“Well then, what?”
“It’s not that you have a boyfriend, it’s the boyfriend you have.”
Cherry let out a short laugh. “Wow. Okay. I seriously don’t want to get in a fight with you right now. Can’t we just—”
“Pretend he doesn’t treat you like crap? How do I do that? How do you do that? Seriously, Cherry? Deep down I can’t imagine you like the person he forces you to become around him. And what about Gabe? You know he’s not a fan, and who loves you more than your twin brother? Maybe your mom? Does it feel awesome that you have to lie to her constantly? Meneik’s always pitting you against everyone and I think if you stopped for a second and looked, you might see that Meneik is the only person who thinks he’s right for you.”
“Are you done?”
She clearly was. “He shouldn’t treat you the way he does, okay? You deserve better.” She was quiet for a long time after that, so long that I started to hope. “You know I’m only saying this because I care about you.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need that from you. I need an alibi. I’ll text you when to call for my mom.” And she hung up.
ONE DAY LATER
Jolene:
How was Turkey Day?
Adam:
The food was good.
Jolene:
What an evasive answer.
Adam
It was pretty much like I expected.
Jolene:
You didn’t talk to your dad?
Adam:
No, he called and talked to Jeremy, but I was conveniently helping with the dishes.
Jolene:
Did you get yelled at in Dutch?
Adam:
Ja.
Jolene:
?
Adam:
That’s Dutch for yes.
Jolene:
Say something else in Dutch.
Adam:
Ja is basically the extent of my Dutch. That’s one of the things my grandfather yells about. Presumably.
Jolene:
Fighting with Jeremy? Crying mom?
Adam:
Ja and ja. What about you?
Jolene:
Have you ever had Tofurky?
Adam:
That sounds awful.
Jolene:
Awful is too kind a word. Plus Tom and I had words recently and he’s being all distant with my mom. It’s a toss-up which turns my stomach more: him or the fake meat.
Adam:
Did you see your dad?
Jolene:
Jo. Is that Dutch for no?
Adam:
It’s nee.
Jolene:
Then, nee, I didn’t see my dad. He texted though.
Adam:
Yeah?
Jolene:
It said “Happy Thanksgiving.” Not “Hey, kid, Happy Turkey Day.” Not even my name on the end. He probably has an app on his phone that sends out generic holiday greetings to all his contacts.
Adam:
I thought about skipping school with you. It helped.
Jolene:
Me, too.
Adam:
And I saved you a piece of my sweet potato pie.
Jolene:
Did you really?
Adam:
It’s a big piece.
Jolene:
I didn’t save you any Tofurky.
Adam:
Thanks for that.
Jolene:
Happy Turkey Day, Adam.
Adam:
Happy Turkey Day, Jolene.
ADAM
I hadn’t seen Erica in a week. I’d been relieved that she was already in the auditorium for play rehearsal when I got back from ditching with Jolene (very relieved, since our hug in the parking lot went on for longer than I would have been able to explain to my girlfriend). But then she got sick over Thanksgiving and missed a few days of school, giving me abundant time to hate myself for how I’d been treating her.
That self-loathing was still lingering at home the following Thursday as I was helping Mom with the dishes—I rinsed, she loaded—until she propped a hip on the counter and stilled my hand before I could reach for another glass.
“Adam.” She brushed a lock of my hair from my bent face. “You’re a million miles away.”
I was, and I mentally added Mom’s name to the list of people I was being unfair to. Next weekend would be the sixth Jeremy and I would spend away from her, and the signs of our impending departure started earlier and earlier each time we left; the tense way she held her shoulders, the light footsteps walking past our bedrooms all through the night, the way she reached out to touch us more and more, like she was trying to store up the feel of us for those days when she’d have to go without. It was like watching her heart slowly break, and normally I tried to keep her talking and laughing, distracted, as the Friday approached. I wasn’t doing any of that as I silently rinsed dishes in the sink.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I was thinking about this thing I need to do and how much I really don’t want to do it.”
I’d have been able to talk to Greg about Jolene and Erica. He wouldn’t have made a lame joke the way I knew Jeremy would. He’d have listened to me, offered advice, then clapped me on the shoulder and told me to be the man I wanted to be.
I didn’t want to be the kind of man who cheated on his girlfriend, and every weekend I spent with Jolene made it harder to hold back. I’d already come too close to crossing that line and the next time I might charge right past it. I knew I would. Or rather, I’d try, and she’d probably flay me alive. Jolene would never let me make her play the role Shelly had.
And I’d never put her in that position.
“Is this about a girl?” Mom asked.
“Girls,” I told her, emphasizing the plural. She stepped back.
“Adam Noah Moynihan.”
I smiled at her. “C’mon, Mom, you know I wouldn’t do that.”
She cocked her head at me, smiling back. “Well then, tell me what you mean by girls. I thought you and Jolene...”
