Quinn we’re all damn lucky to have found each other.

  “So listen, I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but I don’t drink a whole lot,” I say. It sounds stupid. It’s not how I strung together the confession in my head, but that’s what flies out.

  Quinn purses her lips and nods. “I have.”

  “There’s sort of a reason for that.”

  “Carter, are you okay?” Her voice is serious. Sincere.

  “I am. I really am. But I’m also…”

  “Seriously, Carter, you’re freaking me out.”

  There’s no way to sugar coat something that is already dripping in acid so I count to three in my head before spitting the words out. “I’m an alcoholic. I have been for… a long time.”

  Quinn leans back in her chair and blows out a long breath. “Okay. So, that’s not exactly what I thought you were going to say.”

  “I don’t mean to dump that on you. And you don’t have to worry about me.” I start rambling. “I promise, I’m okay. I just thought maybe it was time that you knew.”

  “Do you like… go to meetings? Is that a stupid question?”

  “It’s not a stupid question. And I do.”

  “There have been so many times that I’ve poured you a drink with dinner Carter and you left it full. Some damn good wine and you’d sit with it there in front of you and not take a sip. Why would you do that? Why would you torture yourself? Masochist much?”

  “I didn’t want to make a big deal.”

  “Come on, Carter, that’s bullshit. You just didn’t want people to know.”

  “That’s part of it,” I say. Quinn raises her eyebrows and glares. She knows all about hiding problems, and what happens when you do it for too long.

  “Ben even had his suspicions and I shot him down. You could have just said something.”

  I rub my hands together and say, “I wish I did. I wish it had felt that easy.”

  “But it’s me. If anyone would get it…”

  This is also part of the reason I couldn’t tell my sister. She looks damn hurt. I hate seeing her like that, especially knowing I caused it. But I think part of what kept Quinn together after the bad year that she had was knowing that I at least managed to come from our crappy home and be okay. If I killed that perception, I worried about what it would do to her self-esteem. I worried that she’d see it as: “if Carter screwed up, there’s no hope for me staying on the right track.”

  “Hey,” I say. “I know. I also didn’t want to let you down. You sort of have had this idea that I walk on water or some bullshit.”

  “That’s not… I just want you to be okay.”

  “I am.”

  “Does Shayna know?”

  I nod. “She does.”

  “Whoa, you must really like her.” Quinn’s voice doesn’t sound jealous. “It’s weird, you know. In high school I sort of hated her. And now she’s here and it feels like she’s always been. Like she’s our family. Does that make sense?”

  I laugh lightly. “It absolutely does. Listen, I’d better get back. I’m sorry to dump all of this on you. I just wanted you to know. I want to move past some of the secrets. That’s what family does, right?”

  I start for the door but Quinn calls after me.

  “She can’t fix you, you know. Shayna, I mean. You can love her as much as that damn rabbit in that book, but you have to fix yourself, bro.”

  I turn the doorknob. “I’m working on it. And sis, I love you to the—”

  “Uh-uh,” Quinn yells shaking her head and hurling a tchotchke at the door. “That’s where I draw the line. Take your cheesy lines and get out.”

  We’re both howling with laughter as I close the door and walk back to my apartment feeling a strange mix of relief and humility.

  But when I open the door and see the tears on Shayna’s cheeks, all of the relief disappears.

  “Doll? You okay.” I rush over to the couch and pull her onto my lap. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry and it’s not something I want to see again. “What happened? What can I do?”

  “It’s so beautiful,” she says, holding up a necklace. “My parents—it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

  And for the first time in my life, I actually believe it.

  When I was in high school I used to throw a party every time my parents were away. I’d invite the entire school—hell, the entire town over and lock myself away in my bedroom. I let them all have their fun, while I had mine on my own. I drank. I dabbled in drugs. I hooked up with random guys. It was all a game of what could make me feel the least. It’s why I kept moving so much, why I surrounded myself with people I didn’t even like much at all. Standing still meant forcing myself to feel too many things I didn’t want to.

  This party isn’t like that though. This party is full of all of the people in the world that I care about.

  Carter went all out. The space is owned by one of his clients, and thanks to all of the extra hours and hard work he’s been putting in at the firm, they graciously allowed us to use it tonight for next to nothing. It’s casual enough, long tables covered in w
hite table cloths, but simple place settings: plain white dishes with gingham napkins neatly folded on top and small candles down the length of the table.

  For dessert, a small, double-tiered cake iced with ombre pastels.

  Quinn did a beautiful job catering, making all sorts of bite sized delicacies that she poured her heart into—for me. Me. The girl who tortured her in high school because I was secretly jealous of how she owned her anger. I wanted so badly to be that bold. To just show who I really was inside. Instead, I had a quiet rebellion going on in my own head.

  I normally hate attention, but this—surrounded by so many people for something as silly as my birthday is unbelievable. I will gladly soak it all in, especially knowing I get to go home with Carter.

  Inside my small black clutch is the gift he gave me.

  “I’m not in a place where I can make you a ton of promises, Shay,” he said before we left the house for the party. “But I can promise you that with me, you will always have a place to call home.”

  He gave me a key to his apartment.

  I pull back the curtain and peer into the dining room.

  My parents flew in yesterday and Carter and I took them to lunch. I haven’t yet told them that I’m moving in with Carter. I will after the party. No more secrets.

  Even Carter’s parents flew in. They’re still in the dark about what the last year has held for Carter, but I’m impressed that they made the trip out. Quinn sort of invited them on a whim—to be polite, not really expecting them to show. I have a feeling they only did because Carter and Quinn’s dad plays golf with Carter’s boss, but whatever the reason, they get to see their children who are amazing in spite of their douchiness.

  Wait.

  My mind finally processes what I just saw.

  I pull the curtain back again. Maybe I imagined it. I probably imagined it.

  There’s no way that he’s standing next to my mom at my party.

  No.

  Way.

  And yet, as I run my hand down the throwback red velvet drape, I see him. Clinking his glass to my parents, probably sharing a little inside toast. Raising his eyebrow and taking in Quinn a little too long to be appropriate. Talking to everyone like he belongs here. He’s my friend, yes, but today? What is he doing here today? Unannounced?