Page 44 of The Comeback Summer

We do, and he pulls away, staring straight ahead. A flush is creeping up the back of his neck. He’s embarrassed, I realize. He was excited to share something with me—a joint memory, something unique to our friendship—and it didn’t turn out like he hoped. While I was pondering the meaning of life, he was feeling stupid for taking me to stare at a run-down post office.

“It was cool to see the location,” I say, tentative. “Crazy to think Chicago has changed so much.”

But he’s still twitchy, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.

“Josh, it’s okay—”

“I’m sorry,” he says abruptly. “It was dumb of me to bring you here. But you know, typical Josh, not thinking things through. Getting all excited and not paying attention to the details.”

The way he says those words—it almost sounds like he’s reciting something he’s been told.

“Do people say that about you?” I ask.

“Sometimes. I mean, yeah. And it’s true. One of the many reasons I’m difficult to live with.”

A flicker of indignation makes me sit up straight. “Wait. Who told you that?”

He exhales and shakes his head. “My ex-girlfriend,” he says. It’s strange to hear those words, to remember that Joshhas had this entire life I know nothing about. “And I can’t blame her. I’m not detail oriented. I’d forget to pick up what she needed at the grocery store—”

“Everyone does that sometimes—”

“Put expensive cheese in the cupboard instead of the fridge—”

“That’s an honest mistake—”

“Get absorbed in something at work and lose track of time and not answer her texts and rush into the restaurant fifteen minutes late to her birthday party.” He shrugs. “See? Difficult to live with.”

“Josh, that’s—” I sputter, feeling defensive of him. “That’s complete bullshit.”

He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “It’s not, and you know it. Remember that business calculus class we took in college? I would’ve failed if not for you. And even now, with meds and lists and reminders, I’ll always be scattered and disorganized.”

“But that’s not the whole truth about you,” I say. “You’re also creative, and funny and engaging, and incredibly thoughtful—”

“You don’t have to—”

“Maybe you don’t remember what to get at the grocery store, but you remember specific things about people, for years! Like that meerkat you made me. And when you planned this run—”

“That totally bombed.”

“—it meant a lot to me.” My voice echoes in the quiet car, earnest in a way that makes me feel exposed. This cuts too close to admitting how much I care about him, how much I missed him. “And about this ex-girlfriend. Everyone has imperfections. I’m sure she did, too. But if she couldn’t handle your weaknesses or appreciate your strengths, that reflects on her. Not you.”

It’s similar to what I told Libby, and I’m grateful for my grandmother’s wisdom, which has come in handy twice today. Not that any of it seems to have gotten through to Josh. He’s staring straight ahead, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel while we wait for the light to turn green.

“To be fair,” he says after a beat, “once I fell asleep in the middle of a conversation with her. She was telling me about an issue at work and I just...” He closes his eyes and pretends to fall asleep, letting out a snore.

I crack a smile. “Okay, yeah, that would be a little annoying.”

He’s broken the tension; Josh has always been good at that, but now I wonder if he thinks he needs to be funny and charming to compensate for what he sees as his flaws.

I lean my head against the back of the seat, hesitating before I ask the next question. “So. This ex-girlfriend...”

“Kayla. We broke up almost a year ago,” he says, his voice even. “But we lived together for a year before that, and I was going to ask her to marry me. Bought a ring and everything.”

My chest constricts. Josh saving up for a ring, planning a proposal. All the things I thought he would do for me.

But also, an unexpected swell of sympathy. Josh got his heart broken by the person he thought he was going to spend his life with. I know all too well how that feels. I could point that out, rub his face in it.Doesn’t feel great, does it?

But it’s obvious that he’s still hurting. And it’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. Neither do I. Hearing about Josh’s past relationship reminds me that we have successfully avoided talking aboutourrelationship—particularly how it ended. If we’re going to try being friends, we can’t leave this hanging between us. I’m not sure I’m ready to face it yet, but I’m not ready to go home and call it a day, either.

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