One Big Mistake: a friends to lovers rom-com

by Whitney Barbetti

  “It does matter, doesn’t it?” I asked her when she remained silent. “I’m not even thinking about that. I thought Tori could come and hang out. She was my girlfriend a hundred years ago, like that Jason what’s-his-face was yours.”

  “Jason?” That pulled her from her quiet. “You mean Jerry.”

  “Yeah, whatever J-name it was. He was always just Jackass to me.”

  “He wasn’t a jackass.”

  I gave her a pointed look. “When you fell off the inner tube he was hauling, who came out to rescue you?”

  “You did.”

  She’d just been bobbing in the water as Jackass laughed with his buddies over her wipeout. I’d grabbed the closest jet ski and zoomed out to her, my heart thundering in my throat the whole time. “Yeah, I did. And then I nearly drowned his ass that night.”

  “I remember.”

  “People die in that lake from being clipped by boats. He was drinking and shouldn’t have been driving. So, Jackass.”

  “Okay.” She met my gaze steadily, solemnly.

  “Anyway.” I shook my head, bringing myself back to the topic at hand. “I’m not gonna go sneak off and have sex with Tori. She’s coming to watch movies with us. We’ll have some dinner. Like friends do.”

  “Right.” Navy sniffed and grabbed her phone. She was upset, it was so clear. In that sniff, I heard her hurt. “Like friends do.”

  I’d said the wrong thing. And I knew it. “If this is about last Friday night—”

  “What?” Navy wasn’t good at hiding her expression and I could read the fake confusion on her face like a neon bar sign. “It’s not.”

  “Sure it is.” I put my key into the ignition. “And when you’re ready, we can talk about it.”

  “We don’t need to talk about it.”

  I turned the key. “We do. It’s been causing a divide between us since it happened. And I don’t even like calling it an it. So, we’ll talk when you’re ready.”

  It wasn’t until we’d pulled out of the parking lot that Navy spoke again. “What if I’m never ready to talk about it?”

  If I thought she was upset before, she looked totally wounded when I said, “Then I guess, things never will be the same between us.”

  But I wasn’t entirely sure that was what I wanted anymore.

  That night, after Violet had long fallen asleep, I put in one of the terrible movies that she’d vetoed and pulled out my phone.

  Even just a week ago, when I was stuck up late at night, I would text Navy and ask her how she was doing. I wanted to know how she was doing. But after our silent ride back to her aunt’s house and then my even quieter drive back out to the cabin, things had been weird and even tense between us. Should I text her? I didn’t want to pressure her to talk about things, but in some other ways I did, too. I didn’t want her backed into a wall, but I did want her to talk to me like we had before.

  “Fuck,” I said, tossing my phone on the other end of the couch. Maybe it had all been a big fucking mistake. None of my guy friends had the kind of friendship with a female like I had with Navy—usually they’d fucked it up like I had. Were we doomed to a friendship that would slowly dissolve over time because of that one night?

  Though I thought I wanted things to go back to the way they had, I knew they never could. Not just because I now knew what she looked like naked—it was more than that. There were things brewing inside of me, things that would come to the surface soon. I just hoped we were both ready when they did.

  Realizing I’d tossed my phone like a grumpy toddler, I scooped it back up and read Asa’s text about tomorrow.

  Asa: I’ve got the stuff to shingle your roof. Be there at eight.

  My brother wasn’t as loquacious as he used to be. I replied with a K and opened Facebook, scrolling endlessly. I was restless. Nothing was catching my attention. I saw photo after photo of my friends, gave a like to a few photos, but it felt so shallow to me.

  Realizing I was only avoiding what I really wanted to do, I opened up my text messages and selected Navy’s name.

  Me: I’m sorry.

  Those two words were loaded.

  I’m sorry for pushing you when we were in the truck.

  I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

  I’m sorry things are weird.

  I’m sorry I made them weird.

