Better Than People

by Roan Parrish

  “I think that even if you were paying for half of everything, I’d still be getting ripped off,” Megan said, matter-of-factly, “because of the fact that we’re going to be stuck in a car together for a week or something.”

  Scarlett rubbed her chin. “If we drive straight through in shifts, we might be able to do it in less.”

  Megan raised her eyebrows. “Are you kidding? This is my one road trip, I’m going to make a whole trip out of it. I’m the one paying. We’re going to all the places on my list.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Scarlett held up a hand. “This suddenly became a carjacking.”

  “It’s not a carjacking when it’s my car.” Megan gave her a smug smile.

  “Ugh. This is the worst.” Scarlett rolled her eyes. Megan had her, and she knew it. “Do you at least have good places on the list? I’m not driving out to the fucking Grand Canyon on our trip to Quebec. You’re allowed to go two hours off of I-95 in any direction, but no more. I want to get this over with as fast as possible.”

  Megan looked defeated, like all the fight went out of her. “I don’t even know where I want to go, all right? I was just talking. I don’t care.”

  That was clearly a blatant lie, but Scarlett didn’t want to examine it or probe into it right now, and Megan was looking all sad, which hit some soft place inside Scarlett that should definitely have calloused over by now. She’d pressed her luck enough for one night. “Are you okay if I come by sometime to plan? And maybe message you in the meantime?”

  Megan hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Whatever. Now can you get out and let me sleep?”

  Scarlett got up off the couch. “I’d hate to be a bother.”

  “Yeah, right.” Megan ushered her out and closed the door in her face, leaving Scarlett standing in the cold wondering what in the world she was going to do now that Megan had said yes.

  * * *

  Megan stared at the closed door with her heart hammering in her ribs. For all her ability to seem unaffected by emotionally intense conversations, that evening with Scarlett had rattled her. If she hadn’t been so exhausted and ready to drop off to sleep, she might have been able to process it better, but right now she just wanted to mull it over after a full night’s rest.

  But rest wouldn’t come, so Megan did what she always did when her mind refused to shut up: she took a bath. She stripped off her pajamas and filled the tub with hot water, hot enough for her skin to barely tolerate, and dumped in some of the epsom salts bubble bath she’d first bought to soothe her sore legs from walking all day and later just kept around because it was practical. Then, she lit two candles, the generic kind since the official Yankee Candle brand was too expensive for her to justify purchasing, and turned off the bathroom lights.

  It was almost midnight. The house was quiet, and would probably stay quiet because Matt would spend the whole night playing video games. She had time to process in the way she liked, and so she sank into the steaming bubbles, hissing as her cold skin contacted the water. She couldn’t quite submerge all the way in this bathtub; even though she was slim, her legs were too long, and her knees poked up out of the bubbles like an iceberg. She was able to get her whole torso beneath the water, though, the bubbles brushing her chin, a few bits of foam sticking to her hair. In the dark, only the flickering candle light to illuminate the room, she ran through what she had just agreed to and what in the world she was going to do next.

  She had to be practical, of course. She needed to figure out the exact mileage between Crystal River, Florida, and the Chateau Frontenac in Quebec. Then she needed to get her car serviced. It was a Toyota Camry, so it was going to last forever, very unlike whatever ridiculous vanity car Scarlett had bought back in high school and then tried to keep limping along nearly a decade later. She was so irresponsible sometimes. Scarlett always blew her money on dumb purchases, when Megan was likely to save and be smart and start a responsible bank account and a Roth IRA. Megan could afford to fly to Quebec if she wanted to. Scarlett could not.

  Maybe if she hadn’t blown all her money on fancy-ass private college, Scarlett could have afforded it. What was she doing freelancing, anyway? The University of South Florida wasn’t good enough for Scarlett. A mean little inner voice wondered how she’d even gotten into a private college; it wasn’t like her grades were anything special. As soon as she thought it, though, she winced and pulled the words back. She might be jealous, but she wasn’t mean. That wasn’t like her.

  Jealous. She rolled that thought around while she gathered handfuls of bubbly foam and piled them on her knees, only to watch the bubbles slide back down her skin again. Was she really jealous of Scarlett? Certain things, sure. Her amazing body, with those incredible curves that landed everyone Scarlett ever wanted: guys, girls, even people who didn’t fit into either of those categories. Scarlett was the first bisexual person Megan had ever known, the first person to be out in their middle school—middle school, for crying out loud! She had always known who she was.

  And Megan? Megan didn’t know shit about herself for most of her life. She hadn’t figured out that she wasn’t straight until college. She’d been through three relationships before figuring out how to ask for what she wanted in bed, and even then, she was better at doing it herself than getting a partner to do it for her. That was good, because she kind of hated dating. Nobody gave Megan a second glance. Megan was average, and average meant nobody noticed you. Average meant blending in.

