Page 23 of Best I Never Had

As if surrendering to my silent curiosity, she swivels her entire body and grips my arm for support. “So, my boyfriend broke up with me six months ago,” she starts, her voice showing how badly this breakup is affecting her. “We’d been together for four years. We lived together and everything. And when I brought up our future, stuff like if he saw anything beyond our boyfriend and girlfriend status, he broke up with me. So I had to pack up my things and move in with Carmen.”

When her protruding lower lip begins trembling, I want to hug her. And when the hand she has gripped on my arm starts to slacken, I want to take it back and hold it between mine to let her know that this breakup doesn’t determine her worth.

“Anyway,” she continues, waving off her brimming emotions. “I found out last week that he’s getting married.”

“What?!” I shout. I realize a little too loudly when a couple of heads turn in our direction.

“And…I just got the invitation to the wedding tonight.”

“Hold up.” I stop her, my palms facing her. “So this asshole dumped you and found some other girl to marry. And he invited you to the wedding?”

“He’s not an asshole,” she weakly argues.

“Natalia,” I scold.How can she still defend him?

“And technically, it wasn’t him that invited me. It was his parents,” she explains. “His mom and my mom got pretty close while we were dating so…I guess they feel some sort of obligation to stay close with my family. I don’t really know…”

“You aren’t going, are you?”

She scrunches her eyes closed as if to blink away the pain. When she looks at me again, she shrugs before saying, “It would be rude not to go, right?”

“Who gives a shit, Nat?”

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she smiles weakly as if to say that she knows she shouldn’t go but isn’t going to be able to stay away.

“Is that why you texted me?” I finally ask. “’Cause you didn’t want to be alone tonight?”

She nods. “Yeah,” she whispers. “Sorry I can’t be better company.” She looks up at me through an apologetic smile.

“What are you talking about?” I tease. “This is the best conversation I’ve had all week.”

She chuckles lightly.

“It’s a hell of a lot better than sitting through another random date,” I assure. “I can only ask, ‘What’s your favorite color?’ so many times before realizing how much I don’t care.”

“Mine’s orange, by the way,” she offers with a slight tilt in her head.

“Whose favorite color is orange?” I ask, not even bothering to hide the disgust in her choice.

“Me,” she defends. “It reminds me of fall.”

I poke her side again before she gives me a small giggle.

9

Hayden

senior year

I’m sittingon the carpeted living room floor. My French textbook, a messy pile of flashcards, and a cold bowl of chocolate ice cream sit scattered in front of me. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose for what feels like the hundredth time since I’ve taken out my contacts after I came home from football practice. This is why I hate wearing these gaudy things. One would think after being prescribed them in fifth grade, I’d be used to them by now.

The TV is playing in the background with the sound of my mom and dad occasionally shouting out random letters and words to fill the final vowels to the Wheel of Fortune game on the screen.

“The promised band!” my mom shouts at the same time I look at the screen to see if she’s right.

“Land, Marsha,” my dad corrects. “The promised land.”

My mom rolls her eyes at my dad before huffing a sigh. “They don’tgive enough clues.”

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