Page 108 of Betting on the Best Friend
It is. Blessed be Saint Honoratus of Amiens. He’s the patron saint of the bakers of wafers, and I learned about him when I was helping a fourth-grader with a report for his Catholic school. I adopted him because my problems and causes feel so random and niche that a saint for wafer bakers felt right.
Anyway, Honoratus has my back, and no one else is home. I slink into my room, peel off my dress and leave it pooled on the floor, drop my shoes on top of it, and climb into the shower to seethe.
I do a good job of it, seething under the stinging hot water, seething as I blow-dry my hair on high because the violence fits my mood. I have gone from seething to sulking by the time I yawn and wish at least one of the besties was home to talk to.
What I am not is scared. Or stressed. Or anxious. I would be if this were a hopeless case, but it isn’t. I will not lose Charlie. This isn’t a situation where I have to figure out how to avert a crisis or rewire destiny to avoid a calamitous fate.
But Iamfrustrated that we can’t get on the same page at the same time. That he’s convinced he knows how I feel. That he’s so determined to protect himself that he’s planning an escape to Colorado, all to avoid the thing he claims to want most in the world: me. And he’s burying it under rock puns and acting like it’s noble! I punch my pillow.
Maybe I’m not done seething.
How do I get through to Charlie? What words do I say, what argument do I make? Right about now is when I could use a bestie. To vent. Or plot. Or both. But I already wore out Ava earlier at my parents’ house, and maybe I need to sleep on it. Sometimes I go to bed with a problem on my mind and my brain fixes it so I know exactly what I need to do when I wake up.
I nestle into my bed, turn off the lamp, and I yank my covers up to my chin like they’ve wronged me and all my ancestors.
At some point, I fall asleep because the next thing I know, Ava is standing at the foot of my bed giving my foot a gentle shake.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she says.
I pry my eyelids open and try to bring her fuzzy shape into focus. I consider her order and decide to pass, pulling my pillow over my head instead.
“Went great with Charlie, huh?”
“How’d you guess?” I mumble.
“The lack of euphoric texts telling me I’m going to be your maid of honor made me suspicious.”
I scoff beneath the pillow.
“Come out. Roommate meeting. We’ve got strong coffee and donuts.”
I lift the pillow. “I can’t eat donuts in the morning.”
“Which is why they’re for us and we got a breakfast burrito for you,” she says, smiling.
I get up and pad after her, barefoot and braless in my comfort pajamas.
Madison gives a soundless whistle when I emerge from the hall behind Ava. “It’s the PMS pjs. Get a second cup ready, Sami,” she calls toward the kitchen.
“Not PMS. Worse than PMS.”
“Boys can be,” Sami says. “Don’t start, I’m coming.”
Madison scooches up to make room for me on the sofa. Ava takes her favorite chair. Sami appears with a steaming mug and a burrito on a plate, then settles into the other armchair.
None of them says anything as I take my first sip. They all watch me quietly, like they have all the time in the world.
After two more sips and a bite of the burrito, I lean back and close my eyes. “I love y’all.”
“You love coffee,” Sami teases.
“True.” I straighten again. “And Charlie.”
She and Madison trade a look, and then Madison whoops. “Yes!”
Sami looks over at Ava. “Is this for real?” When Ava nods, Sami whoops too.
“Besties,” I say, over the noise, then point at my sad face.