  I’m sorry if you want to sweep it all under the rug.

  I’m sorry I can’t.

  Navy: Me too.

  I read her reply over and over, then I typed and deleted and typed and deleted until I gave up, tossing my phone onto the coffee table and adjusting my pillow. It wasn’t the answer I wanted, but I hadn’t exactly opened up Pandora’s box with my message to her. We would need to talk, eventually, but as Violet had so emphatically articulated earlier in the day, eventually wasn’t now. It could wait.

  I just hoped I could be patient.

  16

  NAVY

  “How are you feeling?” I pressed a hand to Violet’s back as we walked into the obstetrician’s office. It’d taken a week to get an appointment at the office. There was an OB/GYN office in Amber Lake, but I’d made an appointment at a hospital twenty minutes away from the cabin, which put it over an hour away from Amber Lake. The fear of wagging tongues made me seek out an out of town office, and the fact that I wanted to keep her as far away as possible from people who might recognize her. My morning shift at the music store had run late, which meant I’d drove like a bat out of hell after swinging by to pick Violet up.

  “Fine.” She stretched backward, which pushed her little tummy more forward. If she wasn’t so slim, I might not have noticed the slight way her stomach protruded. Her bruises had begun to fade in the week since she’d arrived, and she was still somewhat quiet—more than normal for her, anyway. “If you let me borrow your car, you wouldn’t need to worry about driving me to appointments.”

  But then she wouldn’t have me there to pay for her appointment. Since Violet didn’t have health insurance, everything would be out of pocket until we could set her up with something—if that was even possible. Just another thing to worry about.

  She gave her name to the reception and handed them the check I’d prepared in advance. I had no clue how much pregnancies cost, but if one appointment was two-hundred and fifty out of pocket, times however many appointments she’d have until she gave birth, I estimated we’d be well into the thousands before this baby was even born.

  Violet sat in the empty seat beside me and played on her phone as we waited, one hand absentmindedly gliding across her stomach like she was playing a little song just for her baby.

  It was still hard to imagine my baby sister having a baby. The sister I’d fed in the middle of the night when our parents were out partying, the sister I’d soothed when she had nightmares, the sister I’d taught how to apply eyeliner, the sister I’d hugged after her first heartbreak in high school—that sister was soon going to be responsible for another human’s life.

  She hummed as she played some colorful candy game, to a song I recognized from our childhood, a song our mom often played for us, Faithfully by Journey.

  If I closed my eyes, I could remember good times with my parents. It wasn’t always bad—the spaces between our many moves were punctuated with nights where Mom and Dad danced in the kitchen, picking up Violet and I and dramatically serenading us. This was before the twins came around and life really fell apart for them. Once they were outnumbered, they just didn’t know what to do anymore. Luckily my aunt was there to pick up the slack, but it was a miracle they hadn’t continued to procreate and dump more babies off on her.

  Out of the four of us, Violet was the most like our mother in looks and disposition. She had her deep olive Mediterranean skin, like I did, but she had our mom’s hazel eyes and curly hair. Also like our mother, she was kind of dreamy, quick to fall in love, and too gentle to stay mad at for too long. All of which had likely made her a target for her asshole ex-boyfriend. I hoped that
those parts of Violet would come back. I didn’t worry about her becoming like our mother because though she was my little sister, she didn’t have the same delusions that the twins had about our mom. She didn’t have a fairy tale image of some magical life before our aunt stepped in. Unfortunately, she’d learned the hard way what an absent mother was like.

  She continued to hum the song that held so many good memories for me, and I closed my eyes, letting the song take me away from the troubles of the moment.

  “Navy?” Violet nudged me. “Do I need to tell them about the abuse?”

  My eyes snapped open as I considered. “I…”

  “You still volunteer at the women’s shelter right?”

  “Not recently.” It’d been months since I’d spent any amount of time in the kitchen at the shelter. “I mostly just bring toiletries and stuff like that by.”

