The Girlfriend's Secret

by Kyle Autumn

  I cup her cheeks to get her to look at me. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that.”

  A tear shines in her right eye. For whatever reason, it’s the one that always tears up first. And that’s her tell. When that happens, I know that something’s wrong. But she’s a tightly locked secret-keeper. It takes a lot to get stuff out of her. So it’s a wonder I ever got her to admit her feelings for me.

  But I did. And here we are, at our friends’ house, about to explain the whole thing. I’m so proud of my girl that butterflies threaten to take my stomach over. Instead, it lurches at the thought of something being wrong with her.

  “I do know that. Later, okay?” she asks, pleading with me with her gaze.

  After I give her a long stare, I nod. “Okay.” Then I kiss her lips. Because I’m able to do that in front of whoever I want now. And the butterflies do end up taking over.

  “Oh boy. It’s gonna take a while to get used to that,” Shiree says as she enters the front room again.

  Zo breaks away from me and covers her mouth with her hand. I get it though, so I won’t let it bother me. She’s not used to it yet. Frankly, neither am I, but that’s the thing about love. It doesn’t matter if it’s wrong or right for anyone else.

  “But you’ll get used to it,” I tell her, taking Zo’s hand.

  Shiree nods. Then she claps—quietly so she doesn’t wake the baby—and gestures to the different places to sit around the room. “Get comfy, because I wanna hear all about it!”

  As Zo and I sit on the couch together, I say, “Lyra’s gonna be upset.”

  “Psh,” Shiree replies, taking a seat on the chair across from us. “She just had her baby. She needs time to rest.” Then she makes a shoo motion with her hands. “Go on. Tell me everything while Chaz watches the babies.”

  I look at Zo. She’s been terrified of this for months. We’ve had a close call or two, but it’s all coming to a head now. And I know she’s strong enough for it, but her worries make it hard for her to say the words. Now that we’re here, I don’t mind doing the talking. She did her part and took that leap. Kissed me in front of the world. I can take the wheel now.

  “Okay,” I say, taking Zo’s hand and placing our interlaced fingers on my lap. Then I turn my attention to Shiree. “We’ll start at the beginning.”

  ***

  Zo

  ***Nine months ago***

  Thirsty Thursday. My favorite night of the week. I love getting together with my girlfriends. And it’s been a great night—even if all we’ve done is laugh at Shiree’s expense. The whole situation with Charles Masters, local billionaire, is rather humorous. Even Shiree thinks so. But it’s obvious that something more is going on, whether she wants to believe it or not. She’s never been this caught up in, well, anything before. She’s had her fair share of things to get caught up in, too. But it’s never been like this.

  “I’m not sure strange begins to cover it,” Patti says, pointing at Shiree with her beer bottle. “But what are you gonna do now?”

  “Umm…” Shiree says, drawing the word out. “Order another round?”

  I was hoping she’d actually answer the question, but maybe she’s not ready to face this stuff yet. Oh well. She’s off doing exactly what she said she was going to do before I can press her for more info. Then Lyra runs after her and it’s just Patti and me.

  Which, if I’m honest, is the way I prefer it. It’s always kind of been Shiree and Lyra and then Patti and me. The other two work together, so they see each other more often. It’s given them more opportunity to be closer to each other than they are with us. Which is fine. Patti and I go way back, so we’re used to it being the two of us.

  Except, this time, when Lyra and Shiree are gone, Patti gives me a weird look. One I’ve seen her make before, but never has it been directed at me. Or any other woman she’s met, as far as I know.

  I tug my pursed lips to the side. “What?” I ask her.

  She swigs a sip from her beer—her third, which doesn’t include the shots she’s taken—and sets the bottle on the table, tipping it slightly in my direction. “You.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I point to myself. “Me? What about me?”

  “You just care a lot. I like that.” She shrugs. Her dark, wavy bob sways with the motion.

  “Okay,” I reply slowly, circling my hands around my glass. But I’m smiling.

