by Mariah Dietz
“Terrible,” I reply, making a sour face because the taste in my mouth is putrid.
He hands me a giant cup from a takeout restaurant. “Try drinking, and then you can eat some food.”
“I just want to sleep.” I close my eyes again.
“You can, but you might not feel human again until Tuesday. I’d recommend you try flushing the booze out of your system.”
“Why do people drink? Have I asked that already?”
Wes chuckles. “About a dozen times.”
“That stuff is poison.”
He glances to the side. I follow his gaze and see Ace. I hate that Wes is seeing me like this, but I loathe the fact that she is.
“What sounds better?” Wes asks, looking to me again. “We got you some burgers, some french fries, curly fries, some tacos, a burrito is in here somewhere…” He digs through a white bag.
The word “we” is playing on repeat. Why did she leave the party? Why is she here? I want to ask these questions, but Wes is pulling out some curly fries and asking me if I like ketchup or ranch with them.
“Ranch?” I ask.
He nods. “Sure.”
“You eat ranch on your fries?”
“Actually, I eat ranch and ketchup on my fries.”
I scrunch my nose with disgust.
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” he says.
“I don’t like ketchup or ranch.”
“How is that even possible?”
“I like mustard.” Because it’s cheaper and so that’s what we’ve always bought.
“And that leaves no room for other condiments?”
I think I’m smiling. It’s difficult to know because my nausea keeps returning in waves. “I don’t think I even tried ranch until I was thirteen.”
“How’s that possible?”
I stare at him and realize he has no idea that I’m broke—or doesn’t know what it entails. How do I explain to him how drastically different my life is than his? That I couldn’t afford to buy him this spread even if I wanted to? “Get your ketchup and ranch,” I say, conceding because I don’t know what else to say.
He hops off the couch and reappears within seconds, smiling.
“I’m sorry you had to leave the party because of me,” I tell him.
Wes finishes pouring small dollops of the condiments and turns to face me. “I told you, it’s no big deal. This is what friends do.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Sure, I do. You’re Leela Walsh. You’ve always been the smartest kid in your class, and I’m pretty sure you like smiling more than you let on.”
“Are you trying to imply I’m not the smartest kid in my class anymore?”
He laughs. “There might be a few who could give you a run for your money.”
What money?
I reach for a fry. “What they have in brains, I make up for in determination. I hate coming in second.”
Wes nods as though understanding how large that margin is between being the best and being good.
Dipping the fry in a small amount of the red and then white, I try it. The fries are barely lukewarm, but the mixture of the vinegar from the ketchup and the tang from the ranch is strangely addictive, leaving me to reaching for more fries to dip.
“Ketchup and ranch for the win!” Wes says.
I shake my head once. “I think my taste buds are drunk.”
I hear Wes chuckle and say something in response, but I don’t hear his words, distracted by a mammoth of a dog walking past us.
“You don’t have to worry about him,” Wes says. “He’s super friendly.”
“He’s the size of thirty dogs.” I stare at the mere size of its head which looks broad enough to bite me in half.
Ace reaches for him, petting his sides. “These dogs are gentle giants,” she says. “Newfoundlands are used for water rescues. They aren’t aggressive at all. They just like to love. It’s their Canadian roots, eh, Zeus?”
Wes chuckles, watching her.
I plunge my next fry into the ranch first, hating that I’m jealous of Ace. Hate that I’m jealous of her cute red shorts that probably cost more than what I spend for my family each week in groceries, and her shirt which falls so perfectly on her you’d think it was made for her. Maybe it was.
“You want to try something a bit more than fries? Like a burger or a taco?” Wes asks.
I reach for a taco. The first bite is so good I take three more before realizing Wes is watching me eat.
“Did you want some?” I ask, offering him the half eaten taco.
He shakes his head and smiles. “They’re good, right? That place makes the best guacamole.”
“Will you eat something?” I ask. “I can’t eat all of this.” I gesture toward the table.
He shrugs. “That’s okay. I didn’t think you could, but wanted to make sure we had something that would sound good to you.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want this to go to waste.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he says with a shrug. “Not even Landon likes fast food leftovers, and he was military. He has horror stories about what they had to eat.”
I eye all of the wrapped food, and frown.
Ace comes over and sits in the chair that’s across from me. “Mind if I have a taco?”
I shake my head. “No. I hope you eat a few of them. I hate wasting food.”
She grabs one before digging for a few packets of salsa, and I hate to admit I like that she grabs an entire handful before sitting back in her chair.
11
Wes
Max sits beside me on the back patio, reclining as he grunts with discomfort after finishing a third taco. “Sounds like Leela doesn’t have much experience getting drunk. I bet her hangover tomorrow will be a rude awakening.”
I nod. “Hopefully eating will help.”
“Did you call her out for telling us she was too busy to do anything? That was kind of lame.”
“I did,” I tell him. “She said something about her sister fighting with her parents, and that she wasn’t planning on coming out.”
He shrugs. “I hope she’s not a flake. She doesn’t seem like one.”
