by Kaela Coble
I pull up a stool and look over Murphy’s shoulder at his homework. Murphy is not stupid, but school doesn’t come as easily to him as it does to me, and besides homeroom, we aren’t in any of the same classes. The work he’s doing now is precalc, which I took last year. I point out a couple errors in his work and give him a few tips on remembering the formulas. I can tell he’s a little embarrassed, and I internally scold myself for being such a know-it-all. After a few minutes though, we’re laughing about it and he’s asking me more questions. My hand brushes his as I point something out in a textbook, and he looks at me. I feel myself blush, so I get up with the excuse that I’m thirsty.
There is so much tension in the room that it feels like I’m trying to run through water as I cross over to the fridge. I can feel Murphy wanting to ask me if I’ve given us any more thought, and I’m sure he knows I want to ask him what’s going on with him and Taylor. It’s been so many days since his big confession that I’m starting to wonder if it was even real. And neither of us wants to bring up anything that might break the spell. Just being in each other’s presence lately has been intoxicating. Our feelings for each other are forbidden, and wrong, and therefore incredibly hot.
After rooting around in the refrigerator for an impolite amount of time, I grab a Diet Coke and pop the tab. When I turn around, Murphy is there. He grabs my face and kisses me with all his might, pushing me up against the fridge. His kiss is so full of passion that I lose complete control, dropping my soda on the floor and wrapping my arms around his neck. The already infinitesimal gap between us closes, every cell in our bodies charged with heat. In one movement, he pushes up my skirt and slides me further up the fridge so I can wrap my legs around him, and I feel like I’m going to explode if I can’t have him, right here and now.
But just as suddenly as it begins, we hear the rattle of keys from the side porch signaling Cecile’s return, and Murphy drops me like a sack of potatoes. I hastily grab the towel from the fridge’s door handle and act like I’ve been on the floor all along, diligently mopping up the spilled soda. Murphy darts over to the sink to retrieve the paper towels.
“What happened here?” Cecile demands.
“He did it,” I say, pointing at Murphy, while he simultaneously says, “She did it,” and points to me. We laugh. We continue sopping up the mess until Cecile taps her watch and tells us we’re going to be late, that she’ll finish cleaning up. Murphy and I stand and hurriedly dispose of our towels, each getting a gruff kiss on the cheek from Cecile, and rush out the door to my car.
We resume laughing once safely in Blue, and when I rest my hand on the gear shift, Murphy reaches over and covers it with his. In this moment, my questions about whether or not he really has feelings for me or is just a horny teenage boy disappear. This isn’t just about sex. Not for him. Not for me either. It’s love. First love.
• • •
When Murphy’s done with practice and a warm bowl of his mother’s tomato soup fills his belly, he calls me. I’m still so shocked by the realization that I’m in love with my best friend that I can hardly speak.
“What’s with you?” he demands, after a silence longer and more awkward than we’ve ever sustained.
“I.” It’s all that can come out at first.
“Yeah?”
“I wish things were different.”
“Meaning?”
“You and Taylor.”
“That’s all I needed to know,” he says, and he hangs up the phone.
12
RUBY
NOW
56 Main is packed, proving that Sunday brunch is not just hellish in the elitist bistros of New York. I fight through the crowd, trying to spot my friends while simultaneously trying not to make eye contact with the people around me. The last thing I want is to run into my third-grade teacher or one of the families I used to babysit for before I realized my general dislike of children under ten. I very much want to avoid a conversation with a kid who doesn’t remember me changing their diapers and is now all awkward and pimply and gives off the sticky scent of puberty. “I remember when you were this big” is a platitude I would very much like to keep out of my vernacular.