  I do care. Probably too much. It’s nice that she noticed though. And it feels good that she likes it too. It’s generally a frowned-upon quality. Caring too much means being in too deep. Giving too much of myself too soon. I think that’s something Shiree, Lyra, and I have in common. Patti? Not so much. So it’s nice that she’s acknowledged it and appreciates it.

  We’ve been friends for so long, so I’m not sure why she’s bringing it up now, but maybe it’s the beer talking. It’s nothing new. I’ve always worried and cared more than I should. And I should have learned my lesson by now, that it doesn’t get me anywhere, because I’m single and doomed to be a crazy cat lady.

  Ugh. Here I go again. Worrying about the future. Caring more than I should. What does Patti always tell me?

  “Come back to now, Zed.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face.

  My eyes go wide. “Whoa. I was literally just trying to remember that phrase.” Then my lips curve up into a grin. “You know, you’re always saying and doing the right thing for me. And I like that about you.”

  Maybe the alcohol tonight is talking for both of us. Or maybe I’ve realized I need to appreciate Patti more than I do.

  As she scrunches her nose, she gives me a small, crooked smile. “You do?”

  I tilt my head at her. “Is my best friend being shy?”

  Her smile falls before she takes a large chug of her beer, which drains the bottle. “Me? Never,” she deadpans.

  That’s exactly what I thought. But the way she said it has me concerned. Because that’s what I do. Worry. So I’ll leave it alone. I’m probably being too sensitive, and no one likes Negative Nancy.

  I don’t have time to worry about whether or not I should worry though. Shiree and Lyra are back, and they set the drinks on the table, clearly in the middle of a conversation.

  “Discredit what?” I ask to discover what that conversation was about.

  “Yeah.” Patti points her empty bottle at me. “What Zo said.”

  Oh no. She said Zo and not Zed. Something really is wrong. I was right to worry. And I try to give her a look, but Lyra gives us the scoop and then Shiree wants to dance. So we all grab our drinks and head to the dance floor.

  Once we get there, Patti downs her fourth beer. She sets it on the nearest table then throws her hands in the air, dancing circles around Lyra and Shiree. When she makes her way back to me, I tap her on her shoulder.

  “Hey!” I yell over the music while doing something that barely counts as dancing. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing!” she shouts back, twisting and dancing. “Nothing is going on with me. Why would you think that?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “Well, you called me Zo, for one.”

  “That’s who you are, isn’t it? You’re Zo,” she spits out, slurring her words a little, before spinning around in a circle. “You’ll always be Zo.”

  I stop pretending to dance. “I don’t even know what that means, Patti.” Then I try to sway my hips again. “Of course I’m Zo. But, to you, I’m Zed.”

  She throws her arms out to her sides. “And that’s what’s wrong with the world!”

  Again, I freeze. “You’re drunk and not making any sense.”

  “Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m making perfect sense. It’s not my fault you don’t understand.” Then she wags a finger at me.

  That’s it. I’ve had enough of whatever the hell she’s doing. We’re going to leave and get to the bottom of it because I’m way too worried about her now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her act this way, and we’ve known each other for h
alf of our lives. That’s fourteen years of being Zed, only Zo when she’s mad at me. And I haven’t done anything wrong tonight. Have I? Shit. I don’t think I have. Either way, I’ve had enough of this.

  Once I reach Shiree and Lyra, I get close to Lyra’s ear and shout over the music. “Patti’s not feeling so hot! So I’m gonna take her home!”

  Shiree looks at me, asking what I said to Lyra with her eyes. I put my hands on my stomach, hook my thumb in Patti’s direction, and frown. When they both pout, I wave them off and turn my frown into a small smile. Then we all say goodbye before they go back to dancing and I drag Patti off the dance floor and out the door.

  “What the hell?” she squeals when we’re on the sidewalk.

  I spin around and face her, pointing at her with my index finger. “You’re gonna tell me what’s going on with you right now.”

  She puts her hands on her hips and pops one hip out to the side. “Oh wow. It’s assertive Zed now, huh?”

  “Well, I’ve had enough, so here she is,” I spit back.

  “Good,” she slurs. “I like that about you too.”

  “Great, Patti. Just tell me what you’re doing.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Why are you so drunk tonight?”