My interactions with her have been so few and infrequent it’s difficult for me to say. Thoughts of her flood my mind, ones of her smiling, and others of her in class, and more from when she was here at the barbecue, and I feel that growing pull that’s been occupying more of my attention. “Me too.”
“You want to hit the track tomorrow?” Max asks, rising from his seat.
I nod. “Yeah. I’ve been missing my cardio lately.”
Max flips his phone on. “Want to go in the morning?”
“I’m going to drive Leela home, but after we can go.”
“Sounds good.” He stretches. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Inside, I find Leela still asleep on the couch, lying on her side. Her red hair fans across a throw pillow.
“Are you pushing me away?” I ask quietly. This question has been streaming through my mind since I first saw her at the party, and because I don’t know how to ask her without risking the possibility of looking like I’m crazy or care too much, I ask while she can’t hear me—or respond.
“Only because I don’t want the others to know,” Jameson says from behind me.
I jump.
Jameson laughs.
“What the hell, dude?”
He attempts to stifle his laughter by putting his face in the crook of his elbow. Embarrassment courses through me, knowing he heard the question that I was too humiliated to ask her, let alone in the audience of my friends.
“Let’s get a drink,” Jameson says. He walks past me, hitting me in the back with his elbow to encourage me to follow. I do, but reluctantly. I only want to save face and deny that I meant what he heard me say in a moment of weakness.
Jameson opens the two cupboards filled with different bottles of liquor. Months ago, this same space was barren after Max had tu
rned to the bottle on more than one occasion in attempt to silence his memories. It hadn’t worked, and Jameson, Landon, and I took the rest out and moved them. No one in the house is a big drinker, it’s a casual thing that happens when we get together to celebrate.
He fills two glasses with ice and generous amounts of rum, before finishing them off with some Coke. He hands one to me and heads back out to the yard I left just moments ago.
I follow behind him until he’s seated in a lawn chair and getting himself comfortable, exaggerating his actions. I want to pour my drink in his face. Jameson’s sense of humor often makes the house laugh, but being at my expense leaves me irritated.
“What you heard was—”
Jameson shakes his head, dismissing my explanation. “You weren’t around when Kendall and I got together,” he says. “So you don’t know how frustrated and crazy she made me for weeks.”
“She still makes you frustrated and crazy.” I feel it’s necessary to remind him of this.
He chuckles. “Daily. But, back then, she made me question everything. I’d leave her flowers and she wouldn’t say anything. We’d go out on what I thought was a date, and the next day she’d ignore me. I was ready to move on and go find someone else and then I’d see her, and remember why that wasn’t going to happen. There was something about her that made forgetting about her impossible. And although she drove me mad, I knew she liked me. I could tell by the way she looked at me and the way she remembered things I had told her—small details which revealed a lot more than what she let on. I don’t know if Leela is anything like Kendall, but if she is, Kendall was afraid. She wouldn’t admit that, and probably won’t even now, but she was afraid she’d get hurt, and so she made sure I worked my ass off to prove that I was interested and that I was worth her interest.”
I shake my head. “Dude, I respect the hell out of you, but if Leela wants me to chase after her for months or even weeks, that isn’t happening. I’m not saying she isn’t worth it, but I feel I’m owed the respect of her being honest and not playing games with me. I mean, I’m twenty-fucking-four. I don’t need or want to play games. I’m not ready for marriage or kids or even a house right now, but I have no interest in reverting back to high school.”
Jameson shrugs. “I get that. But, I also know from experience that it takes a huge hit to your pride when someone doesn’t respond how we want or expect them to.”
“Max and I invited her to go to the party tonight,” I tell him. “And she told us she was too busy. That was a clear and deliberate brush off.”
Jameson takes a long drink and rests the back of his head on the chair like he’s sunbathing. “Maybe those were her plans and she didn’t want to break them?” He shrugs.
“She said she wasn’t going to go out.”
He looks at me. “Then ask about it. My best advice for you is to not allow a miscommunication to get in your way. If she can’t tell you why or won’t—that’s another story, but we all know how easily words and thoughts get twisted.”
Though my drink is icy-cold, it warms my stomach as I take another pull. “Maybe it’s just the stress of school, and neither of us are in a good place to be in a relationship.”
“Do you think you’ll have less stress once you earn your doctorate? Because I’m calling bullshit. What you’re stressed about will change, but you’re never going to be ready for anything. You sometimes just have to dive in head first.” Jameson turns his head to the side, still not looking at me. “Change is one of the best things about life, even though it’s not always easy.”
Staring at him, I’m not certain he’s talking about me any longer or is considering the changes he’ll experience or the ones he already has and his acceptance of graduating and now working a job he swore he’d never have.
“But what happens when someone you care about grows and changes at a different pace?”
He turns toward me. “Blind faith. Regardless of if it’s Leela or someone else, you’re going to have to learn to trust and believe in blind faith. It’s sometimes the only thing that will make any sense in life.”
