Page 30 of Sweet Caroline
I nod and tug off my gloves as I jog back up the steps to take the call. When I pull out my phone, the name on the screen makes me pause. Cautiously, I swipe to answer.
“Hey, Benji, what’s up?” I haven’t talked to the guy since I left Seattle. Haven’t talked toanyof my old friends, really. I’d needed a clean break from my old life.
“Miiiiiiiles, man!” he drawls. “Fucking settle a bet for me. Settle a bet. Okay. Okay. What was that chick’s name?” There’s shouting and laughter in the background. “Fucking get off me, man!” he says to someone. There are struggle sounds in the background, then a thud. More laughter. “Miles, fuck, who was that chick at Chap’s work party? The one on the fuckin’ boat or whatever. Houseboat. The houseboat. She had that… that fuckin’ neck tattoo of the?—”
“Uh, I dunno, Benj.”
“—the snake—the cobra! Cobra. You remember her, man?” He sounds wasted. “Kayla? Makayla?”
I pull the phone from my ear to check the time. It’s 10:20 in the morning and these guys are already pissed. I take a beat to scourmy admittedly spotty memory. “Don’t really remember that party, dude. Sorry.”
“Aw, fuck,” Benji says, sounding disappointed. “She was fuckin’ hot, anyway.”
“Okay?”
This is awkward.
“Thought we could hook her up with Chap. I think his virginity is growing back— Ow! Hey!” More laughter in the background. “Maybe try not being such an ugly piece of shit, Chap, ever thought of that?”
“Is that it? Like, is this why you?—”
“Miles, what the fuck, bro? Haven’t talked to you in like… in like… I don’t even know. How the fuck are you?”
“Uh, I’m good…” I turn to Jude and hold up a finger like I need another minute—like this is an important matter of business and not some horrifying trip down drunk-memory lane.
Or no-memory lane, I guess.
“Yeah, I’m… I’m doing a lot better,” I say.
“Yeah?” Benji coughs loudly on the other end of the line. “That’s great, man.”
“Thanks.” I hesitate a beat, wondering whether to bother telling him. “I actually just met this girl and?—”
“Fuck, Chap, will you stop with the goddamn ice?” Benji shouts, and I can’t help the way his distraction deflates me a bit. “Bitch, if you come near me with that, I’ll… Shit! Ah!”
“Hey, I should?—”
“Chap just put ice down my shirt like afucking asshole,” Benji explains.
“Yikes,” is all I say.
Yeah, fuckingyikesis right.
Was this what I was like when I was sauced all the time?
“Hey, Benji,” I say over more shouting and laughter on his end. “I gotta run. I’m uh… working here.”
When I finally get a word in edgewise to say goodbye, I hang up and blow out a long breath, tapping my phone against my thigh a couple times before slipping it into my back pocket.
That was my life. Those were the assholes I called friends—too shitfaced to pay attention or listen. Or care.
My past life in Seattle suddenly feels like a parallel dimension to what I’ve built here. A fucking pathetic one. I make a mental note to thank Gus for showing up for me like an actual friend. We’d reconnected quickly when I moved home. Even when he was going through that rough patch, splitting up with Shay, he always made time for me. He’s solid like that.
Do they make “thanks for not being a piece of shit” greeting cards? It’s a pretty underwhelming sentiment, I guess, but it would probably still make him laugh.
When I collect myself, I jog down the steps to join Jude in gathering the piles of leaves he’s raked up from around the fire pit in the center of the garden.
“Who was that?” he asks, probably picking up on my soured vibe.