  “But you used to. The women who were abused, do you know if they told their doctors?”

  I closed my eyes a moment, thinking. It had been a while since I’d actually spoken with a woman at the shelter, but the one that stuck out in my mind provided the answer Violet was asking for. “I am relatively positive that if you self-report domestic violence in this state, the health care provider is required by law to report it to local law enforcement.”

  Violet’s eyes went wide. “But… th-that can’t happen. I can’t let this get back to Tyler. He’ll find out where I am. If he…”

  I stopped her with my hand covering hers and angled my head forward, reminding her to keep her voice low. “Then you don’t report it. Most of your bruises are fading.” I squeezed. “Don’t worry. Whatever happens, we will get through it. Pinky promise.”

  She hooked my proffered pinky with hers. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not with anyone else.”

  I nodded because I understood. Eventually, she’d need to talk about it with someone who was able to appropriately help her—more than I could, at least. But she’d had too many choices taken from her already; I’d let her decide when the right time for that conversation was.

  “What if they figure it out?” Violet’s whispery voice went high pitched and I squeezed to gently remind her to quiet. “Can I ask them not to report?”

  “No, I don’t think you can. I believe they’re obligated to. But you don’t have to talk about it. This appointment is about your baby.” I swallowed. “That’s all that matters. That baby. Keep the focus on the baby. You’re going to get to see that little guy or girl on the screen, for the first time. Remember that, think about that.” Thinking about it gave me a lump in my throat, so I could only imagine how she felt.

  “Violet,” a nurse called from the door.

  Violet turned to me, eyes wide and searching.

  “Go. After they do the standard exam, I’ll join you for the ultrasound. It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  Violet stood on shaky legs and made her way toward the door, giving me one last look before she disappeared beyond it. I gave her a reassuring smile but the moment she was out of my view, I let out a breath. How had I not thought of them questioning her about the abuse sooner? I should have scheduled her appointment after her bruises had entirely faded. But I hadn’t.

  I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. I was supposed to protect her, keep her safe. If her doctor found out about the domestic violence and reported it, Violet could be in more danger.

  Out of habit more than anything, I pulled out my phone and saw the text message I’d missed from Delilah.

  Delilah: I don’t think I can stay late tonight. Something’s come up.

  How would my aunt have handled a situation like this? I wasn’t sure, so I replied.

  Me: What’s come up? There are only a few hours until close.

  Delilah: I have something going on.

  Immediately, my mind went to something too personal that she couldn’t share. I couldn’t very well force her to work if there was a personal crisis. I sighed, knowing I’d have to drop Violet off at the cabin immediately after this and race back to Amber Lake.

  Me: I’ll be back in town in an hour and a half. Can you make it until then?

  Her reply was immediate: That’s fine.

  I rolled my head, cracking my neck. The tension in my neck and shoulders was too tight to be fixed from a few neck rolls, but a massage just wasn’t in the cards right now. Just a couple more weeks, and my aunt would be back. She had magic when it came to scheduling. And Delilah loved my aunt too much to bail on her.

  Since I had to wait an indeterminate amount of time before joining Violet for her appointment, I texted Hollis.

  Me: Sorry again that I had to bail last weekend.

  Between the store and the twins’ end of school activities, I’d had to cancel the movie date with Keane and my standing girls’ night with Hollis. I hadn’t even seen her since everything had happened, hadn’t uttered a single word over what had been going on. Violet had given me free rein to tell Keane and Hollis, but it just didn’t feel like a conversation for a text. And telling her what had happened with Keane also didn’t feel like something I could casually text.

  Hollis: It’s okay! I went to one of Adam’s shows in Denver instead, so it worked out. How does this Friday night look?

  Friday, two days away. Knowing that I closed with Roger that day, I replied: Friday’s good. I get off work at seven, if that’s okay?

  Her reply came right away: See you then!

