“That’s… Wow!” Zoe exclaims.
“Yeah. So I called Tris ‘cause it was 2 AM here, but she was asleep. So Brian talked me through it.” I lean back, rolling the stem of my goblet between my fingers. “I called Andy after. It went okay, I guess.”
“You guess?” Trista raises an eyebrow.
“He shut off completely,” I relay. “Again.”
“It’s so frustrating when that happens,” Trista observes, shooting a dirty look somewhere behind her, assumingly at my brother, and I’m the first to proclaim it’s totally warranted.
“Yeah, Andy kept saying how he isn’t any good for me anymore. It was so cryptic.” I look up at my friends as a sense of desperation fills me. “I think he’s really struggling, but I don’t know how to get through to him.”
“Do you want to?” Zoe asks in a soft voice, and I find myself nodding without even thinking first.
“He’s still a big part of who I was, and he’s hurting.”
“Okay.” Zoe takes a deep breath. “Then corner him.”
“What?” I stare befuddled as Trista nods in eager agreement.
“Make it so he can’t escape you,” Zoe clarifies, “until he realizes you’re not going anywhere, that you’re determined to be a part of his life, even if it’s just as a friend.”
“Though it will probably work better if you also sleep with him,” Trista chimes in, causing both me and Zoe to simultaneously scold her and roll around laughing.
“I admit he looks good, and he wears reading glasses now. Oh, my God.” I groan with a wicked smile as the girls howl and whistle. “But we can’t seem to be within ten feet of each other without the past bubbling over and pushing us apart.”
“It won’t stop until you hash it out,” Trista provides, tugging at the edge of her side braid. “That’s what happened with B. We just danced around everything important, and it ended up exploding in our faces.”
“Tris is right, babe. You guys have to air it out,” Zoe agrees. “Mac only started believing I’m in for the long run after he let me in, and he was used to shouldering his burden solo. Andy was always a run-with-a-pack sort of guy; it can’t be easy for him to be alone with everything that’s happened.”
“Right.” I lean back and process everything they’ve said.
“Do you have a crazy-brilliant plan?” Trista grins at me, and I laugh.
“No, I only seem to be able to come up with those for other people,” I reply with a heavy sigh. “I have a small, kind of normal plan, though.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Zoe observes. “Maybe normal is exactly what this situation needs.”
“Maybe it is,” I agree, already texting Leanne.
Andy
Knocking penetrates the fog in my brain. I guess I did manage to fall asleep, although not for long. Last I remember, I was watching the sun come up, and it’s just 9 AM, so I didn’t get more than three hours in.
It takes me a minute to register that the noise is someone pounding on my hotel door, and I bolt up in bed, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hitting me full force when I pull the door open, making me groan my appreciation.
“Sleeping beauty! You’re up!” Phoebe tries to sound teasing, but her eyes are fixed on the ceiling, and her cheeks are ablaze. Only then do I realize I’m in nothing but boxer shorts.
“Yeah, give me a sec.” That comes out more panicky than I would have liked, and I scurry to grab a shirt and sweats.
“I come bearing gifts.” She walks in when I emerge from the depths of the room again, fully dressed this time, her cheeks still colored pink as her eyes involuntarily jump between my face and chest. “I may have instructed Leanne to ask your assistant, June, what room you’re in.”
“She’s Gabe’s secretary,” I correct. “She’s a good kid, working her way through community college and looking at Berkeley Law School.”
“Berkeley, huh?” Phoebe smiles and hands me a large hazelnut latte and a paper bag with grease stains soaking through.
“Is this…?” She nods, and I grin with joy, my stomach rumbling at the thought of the almond croissant waiting for me.
“If June wants, I can put her in touch with Cory Macalister. He has a medium-sized practice in Berkeley and is always open for interns,” Phoebe offers.
“Who’s Cory?” I frown, not liking her referring to people I know nothing about with such ease. I used to know everybody in her life, no matter their importance.
“Mac’s uncle,” she explains as if it’s helpful, and I detect a hint of the mischief from last night when she pulled the Brian trick.
“Oh no, you’re not getting away with that twice!” I waggle my finger in her face and sit on the couch.
“You’re no fun,” Phoebe pouts before taking a sip from her coffee. “Mac is Zoe’s husband.”
“Hah! I knew it.” I smile in triumph.
“Good for you!” Phoebe mocks me with a smile.
“So, let’s get down to it—why are you here?” I inquire. “We already smoothed over the incident from last night.”
“I want to make something clear,” Phoebe starts. “What happened yesterday can never happen again.”
“It’s fine, Phoebe, you apologized, I accepted, water under the bridge.”
“Not just that, Andy.” She glares at me with intensity. “You can’t keep walking away from me every time the past surfaces, and it will keep rearing its head. So I suggest you start talking because as hard as the truth may be, I deserve it. All of it.”
“I can’t,” I respond warily, rubbing my hand over my face. “The boy you used to know, he died in the sandbox, Phoebs.”
“I think he just got injured. He’s struggling, but he’s still alive and kicking,” she observes. “Maybe if you let me in, he’ll have a fighting chance.”
“I have a lot of things to live with, Phoebe, things I don’t want you to have to live with as well.”
“Then let’s start with something simple,” she reasons. “Like why you came back to New York with me even though it was entirely unnecessary.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit.
“That’s not good enough, Andy.” Phoebe shakes her head.
“This is difficult for me, Phoebs,” I admit. “I never expected to be thrown together with you like this. I don’t know how to handle all it’s making me feel.”
“It isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me, either,” she argues.
“I don’t know if I want to be near you or not. I can’t tell what you want, or begin to think of how this could pan out.” I shake my head with a sigh. “All I know is that I don’t want to drudge up the past, and I don’t want you to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” Phoebe reassures me. “You’ve been on my mind a lot the last couple of months if I’m being honest.”
“I have?” I look at her with surprise.
“Because of Miles.” She’s picking at her perfectly manicured thumb, chipping at the nail polish, and she won’t meet my gaze. A sense of dread plops in the pit of my stomach like a cinder block.