I spot the crew at a long table at the back of the restaurant. I take a deep breath, telling myself this is the last thing I have to do before my mother drives me to Burlington, where I will board a plane and put everything that’s happened here back into the little Chatwick box I keep buried deep, deep inside my emotional closet. Yesterday was the only day I was able to successfully hide in my room, feeling guilty that I wasn’t visiting Charlene or trying to get together with Ally, or even talking to my own mother. I tried to work but spent most of the day reading my old diaries, rehashing mistake after mistake after mistake. So when Steph called to invite me to this last-minute gathering, sweet as can be, both my guilt and my need to get the hell out of my childhood bedroom made it hard for me to say no.
Now that I’m here, I wish I had said my flight left much earlier than it does. The table my friends occupy is huge and peppered with outsiders I wasn’t expecting. Steph is seated at the middle of the table next to Emmett. They are turned away from each other, speaking to people on either side of them—Emmett to Murphy, who sits next to a girl I don’t recognize, Steph next to two older people I also don’t recognize, whom I assume are her parents because Emmett’s parents sit across from him.
I’m a little taken aback by the parental presence. Is it customary to invite parents to brunch with friends if you all live in the same town? Should I have invited Nancy? Emmett and Murphy shoot me a wave in greeting but quickly go back to their conversation, Emmett smirking and laughing. My inner twelve-year-old wonders if they are laughing at me, like the day Emmett pointed out to the cafeteria that I was wearing a bra for the first time. Jesus, I really need to get out of this town.
I stop to hug Mrs. McDowell, who tells me all about myself based on what she’s heard from Nancy and the Chat. “Our big-city girl.” She winks. Next to the McDowells are Aaron and Ally. They are both frowning, but Ally brightens when she sees me, waving me over.
“I saved you a seat,” she says. I smile and sit in the empty chair. Something about Ally has always made me seek her approval, probably explaining why even when we were kids I struggled to share things with her. Looking back, it was less because she was a gossip than the fact that I always wanted her to like me, and telling her all the awful things I thought or felt or did risked her thinking poorly of me. But times like now, when she saves me a seat, when she goes out of her way to make me feel included in a situation where I am now clearly the outsider, make me feel the same way I did when I was in fourth grade and she wanted me to sit next to her at lunch. Cool. Special. In.
I survey the room. This is a new restaurant, at least since I’ve been gone. When I lived here, it was called McAlister’s, and the room we now sit in was an ice cream parlor where I worked illegally the summer I was fourteen, earning $3.50 an hour under the table plus half the tip jar (anywhere from twenty-five cents to a whopping two dollars). I made sundaes and ice cream cakes and covered everything edible in hot fudge, sneaking it into my mouth between customers. The brass bars I used to polish every night and the garish rubber-rimmed maroon area rugs have been removed, but copper fans still hang from the beveled, multicolored ceilings.
Ally reads my mind. “Remember when I used to come in, and you would charge me for a small but give me an extra-large?” she asks. I smile in the conspiratorial way we always smile. I do remember. Often Danny was trailing after her, pretending like ice cream was too babyish for him to be excited about, but his eyes flickering for just a moment when I placed a banana split he didn’t order in front of him.
Steph finishes talking to her mother and notices that I’m here. She introduces me to her parents, whose hands I shake, and to the girl sitting on the other side of Murphy. “And this is my best friend, Krystal,” she
says.
My stomach drops as I reach out to shake the girl’s hand. She has acrylic nails, an orangy hue to her skin that can only be attributed to self-tanner, and hair highlighted to within an inch of its life.
Or am I perhaps judging her a little too harshly because she’s sitting next to the man I slept with two days ago, in a seat that would historically be mine?
“Krys and I grew up together in Branton.” Steph pronounces the name of our rival town like most Vermonters do: Breh-in, harsh emphasis on the first syllable, the n and t in the middle skipped over like a waste of time.
Krystal smiles and says it’s nice to meet me, but the warmth does not reach her eyes. I try extra hard to project friendliness and nonchalance to make up for my internal dressing-down, but her expression doesn’t change.