Dropping my head even farther, I pulled out my phone and thumbed to the first photo we’d taken, the one by the tree near Dad’s apartment, the one where I looked just like my brother. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my neighbor, who I didn’t even like initially but got to agree to pose for these photos for you, so that I could distract you.”
“You what?” Mom’s voice shook, and I wasn’t sure if that was due to the photo that had rattled her the first time she’d seen it or from the confession I’d made.
“It’s more than that now.” At least, it was for me, but none of that was the point. “I thought I was helping you,” I said, because she looked...hurt.
“By lying to me?”
“I wanted you to think about something besides missing Jeremy and me. And Dad.” I didn’t add Greg, but I knew she understood I was including him, too.
“Adam, that’s not your job.”
Isn’t it?
She led me to the amber-stained dining table with its bead-carved trim, and I couldn’t help thinking of Dad, the story he’d told me about it, and the way he’d broken afterward. For the first time, I let myself think about him alone in that apartment while Mom and Jeremy and I were together.
“Tell me about the girls.”
I folded my arms on the table and I did, mostly. I told her about Jolene agreeing to help me take pictures, about how we became friends, and how, before I even realized it, I was having more than friendly feelings for her, which made me a complete jerk because I’d finally gotten together with my dream girl here at home.
Mom covered her mouth at that point, and I was starting to worry that my confession had seriously lowered her opinion of me when a
laugh slipped through her fingers, muffled at first and then louder as she gave up trying to hide it.
I leaned back. “I’m glad you find my pain funny.”
“No, not funny.” She reached for my hand. “Honey, you have to be honest with this other girl.”
“Erica. And I know. It’s just...she knows that I liked her for a really long time, and breaking up with her this quickly makes it look like I was messing with her. I don’t want to do that to her.”
“If she knows you at all, she’ll never think that.”
I wasn’t so sure. “Plus, Jolene knows I have a girlfriend, and she doesn’t seem to mind the way I would if she had a boyfriend.”
To that Mom only smiled. “Let me see your phone.” When I handed it to her, she pulled up our texts, and, sliding her chair closer to mine so that we could both see the screen, she scrolled thought the photos of Jolene and me, dozens and dozens of photos of the two of us, way more than I needed for Mom. The latest was one of us outside, lying in the snow with a single red scarf wrapping our necks and most of our heads together. Only our eyes were visible, but it was obvious that we were laughing.
I wanted to object that these were photos that were taken specifically to make her believe something that wasn’t real, but the more I looked at them and the more I remembered each moment, the less sure I became.
“Maybe she minds more than she’s letting on,” Mom said, handing me back my phone. Before she let me take it, she added, “And I don’t want you lying to make me feel better anymore, okay?”
“I just want you to be happy again,” I told her, and for some reason that admission brought tears to her eyes. “Mom?”
She shook her head, trying to stem them, but they fell.
“Mom,” I said again, wrapping my arms around her.
She cried for a very, very long time.
* * *
I sighed on Friday morning when I saw Erica standing by her locker. I knew this was the moment; it had to be. And not just telling her about Jolene either.
I’d been avoiding the conversation for way too long. I didn’t want to be just Jolene’s friend, and the more time I spent with her, the more I wanted.
And that meant ending things with Erica.
I’d texted her while she was sick, but I wasn’t about to break up with her over the phone, so I’d taken the reprieve like the coward I was.
I didn’t have any more excuses.
“Erica,” I said as I closed the last few feet between us. “I guess you’re feeling bet—”
She turned around and slapped me across the face.
SIXTH WEEKEND
December 4–6
Jolene
“Hello, Adam.”
He rolled his eyes at my formality and joined me on the stairwell. It was snowing hard outside, so hard that I’d wondered if Adam and his brother were going to drive in it.
The apocalypse could have been happening and Dad’s lawyer would still have made me come. By foot if necessary. So I’d been there, sitting on the thinly carpeted step for over an hour when Adam finally showed up.
“Oh, you’ve got—” He reached one arm around my back to support his weight as he leaned in to pluck a piece of lint from my braid. But then he didn’t lean back, he stared at me and when his eyes lowered to my mouth, I shot to my feet.
“First of all, no. Second of all, I’m tired of being the one who constantly has to remind you of your own girlfriend. You—” and I spun to stare right at him “—are better than that.”
“I haven’t forgotten anyone. I—”
I cut him off. “From now on I think it’s better if we keep a little more distance between us.” To illustrate, I sat back down on the step but I made sure there were two full feet between us.
Adam glanced at the space between us, then raised an eyebrow at me. “I thought you didn’t mind me having a girlfriend.”
“Okay, fine.” I tossed my hands up. “I don’t like that you have a girlfriend. And no, I’m not asking for the job. And no, I’m not saying it would be a job to be your girlfriend. I don’t like that I have to weigh everything I do in light of how some girl I don’t know is going to feel about it, or literally measure the distance between us.” I gestured to the space separating us. “I’m exhausted already, and you’ve only been here two minutes.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Ah, but I do.” I made my eyes go all wide and buggy. “I have to be obsessive and paranoid like a girlfriend would be, and I don’t even get any of the benefits. Trust me, I’ve thought about this a lot.”
