Friend Is a Four Letter Word (7 page)

“What are we toasting to again?” I ask, sipping on the soda and wishing I had something stronger to pour into it to liven this evening up.

“To what promises to be an amazing evening.”

“Cheers,” I say, but I don’t quite manage to match Nolan’s eager grin.

I’ve been to Nolan’s place before, briefly. Usually it’s because he forgot something, or we were meeting up here before we went on one of our dates to watch him fence. This time is different though, because I’m here to hang out.

To actually spend time with this guy I’ve known for months, but still hardly know.

I walk over to the display case full of swords. I’ve seen them before, but never bothered to really look at them or comment on them.

“Are these all of the same?” I ask, knowing that talk of fencing will at least break some of the ice. He loves to talk fencing… even though the immature voice in my head wants to make jokes about sword size.

“These two are. They’re sabers,” Nolan says pointing to the two swords at the top of the display. He leans in over my shoulder and his breath ruffles the hair on the nape of my neck. “This one is a foil, and this one, with the stiffer blade down here,” he pushes the hair off of the back of my neck and presses his warm lips to the skin, exactly where I imagined Carter kissing me when I read his silly boiled peanuts text. “That’s my favorite. The
épée
.”

I swallow hard and pull away, so his lips aren’t in that place that feels, inexplicably, like it belongs to Carter. “What’s so great about that one?”

I spin toward Nolan, my back up against the wall now. He presses in closer and puts his hands on either side of my head as he leans toward me, his light blue eyes focused on my face. “With the
épée
, no part of the body is off limits.”

I clear my throat, duck under his arms, and start to pace. “Do you have anything to drink?” I ask, my voice an octave higher than normal.

“You feeling okay? Do you want to sit down?” Nolan shoots me a look of real concern.

“Yeah, sure.” I sit in the small arm chair. Seating for one. I watch as he rushes away, cynically wondering if it’s just that he wants to be sure I’m comfortable enough to pick up the makeout session where he left off.

Nolan calls from the kitchen. “I’ve got water, juice, I think I have some beer in here somewhere—”

“You have beer?” I ask with a scoff that borders on impolite.

Nolan glances up from the fridge, the bluish light making him look washed out. “Yes, I have beer, Shayna. Don’t sound so surprised.”

“But, I thought… do your parents know?” I can’t keep a straight face as I say it.

He gazes back into the fridge, moving things back and forth like he’s checking behind them for something. “Know what?” His voice echoes out from the fridge, making it sound far away.

I know it’s not nice, but I poke at him anyway. He’s another pastor’s kid. He’d understand better than anyone what that’s like. “That you’ve thrown away your values and morals and—”

Nolan rounds the kitchen counter and comes back into the living room with two beers, which he puts down on the scuffed coffee table. “That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Your missing values?” I rub my now sweaty palms down the length of my skirt.

“No, not really, but okay here’s the thing.” He saunters closer to me and takes one of my hands in his. Oh dear God, please do not let my mother’s hopes come true. “We’ve been together for almost a year now—”

“Seven months, it’s only been seven months,” I say, desperate to stop this proposal in its tracks.

Nolan cracks a proud smile. “Ah, so you’ve been keeping track. Alright, well, seven months it is. I just—” he brushes the hair off of my forehead and I go into an early state of hyperventilation. “Do you think you may want to try staying the night tonight, Shayna?”

“What? Wow…” Okay. My pulse calms. So, not a proposal after all. Relief buckles my shoulder blades.

But then my spine stiffens because I realize Nolan is talking about sex. Maybe not right away, maybe not tonight. But eventually.

Up until now, the physical aspect of our relationship would probably put some handsy middle school kids to shame. I keep waiting. Hoping that I’ll feel something for him that I just don’t, but it hasn’t happened yet.

“I don’t mean to catch you off guard,” he says.

He looks me up and down, taking in every curve before his eyes settle on my collarbone. I can feel them burning into my skin. He reaches out and runs his thumb across the skin where his eyes have already seared me.

I’d be lying if I said his touch didn’t feel good. It does. I want to want him, because, frankly, the release would likely feel amazing after so long.

But it’s still a slap in the face to the promises that I made to my parents—and myself.

My phone buzzes through my purse, and my heart leaps wondering if it’s Carter. Which is the last shred of evidence in the case against taking things further with Nolan.

