The Best Laid Plans(65)

“Why didn’t you tell me about that New Year’s party?” I ask suddenly, because I can’t stand the silence between us.

“I don’t need to tell you everything.” His tone is clipped, his posture straight and tense.

“Why are you mad?” I ask, because I can tell. He runs a hand through his hair, further proving my point.

“I’m not mad,” he says. “I just don’t get why you care. That I didn’t tell you.”

“I don’t care.” I realize we’re getting nowhere. We’re going to keep spinning in circles unless one of us starts speaking the truth. “So you’re a thing with Danielle now?” I turn to face him. Our eyes meet and I can’t stand it, so I look away and down at my hands, picking at my nails. I don’t ever paint them, but right now I wish I did, so I would have something to chip off.

“Yeah,” he says.

“What about Abby?” I ask. “You’re just done with her?”

“There was never anything with Abby.”

“Okay then, Cecilia?”

“Cecilia knew it was coming.”

“That still doesn’t mean it’s a very nice thing to do to someone.”

“Because you’re the expert on relationships.” His words sting.

“Some of these girls might actually like you, you know. Have you ever actually liked any of them?”

“Oh they might actually like me?” His tone is sharp. “Thanks for the reassurance. It’s good to know somebody might hook up with me because they want to—not just for practice.”

I feel the guilt of last night suddenly and completely, the stupid, stupid Plan spreading back over us like a virus. Even if we’ve claimed that nothing has changed, there’s no way we can go back to the way we were before. Our friendship is infected.

“That’s not what I meant.” I feel like I’m spinning out of control, like I need to find a handhold to steady myself but am grasping at air. “You’re good with girls, Drew. It’s not an insult. I just think—maybe you’re too good with girls. I mean, Sophie Piznarski really liked you, and you dumped her out of nowhere. And now it’s become this pattern—”

“That was freshman year. Are you seriously criticizing me for something like three years ago?”

“No!” I say. “But you haven’t had another girlfriend. You just move on to a new girl anytime you see something better. You haven’t dated anyone since.”

“Neither have you,” he says, throwing my words back at me. “Unless you’re dating Dean. But I really don’t think you see it that way.” I feel my stomach clench at his words. “And why am I supposed to have a girlfriend? Why are you pushing me?”

“I’m not.” I bring my hands up to rub my face. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I don’t want Andrew to have a girlfriend—especially not someone like Cecilia or Danielle—but somehow my words are coming out all wrong. “I just want you to stop acting like girls don’t matter. It’s insulting!”

“They know what they’re getting into,” he says, his voice rising. “And who are you to say they’re not just as into hookups as I am? You can’t shame girls for liking sex just because you don’t.”

His words feel like a slap in the face. I can feel the impact of them, red on my cheek.

We arrive at my house and he pulls the truck off the road and parks, but neither of us makes a move to get out. He takes a breath and lowers his voice back into a whisper. “And they’re not stupid. They know what they’re signing up for. Besides, I—”

“They know you don’t like them? That you’re just going to ditch them? How could they possibly know?”

“I tell them! I tell them all that I don’t want anything serious.”

I don’t know why I’m pressing him. It’s like I’m picking at a scab. “But why?”

“Because I’m already in love with someone!” His breath is ragged, like he’s just run a marathon. He brings a hand up to his hair, pulling on the ends of it so it’s sticking up wildly.

I feel stomach-punched at his words, like all the breath has been knocked out of me. How could he not tell me he was in love with someone? I thought we told each other everything. That’s what best friends do. We’re here for each other’s weird shit. We handle it.

I guess I’m not as good at reading him as I’ve always thought.

“Which one?” I ask, my voice soft.

“What?” He seems dazed and he’s blinking at me like he’s just noticed I’m there.

“Which girl?” I ask. “Who are you in love with?”

He scoffs, a short breathy sound that gets caught in the back of his throat. “It doesn’t matter.” All of the energy seems drained out of him.

“No, it does matter,” I say. “I’ve always helped you with girls, haven’t I?”

He laughs a little, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. “I didn’t mean to tell you this when you were drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” I feel a little light-headed, but I haven’t been drinking wine now for a few hours. And this conversation has certainly sobered me up. “Have you told her?”