We all hold our menus without reading them, distracted by our individual pockets of conversation. My end of the table is oddly quiet, especially considering I’m next to Ally, so I follow Emmett’s and Steph’s parents’ discussion, laughing politely in the pauses of well-polished childhood stories, most of which I was present for. Every so often, I risk a glance down the table at Krystal and Murphy. I notice whenever she speaks, she puts one hand on Murphy’s arm. Whether she’s claiming him as her own or just trying to make sure he realizes she’s there, I’m not sure. I also notice as she does it that Murphy tenses or shoots her a confused look.
“That girl, Krystal?” I ask behind my menu to Ally. “What’s the deal with her?” I am as casual as I can possibly be, considering I’m starting to get a sinking feeling about the relationship status of the man I just had sex with.
When it comes to things that really matter, you guys barely even know each other.
“They’re ‘special friends,’” she says with air quotes, rolling her eyes.
I knit my eyebrows, plastering an artificial smile on my face to keep up the pretense for any onlookers. “What does that mean?”
“Well, everyone knows they’re sleeping together, but Murphy insists they aren’t a couple. I can’t blame him. She’s really obnoxious.”
“Hmm.” I can feel the patches of furious red hives start to spread on my chest, and I adjust the cotton scarf I borrowed from Nancy to cover them more completely. Girlfriend or not, Murphy’s been sleeping with this girl, and he didn’t even see fit to mention her to me? Preferably before we had sex?
Krystal looks down the table then and catches Ally’s eye. I worry she overheard us, but she just calls down. (A little more loudly than necessary for the size of the table, I might add. Whoops, sorry. Did it again!) “Hey, Al! Are we on for Zumba tonight?”
“Of course!” Ally says as if they are best friends. When Krystal looks away, I raise my eyebrows at Ally.
She whispers, “Well, she asked me to go with her. What was I supposed to say?” I can’t help but laugh. Ally will never change. You’re never quite sure where you really stand with her.
After we put in our orders, everyone resumes their conversations. Ally pretends to examine the dessert menu but lifts it to her face to indicate she has another private thing to say. I lean in to listen, noticing that Aaron is eyeing us.
“Hey,” she says. “You haven’t gotten another note, have you?”
“A note?”
“From Danny.”
I look at her quizzically, but before she can say more, Emmett clinks the side of his mimosa glass to get our attention. I wonder briefly if he should be mixing alcohol with the blood thinners he told me he has to be on. In the old days, I would never have questioned his stringent following of doctor’s orders, but in light of his self-prescribed antianxiety treatment, I can’t be sure.
“I have an announcement to make,” he says and looks at Steph, who blushes and shrugs her shoulders up, ducking her head slightly. I suddenly know what he’s about to say, the reason we are all here, the reason their parents are here. I feel dumb for not figuring it out the second I walked in.
“Steph and I are getting married,” he says. “Soon. New Year’s Eve.” Krystal and all the parents immediately exclaim in delight, leaping from their chairs and surrounding Emmett and Steph. The rest of us are on a five-second delay. In those five seconds, my mouth goes dry and I forget how furious I am with Murphy as my eyes automatically search for his. I know we are thinking the same thing. Emmett used to say he planned to hold out on marriage as long as possible. Has he just grown up and fallen in love? I mean, I can’t imagine anyone more worthy of the change than Steph. But is this his ‘as long as possible’? Why so soon? New Year’s Eve is less than four months away. Is he not telling us something?
I feel Ally’s hand squeeze mine under the table. It’s both a reassurance she’s just as scared as me, and a reminder we’re supposed to be enthusiastic too. I feel us mentally put our hands in the center and break with a “Go, team” as we jump up in unison to congratulate the happy couple. I’m either noticeably stiff as I hug Emmett, or he was just as much a part of our psychic huddle as the rest of us, because he whispers in my ear, “It’s not what you’re thinking. I said I’m going to be fine, and I am. I promise.” I relax, sending out vibes to Ally and Murphy to do the same. After the week we’ve had, our reaction isn’t out of doubt that Steph is the one; it’s out of fear that another of our friends will disappear.