  Nothing about Scarlett was average, and she was never someone to blend in.

  In high school, Scarlett’s vivaciousness had lit up Megan’s life. She was only too happy to follow along, carried in Scarlett’s orbit or drawn like a moth to a flame. But she’d been burned. Scarlett’s friendship had meant the world to Megan, but Megan’s friendship had been easily tossed aside for a better college, a world of broken promises and a sudden unwillingness to speak to her best friend again. Scarlett had moved up in the world. Megan had done nothing.

  But now, Scarlett was out of money, and she needed Megan’s help, and she wanted Megan to drive her to Quebec. And Megan had...had what? Had volunteered to pay for it, even. God, had she been suckered again? Was Scarlett using her as a way to get to Canada? A little nugget of sickness settled into her stomach. This trip was a terrible idea.

  But.

  But.

  Megan had had twenty-five years to accumulate goals and dreams for herself, and she had a scrapbook filled with the places she wanted to travel to and the goals she wanted to achieve, and she wasn’t going to make the first step on her own. She never made the first step on her own. Even now, even on the other side of their friendship in this morass of weird discomfort between them, Scarlett was pushing her to take the first step.

  Megan looked up at the ceiling, where the flames cast long shadows. She was going to have to stay in a car with this woman for a week. Maybe more than a week. What in the hell had she gotten herself into?

  Even after her bath, she couldn’t settle. She wandered around the house for a while, cleaned some things, and then tried to read a book. That’s where Matt found her when he rolled in a little after one, key fumbling in the lock, crashing inside with no attempt to be quiet. “Hey!” He grinned, stumbling a little as he came inside. “You still up?”

  “Yeah.” Megan closed her book. “Are you drunk?”

  “A little.” He rubbed his face. “What the fuck do you care?”

  “Did you drive?”

  “No, I didn’t drive. Dan drove me home.” Matt yawned. “That reminds me. Can you drive me to his place tomorrow to get my car?”

  Megan stared up at him. What a fucking asshole. She sighed. “Sure. You get me the rent yet?”

  “Oh right! Remind me tomorrow. It’s one in the goddamn morning.” He went to the fridge and grabbed a Gatorade. “Can you get more Gatorade next time you get groceries?”

  “Writ
e it on the list.” Megan tried to focus on the book again, but her unease was still unsettling her.

  A few envelopes fell onto her lap from above, making her jump. “I got the mail,” Matt said. “You actually got something that’s not a bill.”

  Megan held the heavy envelope and knew immediately what it was. She pulled out Juliet’s invitation and turned it to catch the light. The navy blue card stock was decorated with golden stars, the fancy golden script proclaiming, Together with their parents, Mr. Gabriel Bouchard and Miss Juliet Letourneau request the honor of your presence at their wedding...

  “What’s that?” Matt flopped down on the couch next to her, shoving her feet out of the way.

  “It’s a wedding invitation.” She was going to have to tell him at some point. “It’s in Quebec.”

  Matt snorted. “You want me to throw it out?”

  Megan pressed it to her chest. “No. I’m going.”

  Matt stopped, bottle halfway to his mouth, and slowly lowered it again. “You’re what?”

  “I’m going to the wedding.” Megan hated how her voice trembled even when she tried to sound confident. “It’s in a few weeks.”

  “You’re not going.” He laughed and took another sip. “You don’t go anywhere. You don’t even have a passport.”

  “Yes, I do.” He didn’t know her at all.

  “Why? Waste of money, if you ask me.” He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. “Look, no offense, Meg, but you’re not the traveling kind. Some people are adventurous, and some people aren’t. You’re not.” He patted her shin. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “I said I’m going, and I’m going.” Megan flared in anger, all her frustration and confusion suddenly directed at him. “I’m driving up there with Scarlett.”

  “Scarlett who?”

  “Scarlett Andrews.”

  Matt scrunched up his nose like he was trying to remember her. “Did I ever sleep with that one?”

  Revulsion ran through Megan at the mere thought of it. “God, I hope not.” Shit, what if he had?

  “What got into you tonight? That time of the month?” Matt got to his feet, shaking his head. “Ugh. Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

  He left her there on the couch and wandered into his room at the other end of the house. Megan watched him go, annoyed and for some reason embarrassed. Embarrassed by what? Maybe her past, maybe what she had and hadn’t done with her life. She’d been a little uncertain about her decision, but now, she needed to go to prove Matt wrong. She needed to do something to move forward.

  She grabbed a pen and the RSVP card. Matt could say what he wanted. She was going to Quebec.

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  ISBN-13: 9781488076848

  Better Than People

  Copyright © 2020 by Roan Parrish

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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