  I was glad to get to spend time with her since it’d been too long. When I’d moved out of my aunt’s house, I’d gotten an apartment all to myself. Which had been nice for a while, but when I realized I was a big wuss late at night alone in an apartment, Hollis had moved in with me. And then, for a few months, Tori moved in—bunking in Hollis’s room until she found a place. Luckily, she and I had mostly avoided each other. I didn’t explicitly dislike her, but I felt uneasy around her. She was a live wire; spontaneous and dangerous, always scrutinizing and analyzing your every word, every movement. She was funny, but shrewd. Silly, but intelligent, and didn’t take shit from anyone. And for someone like me, who couldn’t hide her feelings, that combination was a nightmare.

  Which was why Tori coming to the cabin this Sunday had not stopped causing me anxiety. I’d been able to cancel this past Sunday’s movie night easily, but I couldn’t very well do that two weeks in a row. Especially considering that the last time Keane and I spent time in person together had been the week before, when he’d told me we needed to talk about what happened that one night.

  Things were so weird between Keane and me. We didn’t do this, go long spurts without talking. Even if we didn’t spend time together in person, we still checked in with each other over a call or text. But he hadn’t replied to my last text. Me too.

  We’d shared a few memes, a few laughing emojis. But we hadn’t talked since his apology and my two-word reply.

  I was at a loss. I was sorry that things were weird; I was sorry that I couldn’t push through those feelings and figure out how to be Navy, Keane’s best friend. Instead I was Navy, Keane’s best friend who he slept with.

  I pulled up his text thread, scrolling through memes and gifs and selfies he’d sent me. There was one from one of Adam’s concerts that he’d driven to in Salt Lake. Another selfie with him hugging a dog and the text: Should I kidnap it? I should, right? There was a selfie he’d sent me at a party when we’d lost each other. He was pointing to a framed canvas above his head, which was how I’d found him. A few news stories, a few funny Reddit threads. I stopped on an article he’d sent me about the solar system and remembered our conversation that night we’d eaten ice cream on the trampoline.

  I pulled up a search engine and typed: Planet Nine. After reading through a few articles, I found one that hypothesized Planet Nine might not even be a planet, but a black hole. I copied it and pasted it in our text thread.

  Immediately after I sent it, I regretted it. Keane, a lover of planets, surely wouldn’t be thrilled that the planet he w
as thinking about might actually be a black hole. So here I was, delivering potentially not-fun news.

  But his reply came a few minutes later.

  Keane: A black hole. That’s fucking rad.

  I rubbed my thumb over his message, a smile playing on my lips. Who knows what lies beyond? I texted.

  Keane: No one knows. You can’t get close to one, because you’d be ripped to smithereens. Thanks, Albert Einstein.

  I scrunched my brow. What does Albert Einstein have to do with this?

  Keane: Einstein’s theory of general relativity. Theory of gravity. When you were a kid, and you pulled the plug on your bathtub water and you saw the little water tornado pulling all your dirty water down the drain? A supermassive black hole is like that. If you get caught close enough to a black hole, the gravitation acceleration is so strong that you’re not going to escape that shit. Buh-bye.

  Me: That’s… uplifting.

  Keane: Yeah, it is. Space is fucking great. How are you, btw?

  The smile that had formed on my lips faded a bit at the acronym. It was dumb. It was just an acronym. But in the entire life of my friendship with Keane, he’d never needed to ask me how I was doing by the way. He’d known already.

  But it was my fault, really. I’d been the one to push him away, as subtly as I could.

  As I thought of how to answer, the door Violet had disappeared through opened and Violet was there, waving me back.

  “We’re doing the ultrasound,” she said, her eyes bright. I couldn’t immediately tell if they were bright because she’d been crying or if it was excitement that lit her up. I took her hand at the door, and she squeezed, giving me a reassuring smile—probably an echo of the one I’d given her before she’d left the waiting room. I breathed a sigh of relief.