Hope and Other Punch Lines(32)

“I’d pick the bakery,” I say.

“Really?” Noah asks, like I meant it seriously.

“Is there a coffee shop? That would be my top choice. No rotisserie chicken smell,” Julia says. “Or maybe I’d go the whole opposite direction. Lean into it. Sushi.”

“I hadn’t thought of sushi,” Jack says, considering. “But it’s not just about making out. I actually like him.”

“How about produce? You’d get those awesome thunder sound effects before the spritzing,” Noah says. “Very romantic, right? Like a summer rain shower.”

“You’re cute,” Julia says, turning to Noah. “How old are you again?”

“Almost sixteen.”

“Never mind,” Julia says, and pretends to swipe right with her hand. “Too young for me.”

Noah catches my eye over her head and exaggeratedly cocks his right eyebrow like he’s scandalized. I laugh.

“Not even a whole year younger than Abbi, though,” Noah says, and this time when he looks at me, he holds the eye contact, long enough that I feel it all the way down to my toes.



* * *



—

We sit on the back steps, me between Jack and Noah, and act like partygoing is a spectator sport. Julia found Charles, and now they’re across the lawn chatting but not really chatting. More like the kind of close-face talking that is the flirty precursor to kissing. If I knew she wouldn’t kill me, I’d totally stand up and cheer.

“I don’t think Brendan is coming,” Jack says, and leans all the way down to rest his weary head on my shoulder. I pet it because that’s what you do with an adorable head like his.

“He might,” I say. “And if he doesn’t, I think…”

I trail off because suddenly Cat is right in front of me, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. We have an unspoken rule. She might not have ducked into as many bathrooms as I did last year, but I know she has done her part to avoid me. Why stop now? I moved on, just like she wanted me to.

Cat has a goofy smile on her face. Friendly, slightly amused. Like nothing has changed, like the calendar has rewound a full 365 days and we are at this party together.

“Hey!” she says, not a hint of fear in her voice. I wonder if drinking has made her brave before I remember that Cat has always been brave. Her favorite life hack has always been unearned confidence. If you act like you know what you’re talking about, people believe you, she’d say. If you want something, ask. It’s not that hard.

This is a lie. It just wasn’t ever that hard for her.

How long has it been since we’ve actually spoken? Months. Cat and I spent almost a decade and a half in continuous conversation, and now she’s turned into a stranger. Except she’s not, because months don’t actually erase years, do they? I feel like all those words must still exist, like there’s a towering pile of them somewhere, though I can’t decide if they belong in a museum or a landfill. Who knows? Maybe they could find a home at the Baby Hope exhibit.

“Hi?” I’m not rude exactly, not as rude as I could be. Still, remembering how it all went down—how it felt to open up Instagram that day and to see confirmation that my friends had all left me behind—keeps me from tone matching. I wonder where Ramona and Kylie are and then realize I don’t care.

“I’m surprised to see you here! I mean…it’s cool that you are….” Cat stops, steadies herself. Starts over. “I mean, just because we aren’t best friends anymore doesn’t mean, you know, that we can’t be…”

“Can’t be what?” I ask, and I’m genuinely curious. What can’t we be? This seems as good a question as any, though I have a treasure trove of things I want to know from Cat: How did we become so different without my noticing? When did you become someone who could so easily disregard my feelings?

Or: Do you miss me too sometimes?

Or even: Are you okay?

Both Noah and Jack scoot closer to me.

Can’t be what? will have to do.

“You know. People who know each other,” Cat says.

“That’s the problem,” I say, looking straight into her drunk eyes, emboldened by Jack and Noah. Emboldened by the realization that Cat ended our friendship with a lie instead of an explanation. I deserved more than that, even if we’d have ended up in the exact same place. Turns out her answers aren’t the only ones that matter. “I’m not sure I actually know you anymore.”

Then I stand up, and so do Jack and Noah, and without saying anything else, the three of us walk away.

I mentally check “for once get the last word” off my bucket list.



* * *



—

“Thanks, guys,” I say a few minutes later, after I’ve taken a moment with my head between my knees to catch my breath.

“We didn’t do anything,” Noah says. He rubs my back a few times and I close my eyes, and when I open them again, he drops his hand.

“I normally run away and hide whenever she’s around.” My face warms again, and as I sit up the wooziness returns. “Wow, totally didn’t mean to admit that out loud.”

“I get it,” Jack says. “She’s a little scary.”