“Nolan,” I say. I clasp my hand over his own palm, which is now wandering away from my collarbone and, instead, teasing the straps of my dress into slipping off my shoulders.

“So it’s still too soon? Okay, that’s cool,” he says. He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking defeated.

I could say yes. It’d make him happy, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’d said yes to having sex with a guy I wasn’t totally interested in. But that was my choice, and I knew I could walk away the next day.

Saying yes to sleeping with Nolan would only cement this sham of a relationship I have with him.

Because in my gut, I know it will never amount to anything. No matter how much my parents wish it so. The truth is, they tried to change me by bringing a guy into my life. And I let them, because I wanted a different life.

But not this. Not with him.

I care about Nolan too much. And for the first time that I can remember, I care about myself too much, too.

“Nolan,” I say. His face falls as I take a step back away from him. “You are amazing. A really, really great guy.”

“Ouch,” he says, cocking a small smile. “I feel a ‘but’ coming on.”

“There’s no ‘but.’ You’re great. I love spending time with you. As a friend, you know?”

The color drains from his face. That word—
friend?
It may as well have been a saber to the gut.

I drive home in silence. No radio. No phone calls. The only noise in the car is the tick-tick of my blinker as I sit waiting for the world’s longest train to pass. I remember some cheesy metaphor my dad told me once about people being like trains, and though they may make unscheduled stops, they always arrive at the proper destinations.

I’m the opposite right now. I’m finally at the place that I’ve feared most my entire life: Unmoving. Stagnant.

I don’t want to go back to the way I was in high school. I don’t want the comments circulating around town again. I don’t want my parents to feel ashamed of me. But I don’t want this either. My parents wanted to help mold me into a proper Southern daughter, but I don’t know who this person is. The real me could just as easily be found in the church lost and found now, stuffed between left behind coats, ties and baby toys. Things that were not really missed and easily replaced—with a newer, better version. And that’s exactly what I became.

It’s in this moment, where the train traveling on the tracks is matching the tick of my turn signal that I think of Quinn. And one of the last things she said to me when we talked last. When I heard her bickering with Ben, who was in the background laughing. I told her she sounded happy.

She said, “I am. For once I really am. Things can change.”

I need to be that damn train.

And suddenly, I know exactly what I need to do.

I slide my key into the lock and hold my breath as I turn it. Then curse under my breath as the front door creaks open wide enough for me to slip into the dark house.

I half expect Mom to be sitting in the entryway with balloons and a congratulations banner. What will she say when tomorrow she wakes up and not only am I not engaged to Nolan, but… I’m leaving town?

I am.

I think.

Damn it! I wish there was an easier way to figure this all out. A map, a guidebook, some kind of sign from heaven above to let me know what I should do. Right now, I just need the comfort of the familiar, of my room.

Thank God the house is dark and silent. I tiptoe up the stairs to my room and lock the door behind me.

In the bottom drawer of my desk there’s a stash of tiny bottles of liquor. I haven’t dragged them out in months, so I waste no time unscrewing the first cap and draining the bottle of its cheap vodka. It burns going down, but in the most delicious way. In the way that screams, “I’ve missed you, old friend.”

I uncap another.

My suitcases are all in the storage closet and I’m not about to go back down the hall and lug them into my room. I have an old duffle bag that I got from some Walkathon fundraiser crammed in the back of my bedroom closet. I guess that’ll work. I have to pretty much scale the shelves to reach it and nearly take them all down with me when I lose my footing. I freeze where I land on the plush carpet, listening for any movement downstairs.

When I’m sure the sound of my fall didn’t wake my parents, I start filling the bag with clothes in between sips of gin. The gin may not mix well with the vodka I just sucked down, or maybe it’s just that I haven’t had anything to drink in so long that I’m a lightweight now… because I feel much drunker than I think I should.

I climb up onto my bed and decide to rest for a minute, try to get my head straight. I can’t count the number of times I snuggled in this bed dreaming about what I would do with my life if I were just brave enough, just strong enough. I’d go to sleep sure that I’d be able to follow through on all the promises the night held by morning.

But the morning would come, and I’d stay put, unhappy and feeling like a phony in my own life.

I think about my parents, my adoption, my non-relationship with Nolan, my non-relationship with Carter… is there a single thing about my life that’s real, that I can count on?

I decide to push all the crap away and focus on the liquor coursing through my veins and the small comforts I can always turn to when I’m freaking out.