Always Never Yours(47)

I shrug. She’s not wrong. With last night weighing on me, of course I’m snarkier than normal. “This is just me at six a.m.,” I mumble. I feel her scrutinizing me, but after a second she resumes digging with a little more force than before.

“Do you think I give up too easily?” I ask abruptly. The thought’s been burning in my head since Owen and I talked on Anthony’s couch. Madeleine’s been my friend for a lot longer than Owen. She’d have perspective he doesn’t.

She straightens up once more, this time pausing with one foot planted on her shovel. “Give up on what?”

“On everything. You know . . .” I hesitate, reconsidering. It’s not everything, really. I haven’t given up on SOTI, haven’t given up on Anthony or Madeleine herself, even when we fight. “On relationships,” I finish.

“This is about Will,” Madeleine says knowingly.

“Yeah, Will, and everyone, I guess,” I go on. “I’ve had a ton of boyfriends, but I’ve never been in a relationship longer than four months.” I’d never thought anything of it before, but pondering Owen’s words in bed at 2 a.m., it began to depress me.

“Well, you shouldn’t waste your time when a relationship’s not working.” She pulls off her bandana and wipes her face with it.

“But what if I’m too quick to think a relationship’s not working? I was ready to give up on Will after one awkward night and seeing Alyssa flirt with him. Which, you know, Alyssa flirts with everyone. Everything.”

Madeleine doesn’t laugh. She puts a hand on her hip. “Why are we talking about this?” She sounds slightly exasperated. God forbid I disturb her community-service time.

“I don’t know. Just looking back, it feels like I was too quick to . . . write some of them off.” I’m using Owen’s exact phrasing, I realize.

“But . . . Tyler was different,” she says slowly.

I point my trowel into the soil and shovel out more dirt. The motion comes easier this time, like I’m finding a rhythm. It feels good, even. “I guess. I mean—” I stop myself, realizing who I’m talking to. “It’s not like I want him back,” I quickly reassure her. “It’s just, maybe I let things fall apart with Tyler and with my other boyfriends, too.”

From the look on her face, I know my reassurance didn’t work. Blood has started to color her alabaster cheeks in uneven splotches, and her downturned mouth is twitching. Her eyes are narrowed and fixed on me. It’s a look reserved for instances like unfair grades and jocks pushing the yearbook staff into lockers.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference with Tyler, okay?” she says quietly.

I shake my head. “I just mean hypothetically. What if it would have—”

“We were together before you even broke up,” she nearly shouts.

My mouth drops open, my trowel into the dirt.

“You . . . What?”

“He kissed me the closing night of Twelfth Night.”

I stand there, blinking in the brightening day, my thoughts chasing each other in circles. I remember the closing night of Twelfth Night, the final cast party of the season at Tyler’s house. It was one of the rare instances of Anthony getting drunk, and Jenna and I watched him recite a version of Hamlet’s soliloquy. To beer or not to beer.

I remember how Tyler and I had had sex for the first time just weeks earlier, and we would go on to break up about a month later. I remember them both coming over to my house a few weeks after the breakup, asking if it was okay with me for them to date and promising they’d done nothing together at that point.

I remember believing them.

All the anger drains out of Madeleine’s face. Her eyes fill with tears, her face goes pale, and she rubs the bridge of her nose. I can’t believe she has the nerve to drop this on me and then cry about it. Wanting me to take care of her.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she says weakly, her voice pinched.

“No, you should have said it six months ago.” I can’t even look at her.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Megan. I should have,” she blurts out through her tears, but there’s exasperation or even frustration behind her remorse. “I know things have been weird between us, it’s why I wanted today to—”

“I defended you,” I cut her off. “Everyone thought you and Tyler cheated, and I played the best friend because I trusted you. You told me nothing had happened while we were still dating.”

“I know, I know.” Tears are streaming down her face, and a couple volunteers’ heads have turned in our direction. “Please, let’s go to my car, let me explain . . .”

Some of my anger has ebbed away. I take a step toward her, my instinct kicking in to forgive and be there for her. But before I reach out to her, I remember what Owen told me. Don’t undervalue yourself. I shouldn’t sweep my hurt under the rug so Madeleine doesn’t have to feel bad. My feelings matter, too. I’m tired of pretending they don’t.

I turn on my heel and walk back to my car, leaving Madeleine to her tears.



* * *





I wake up to six missed calls from Madeleine after sleeping for the rest of the morning. I delete the voicemails without listening to them.

Surprisingly, I feel good about how I handled the fight. Not about the reason for the fight, obviously—I feel really betrayed. I honestly believed my best friend when she promised she hadn’t hooked up with my boyfriend behind my back. Even if they are the perfect couple, what they did fucking sucks. But I’m genuinely proud that I stood up for myself and didn’t just let something go instead of meeting it head-on.