“No wonder you’re tired.”
“Just wait,” I told him. “You haven’t heard my unhinged and overly complicated solution. You ready?”
Adam leaned his back against his side of the stairwell wall. “Go.”
“Okay. First, the facts.” I poked him in the chest. “You have a girlfriend. You also have a friend who is a girl.” I poked my chest. “These two coexisting relationships are going to destroy you and consume your soul. We want to avoid that, if at all possible.”
“I appreciate that.”
I inclined my head. “The way I see it, we have three options. One—we quit being friends. I object to this option for several reasons. First...” I held up a finger. “Shelly. If I’m forced to endure her company for extended periods of time, it will result in her death and my incarceration.” I held up another finger. “Second, Shelly.” Another finger. “Third, I refuse to quit being your friend on the grounds that I find you infinitely more tolerable than anyone else I know. Also, Shelly. Fourth—”
“I’ll stipulate that option one is a no go. What’s option two?”
“Oh, okay. Option two—I meet Erica. We become best friends and I slowly but surely break you down in her eyes until she can’t stand the sight of you and she moves on.”
“Interesting, go on.”
“Option three is that you break up with her in a completely non-recoverable way, like saying, ‘Welcome to Dumpville, baby. Population, you.’ Or something along those lines. Here, I made you a list.” I handed him the folded sheet of paper from my pocket.
He silently skimmed it.
“I’m especially proud of number five.” I leaned over and pointed.
“That’s...that’s... I would never say that to a girl. Also, I’m judging you a lot for coming up with it.”
“It gets the job done.”
“Yeah, but I’m not doing it.” He gave me the paper back. “Or rather, I don’t need to do it. She’s not my girlfriend anymore.”
I couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across my face. After we’d played my little game, I had planned on talking to him realistically about the girlfriend situation. I was going to calmly and rationally persuade him that the single life—with me—was infinitely more fulfilling than the dating life with anyone else.
But I didn’t have to.
He’d broken up with her. Already. On his own, without any long-drawn-out discussions with me. I grinned at him. “You broke up with her? When?”
He blushed. “This morning. And I wasn’t exactly the one who did the breaking.” He rotated his jaw a little. “But I would have,” he added. “I mean, I was going to. Before I saw you again.”
I swallowed and had a slightly hard time of it. So what if she’d dumped him and not the other way around? Adam no longer had a girlfriend, which was all I’d wanted. I pulled my braid over my shoulder and fiddled with the elastic. “Adam, it’s fine. You don’t have to—”
“I’m not! That’s the truth.” He reached to still my hand but stopped just shy of touching me. “She, uh... I guess she saw us in the parking lot after we ditched.”
For the first time since I’d met him, my face was the one that went red. All we’d done was hug—maybe for a touch too long, but nothing more. T
hough if she’d seen the way I bit back a smile when he released me... Yeah, it couldn’t have been a good feeling.
And that sucked. She was a girl I didn’t know, one I’d resented from the moment I’d learned she existed, but she deserved better than what I’d done to her, what Adam and I had been doing together.
We’d never crossed the big lines, but we hadn’t stayed away from them either.
Adam was frowning at his hands.
“Are you upset?”
“No,” he said. “I hurt her, and I’ll never feel good about that, especially since I should have broken up with her weeks ago. Really, I should never have gotten together with her in the first place.”
I had complicated reactions to that statement. He was referring to me when he said he shouldn’t have gotten together with her. I couldn’t deny that even if I tried. But it was scary to suddenly feel like he might be looking at me without any reason to hold back. It made my hands clammy and my breath feel as if it would soon start coming out in panicky gasps. It wouldn’t be good for me to be anything more than his friend, and I would only disappoint him if he tried to make us into something more.
I had to remind him that friends were all we could be.
“I mean, I liked Erica,” Adam said, still staring at his hands. “But I realized that you were right. If she had some guy that she spent this much time with, it would be weird.”
“Or if I had a boyfriend.”
Adam’s head snapped up. “Don’t tell me you do now? I just broke up with a girl I’ve wanted since middle school because of you—your friendship.”
“No,” I said, “I turned all the boys down. They were crushed, of course, but they always are.”
Adam let out a sigh. “Okay, good.”
“So now we can be friends and it doesn’t have to be weird?”
He didn’t answer right away, and for a moment it looked like he was about to say one thing but then changed his mind. “Right. It doesn’t have to be weird.”
“Great.”
“Yep.”
Then it was my turn to pause. I scrunched up my face. “Except it’s weird, right?”
“Oh yeah,” he said.
We both sighed, and I leaned back on the steps until my butt fell asleep. It was weird, coming to a place in our friendship where we had both objected to the other having a significant other while at the same time not wanting to be that significant other ourselves. “You’re still my friend, even it’s it weird,” I told Adam. As long as he didn’t expect more, we’d get past weird.
Every Other Weekend Page 15
