Page 6 of The Choices I've Made
Dean Sutherland.
My childhood best friend. Growing up, it had always been Dean, Molly, and me—the three amigos.
“As I live and breathe.” I grinned, surprised by the sudden emotions hitting me.
I’d been dreading coming back here, facing the music for my sudden departure all those years ago.
But seeing Dean? Here and now? It was nothing short of a blessing.
We met somewhere in the middle, hugging like men always did—a hefty pat on the back while we both grinned like fucking idiots.
“I wondered if we might be seeing you,” he said before his face turned somber. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
I nodded. “Me, too.”
He motioned me over to the far corner where he’d already devoured half of a sandwich and a couple of bags of chips. We each took a seat as Dean struggled to find the words, deep creases lining his forehead as his eyes stared into mine.
“He fought it, you know? Every step of the way, he tried to stay healthy enough for everyone. But, eventually, it caught up to him.”
“The liver can only take so much,” I said, shaking my head, as I tried not to imagine the memories of my father huddled over a bottle of gin late at night.
“But enough about that. How the hell are you, buddy?”
That shit-eating grin of his, which had coaxed me into a world of trouble, spread across his face. God, I’d missed this guy.
“Good,” I answered. “I’m really good.”
He pushed a tendril of sun-kissed hair from his face, giving me a second to notice the lines around his dark green eyes that hadn’t been there before. He was still as good-looking as ever, but the years were showing.
They showed on all of us, I guessed.
“Your dad never stopped bragging about you. When you graduated from Stanford and moved to Boston for that fancy residency, you would have thought he’d won the damn lottery.”
“If only he had.” I laughed, remembering the mountain of debt I’d been left with to pay after my father’s drinking habit and poor judgment depleted every dime we’d had.
“Well, at any rate, he kept us up to date on your life.”
His eyes met mine, and I nodded, feeling the regret heavy on my shoulders.
“I know I should have checked in, visited, or at least called. But you know how it is.”
He didn’t, I was sure…but he agreed anyway, nodding his head as stilted silence settled around us.
Thankfully, the waitress chose that moment to stop by the table, giving me a thankful pause down memory lane.
“I’ll have a turkey sandwich. No mayo and light on the cheese,” I requested, watching Dean’s smile falter.
“Did you turn into a chick while you were away? Who the hell doesn’t want cheese?”
I laughed, loving the way he still said whatever the hell was on his mind regardless of the consequences.
“Gotta keep this impressive physique in shape,” I joked, patting my flat stomach.
“Good Lord, you’ve turned into a dingbatter for sure,” he said as the waitress walked away to place my order.
“God, that’s a word I haven’t heard for ages,” I replied, shaking my head at the local term for an idiot mainlander.
“Well, you’d better get used to it. You show up in those frilly ass clothes, spouting off words likephysique, and you’re going to get your head dunked in the tide.”
