Page 31 of Friends with Benefits

My roomie? She’s not just my roomie. I scowl at her but she ignores me, seemingly hitting it off with Emily right away. Unsurprising really since they’re both pretty incredible. At least, I used to think Emily was incredible. Then I started to hate her. But now, watching her talk easily with Jess, I’m finding it hard not to remember how great she is. Twenty odd years of her being like my right arm might have something to do with that.

We eat around the outdoor table. Conversation flows. Wine flows. Whether it’s relief or wine, or that Jess and Emily are getting along, I feel content. Confused, absolutely. But not weird. Which is weird.

After dinner, Brooks, Kit and I clear the table and load the dishwasher. It’s the least we can do, given we’ve contributed in no other way. We decide during that time that we should make a fire on the beach.

Like the cavemen hunter gatherers that we so obviously are, in our tailored shorts and shirts, the three of us find wood and other scraps to use for kindling. But unlike cavemen, we light the fire with half a box of matches and a bottle of lighter fuel.

We bring a few fold-out chairs, a cool box of booze and a couple of rugs down onto the sand, then beckon the others. Becky brings down amazing cakes that ought to win awards for how stunning they look, and we pass them around with forks.

I sit on a rug with Jess by my side, sharing a cake Becky calls Opera with a Twist. Emily takes one of the fold-out chairs opposite us in the circle we have formed around the small flames. Izzy brings down her acoustic guitar.

‘I am so full,’ Jess moans, as she lifts another forkful of cake toward her mouth. ‘But this is too good to leave.’

I dart forward, wrapping my mouth around the forkful of decadence, toppling both of us in the process so we’re laughing in a boozy heap on the rug. ‘Thinking of your hips, babe,’ I tell her, receiving a well-earned elbow to the ribs in return.

As we sit, I catch Emily looking our way. She offers a slight and clearly forced smile, which kills the mood – at least for me. What was that about?

As Izzy starts to play her own songs, her voice soft, her words beautiful, I keep looking at Emily. Watching the way the light of the fire flickers across her skin, the way her eyes close and she rocks gently as she listens to Izzy play. I’m transported to Staten Island, sitting in our treehouse, watching her move this exact way as I played the guitar for her as a twelve-year-old kid. God, that was an easy time.

‘Does anyone else want to play?’ Izzy asks once she’s finished another song.

‘Would you mind?’ Emily asks. ‘I’m precious about people touching my guitar so I’d understand.’

‘No, please, go ahead.’

Emily takes the Fender and puts the strap over her head. She tunes the strings to her liking and I watch her settle into the guitar the way I used to tell her to do before she starts to play. I don’t realize I’m smiling until Jess prods my dimple with her finger.

Emily starts to pick the beginning of a tune I recognize. It’s RaeLynn’s ‘The Apple.’ She’s always loved country.

I watch her delicate fingers move across the strings, listening to every rasp and dip of her voice as she sings. I listen to her singing about biting into an apple and how that move started to make everything she knew unravel. I know she chose the song with intention.

The thing about Emily and me is that we always struggled to talk about feelings. We knew they were there, the way we knew everything about each other, but we never put them into words. Unless we put them into music.

Is it possible for your heart to ache? If it is, that’s what’s happening. As I realize how much I’ve missed her, how a part of me has been missing for three years, my heart is aching.

Emily moves on to play RaeLynn’s ‘Young,’ and I find myself singing along with her, both of us laughing as we hit pitchy notes. God, I’ve missed her so much.

But when she’s finished, and the moment has passed, I remember how much she hurt me.

‘Where did you learn to play like that, Emily?’ Izzy asks.

Emily looks at me. ‘My best friend taught me.’

‘Jake?’ Izzy asks, pointing the question to me. ‘You play?’

Emily stands, bringing the guitar to me. ‘Are you kidding? Jake is amazing on the guitar.’

‘It’s true,’ Brooks says from his spot on the floor, leaning back between Izzy’s legs as she sits in the chair behind him. ‘Get the kid singing Elvis. Come on, Jakey, let’s have the show.’

For some reason, I look at Jess, expecting her to be there to save me. This time, she just shrugs and sips her wine.

Shaking my head, I stand and accept the guitar from Emily with a scowl. I hook it over my shoulder, tune her up, and decide on ‘Suspicious Minds.’ I clear my throat and try to find my inner Elvis… tricky when I’m standing on a beach in the Hamptons barefoot, rather than on a stage in Vegas in a white jumpsuit.

‘All right, here goes.’

I play that famous intro and strut my best King voice.

By the time I hit the chorus, everyone is dancing and singing around the fire, proving how much booze we’ve consumed. At that part of the song where the volume drops then comes back full throttle, I go all out with my show, dropping one knee to the sand, King-style.

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