  “Because I can’t take it anymore!” she yells, her arms thrown out to her sides.

  “Can’t take what?” I push, mirroring what she’s doing with her arms. “I don’t understand what you’re being so cryptic about!”

  Her arms fall against her body, and she lets out a deep breath, her shoulders slumping forward. She looks completely defeated, and the bar’s neon lights highlight the sheen of sweat on her forehead. And then I have another one of those strange urges I’ve been trying to ignore for a while. The kind where I want to push her hair out of her face, cup her cheek, and comfort her in a way that would cross our friendship line. But, before I can even acknowledge it, let alone shake it off, she speaks up.

  After another long breath in, she looks straight at me and hits me right in the heart with her words. On a rush of air, she says, “This really isn’t how I wanted to tell you I’m in love with you.”

  Chapter 3

  Patti

  I’d kiss her right now if it weren’t the absolute worst thing I could do after having said that. I may be drunk, and drunk words may be sober thoughts, but I have enough wits about me not to totally fuck this up.

  Well, maybe I did fuck it up. I don’t know yet. She’s just standing there, staring at me like I have three heads. Her mouth opens like she’s about to speak, but she doesn’t say anything yet.

  God, it felt so damn good to get out though. I’ve held that in for way longer than I should have. And it’s out there now. Nothing I can do it about. Can’t take it back. It may completely change our relationship in the worst way and I may completely lose her, but twelve years is far too long to keep something like that to myself.

  Just when I think she’s going to respond, she closes her mouth back up. Then she lets her arms fall to her sides, spins around, and rushes off toward her car. We drove together, so it’s not like she’s going anywhere without me. But she’s obviously trying to run away from this, and I’m just drunk enough to not let her.

  “Hey,” I say, grabbing for her arm. “Shouldn’t we talk about that?” I jut a thumb in the direction of the bar.

  She wrenches herself out of my grasp. “Get in the car, Patti.”

  I start to respond, but she holds a hand up and closes her eyes.

  “No. Don’t. Just get in the car.”

  When she opens them again, she finds the driver’s side door handle and yanks the door open. Then she throws herself behind the steering wheel. As she starts the car, I get in next to her. The car begins to spin, so I shut my eyes. But that doesn’t help. My stomach turns, so I blink my eyes open, and then the whole world spins.