The food arrives and we all take our seats. Steph and Krystal start chattering with Steph’s mother about the logistics of planning a wedding for this winter with a family as large as Steph’s. I hear Krystal faux whisper, “How are you going to pay for a wedding? I thought you had all that debt from the operation?”
“Krys,” Steph says sharply, giving a sharp shake of her head. Emmett shoots daggers at Krystal and then his fiancée. He may have been successful in keeping his situation from the crew and from his own parents, but I’m not sure how much of it was ever a secret from Steph’s people. And good for her. Why should she have to bear that burden on her own? I look at Ally to see if she overheard this too, but she is pouting at Aaron, trying to get him to loosen up.
Krystal straightens her posture as if she hadn’t asked the last question. She asks in a singsongy voice I’m instantly annoyed by, “So, Stephie, who’s going to be your maid of honor?”
“You, of course!” Steph says, elbowing Krystal. “That is, of course, if you’re up for it.”
Krystal feigns surprise, and her eyes well up as the pair exchange a warm look. “I’m just so happy for you guys,” she says, dabbing the tears. I can tell that they are genuine, and it really is a nice moment.
Until Krystal puts her damn hand over Murphy’s.
I shoot a pointed look from him to his hand. Not seeing anyone, huh?
“And Murphy will be my best man,” Emmett says, grinning and Murphy rips away the big old innocent eyes he’s giving me.
“What? No courting process? You’re not even going to ask me if I want the job?” Murphy cries in mock offense. The rest of the table laughs.
“No,” Emmett says to more laughter.
“What about your brothers?” Ally asks.
“They’ll be groomsmen, but they live too far away.” He shrugs. I know that’s not the real reason; it’s just a convenient excuse. Murphy would be Emmett’s best man even if his brothers lived next door to him. He asks Aaron to be a groomsman as well.
“We’re going to ask Charlene to do a reading,” Steph says. “One of Danny’s poems.” A quick glance at Ally reveals I’m not the only one touched by this. “We had to find some way to honor him. He was so helpful to us before he died.”
Emmett puts his hand over Steph’s, and her eyes widen as she realizes she’s said something she isn’t supposed to say. I don’t look at Ally, but I know her radar must be up along with mine. Danny? Helpful? To Emmett? How—by selling him weed?
“Of course we’re not sure we’ll find one that’s appropriate.” Emmett laughs, glossing ov
er it.
“You will,” I assure him. Danny had notebooks and notebooks full of poems, and while most of them were dark and haunting, I remember a few that radiated love from every drop of ink. He would never tell me who they were about, but I can’t imagine Jenny Albrecht inspiring that kind of prose.
“Ally, would you be one of my bridesmaids?” Steph asks.
“I would be honored.” The way she says it is practiced, and I wonder how many brides she has stood up next to over the years. She was probably maid of honor at Nicki’s wedding, who (Ally had informed me at Margie’s) married a soldier in college and had a baby six months later. Ally is little Wyatt’s godmother, and when she showed me pictures on her phone, I nearly choked. Nicki and I weren’t exactly close, but I considered her a friend, and it’s surreal to think of her as a mother to an eight-year-old boy.
Emmett refuses to acknowledge the boy’s existence, even though they broke up years before Nicki and Wyatt’s father got together. Ally doesn’t understand his inability to let it go, but she’s married to the first person she fell in love with. She doesn’t understand that the rest of us still feel like our first love is ours forever, far beyond the point they’re no longer in our lives. Or so I’m learning.
“And, Ruby,” Steph says, “Emmett and I have talked about this, and I know you live in New York so if you want to say no, we totally understand, but I would love for you to be one of my bridesmaids too.”
I’m stunned. “Me?” I can’t imagine she’s serious. I met her less than a week ago, and she wants me to be a bridesmaid? A moment ago, I was wondering if I’d even be invited. If it weren’t for Danny dying, I doubt I would have been.