“I don’t understand why I even care. I barely know her,” I say.
“Blind faith doesn’t mean you understand—it means you believe.”
“Dear God. Is this how you feel when Ace starts speaking philosophically to you? Because I’m ready to punch you in the face.”
Jameson throws his head back and laughs. “If you only want to punch me in the face, then it’s only a fraction of the frustration I feel when you guys get on those tangents.”
“Maybe I’ll just wait and see if Leela makes a move.”
“Just talk to her,” Jameson says. He’s likely the right person to enlist advice from when it comes to strong-willed women, after all, Kendall is the epitome of strong-willed, but tonight Leela exposed a chip on her shoulder that has left me even more confused.
Draining the rest of my glass, I stand. Jameson pats my shoulder, walking beside me to the house.
“You’ll figure it out, man. Don’t worry about it.”
Worry doesn’t seem like the appropriate word to describe how I’m feeling. Confusion and frustration seem to be my common feelings circulating Leela. Still, I nod, finished with trying to make sense of things.
When I wake up, I’m half-expecting Leela to be gone, but to my surprise she’s lying silently across from me, her eyes open.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, shifting to sit up.
“As long as I don’t move it’s not so bad.” Her eyes are squinted.
“Water. You’re going to need lots and lots of water today.”
“I think I’m going to go home and sleep all day.”
I chuckle. “We’ve all been there before. That’s not a bad option.”
“Did I tell you I don’t drink? I’ve never been drunk before. I swear, I’m not a sloppy person who makes stupid mistakes like that.” She shakes her head. “I have no idea what I was thinking.”
“First piece of advice.” I raise my eyebrows, ensuring she’s okay with me offering it. She looks at me with interest rounding her eyes. “Don’t drink punch at parties. Even if you know the person hosting or the person giving you the glass, you never know what you might be drinking.”
“It was so fruity I couldn’t even taste the alcohol. I didn’t realize it was so strong.”
“Exactly.” I’m surprised I have to tell her this, and it reaffirms that she doesn’t have everything figured out like she pretended to last night.
“My dad’s going to kill me.” She closes her eyes again. “My sister does crap like this, not me.”
“You’re twenty-four, Leela. You’ve legally been able to get drunk for three years now. I’m sure he’ll be grateful you waited this long.”
She shakes her head, but quickly stops, wincing. I wait for her to say something, explain why she’s disagreeing, but she doesn’t.
“You can hang around here if you want.” I shrug, trying to make the idea appear casual. “Wait until you’re feeling better before you head home.”
“I have to be at work soon.”
“Call in sick.”
“I can’t,” she says, groaning as she sits up.
“Leela, you feel like shit. Just call in. It’s not like you’re going to get fired for taking a sick day.”
“It’s okay. I need to go in. They get busy on the weekends, and I would feel like a jerk calling in last minute.”
“Where do you work? I’m sure they can call someone else in.”
Her green eyes are wide, almost alarmed as she looks to me and then away. “I work for a doctor’s office.”
“And they’re open on Saturdays?”
Leela pulls her hair back. “No. Of course not. I just help with data entry. You know getting the records all squared away and things.”
It seems pointless to argue further, so instead I move on to breakfast. “You should eat something.”
“I don’t know if I can eat.”
&
nbsp; “How about a breakfast burrito?”
She winces again. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Pulling my chin back I look at her. “I feel like you’re insinuating that I don’t know how to make a breakfast burrito.”
Surprisingly, she laughs. “I mean, I’m not sure my stomach can handle anything.”
“Trust me. It will make you feel better.”
Her lips tip south before she smiles.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“Last night, you thought ketchup and ranch was going to be gross and you ended up dipping your burger in it. Give me a little credit here.”
Her eyes are soft and warm, smiling even broader than her lips which are curled with ease. I wonder if I’ll see this expression again or if it’s simply due to her hangover. Then I recall her telling me last night that she wished she were funnier because she liked my laugh, and I find myself smiling back at her.
“Come on, I’ll show you my mad skills.” I extend a hand to her, uncertain that she’ll take it and even more uncertain of what I’ll do if she does.
She slips her hand in mine and the warmth of her skin radiates against my palm as I note far too many details like the shade of her skin beside mine, how small her wrist is, and the purple hue of her nails. I want to ask the most minute of questions, like if it’s her favorite color, and then learn about every facet of her life in chronological order. I want to know why she’s never been drunk, and why she chose to change that last night. I want to know more about her sister and what had upset her last night. Discover what kind of doctor she wants to be. But more than that, I want to know Leela. I want to know what she wishes for before falling asleep, what memory she replays the most, and what moment she wishes she could return to.
We continue staring at each other, and the desire to ask her a dozen questions wanes with the need to feel how soft her lips are, how tightly she would clutch my shoulders if I kissed her right now.
Then her eyes close and I think she wants to discover this just as badly as I do, but she dips her head and pulls her hand from mine in one quick jerk, and just like that I’m left once again second-guessing everything, wondering if what just transpired was even a reality.