  Zo backs the car out of our parking spot and takes off. The world stops spinning, but the speed at which she’s driving upsets my stomach more. With no other options, I suck in a deep breath and close my eyes again, gripping the armrest and the center console to keep myself as steady as I can. Then everything quiets and disappears, and I swear I feel the weight of her hand on mine as I slip off to sleep.

  ~~~

  Why the hell does my mouth taste so bad? More important is why the hell my head hurts so bad. When I bring my hand to my head and realize I’m still wearing last night’s clothes and not in my bed, an even more important question comes to mind: Where am I?

  Once I’ve finally pried my sleep-crusty eyes open, I see Zo’s purse on Zo’s side table by Zo’s door. On my right are Zo’s loveseat and Zo’s lamp. Everything is Zo’s. I’m at her place?

  Then last night hits me like a Mack truck. Holy shit. That wasn’t a dream; that’s a memory. I actually said those words to my best friend. Words I’ve kept hidden for almost half of my life. Feelings I’ve pushed down to make sure I have her in my life in some capacity. Because I almost tried pushing that conversation once. And, when I got my answer, I decided not to go there ever again. It wasn’t worth losing her over, even though it meant I’d be unhappy for the rest of my life.

  From Zo’s bed, I watch her sit on the floor and pick a polish for her toes. She does this before every date she goes on, and because she’s eighteen and gorgeous, she goes on a lot of them. Well, a lot to me is any at all when you consider the fact that I’ve never gone on one. Being in love with your best friend kind of makes you not want to go on dates with other people.

  “Which color should I pick this time?” she asks me. It’s an innocent question coming from her, but she doesn’t realize what it does to me.

  I’ve gotten good at pretending though. The last year and a half has given me a lot of practice opportunities.

  “Ummm,” I say, stretching the word out while I count to five in my brain. “Well, what’s he like?” It’s torture, but it’s the kind of thing a best friend would do.

  “He’s so cute,” she breathily replies, hiding behind her hands. Then her hands drop and she stares off into space. “But I’m not sure he’s all that smart.”

  Secretly, I’m grinning because I don’t think this guy has a snowball’s chance in Hell. But, if she asks, I’m grinning because it’s ridiculous that she’s giving this guy a shot at all. Obviously, he’s not good enough for her. And a best friend would say that. Just not the same way a jealous potential lover would.

  I flip a page of my magazine. “Then go for purple.”

  “Why?” She puts the green down though and unscrews the purple bottle’s cap.

  What I want to say is that purple looks best on her. That’s why I suggested it before thinking it through. I can’t think of a reason why she should pick purple over green because she doesn’t think the guy’s smart. The hell am I supposed to say?

  Somehow, I settle for, “Because, if he’s smart, he’ll notice purple.”

  She thinks about it for a moment and then starts to paint her nails. “Because what guy doesn’t notice green? It’s the color of money.” Then she nods and looks at me. “You’re so smart.”

  Her smile slays me. She has no idea how gorgeous she is, and I want to tell her every day. I want her to know how important and special she is. So I decide to hedge a little.

  “Smart because I know my worth. I don’t know why you put up with guys like that, Zed.”

  She shrugs and paints her third toe. “It’s just one date. Who knows what could happen. Maybe I’m wrong.”

  “You’re almost never wrong,” I say, shaking my head. “You worry too much to guess at things, and you don’t do things you aren’t sure about.”

  Again, she shrugs. “I guess.”

  “Well, maybe you should do something you’re not sure about,” I offer. Then I peek over the top of my magazine. “Like go on a date with a girl next time.”

  She freezes. The polish brush hovers over her toe, and she stays that way until a glob of paint splatters onto her nail. That snaps her out of her tran
ce, so she quickly puts the brush back in the bottle and reaches for a cotton ball to wipe the paint off. As she does, she shakes her head.

  “No. That’ll never happen,” she states simply. Then, with emphasis, “Ever.”

  But there’s something else there. Because her right eye tears up and she swipes at it before the tear falls. Behind my magazine, though, I didn’t miss that. I don’t know what it means, but her words shut me up. I go back to flipping pages and allowing my heart to break even more while she paints her toenails for a date with someone else.

  Perched on the edge of her couch, with my head in my hands, I shake myself from the memory. When I open my eyes, those very toes come into view—thankfully free of polish. I raise my gaze and find a cup of coffee in her hands and a nervous look on her face.

  “You okay?” she asks, dressed in her usual work scrubs. “I’ve been—”

  “Worried about me?” I finish for her, reaching for the cup.

  She nods.

  I do too. But then I wince. The movement felt like my brain was smashing against my skull.

  Zo sits next to me and puts her hand on my back. Her warmth seeps through my shirt and comforts me in a way the coffee can’t. It also hurts in a way coffee can’t hurt me though.

  “Why don’t you just lie back down?” she asks.

  After a sip of my coffee—sugar and a dash of cocoa, exactly how I like it—I very gently shake my head while gazing at the floor. “I’ll be fine.”

  When she takes her hand back, the loss of her heat chills me to the bone. Then she sets both hands in her lap and interlaces her fingers, staring a hole in the carpet.

  “Hey,” I say slowly. Awkwardly. “About what I said last night…”

  She sucks in a big breath and shakes her head. “You were drunk. It’s okay. Let’s just forget it.”

  My shoulders slump forward. Sure, I thought I could explain, maybe shed some light on it. Perhaps even get some closure so I could shut the whole thing down somehow. Yeah, I’ve tried for years and every attempt has been unsuccessful. But I finally admitted it and she’s choosing to ignore it. I’m not sure yet if that hurts worse than being shot down. That would at least have been a solid answer compared to this never knowing the truth. Unless she’s sparing my feelings. But this isn’t sparing anything. Now, I’m more torn up than I was last night, and that’s saying something.