The early morning, or probably midday at this point, sun brightens my eyelids as Victoria, now to be known as my former best friend, parts the curtains in my bedroom. I try to cover my head with a pillow, but she captures it and holds it ransom.

“You promised me Sunshine Cafe, and you’d better deliver. There’s water and ibuprofen on the table, and that’s all the coddling you’re getting from me this morning. Now get up.”

I don’t remember much about last night. I met up with Victoria, she immediately started harassing me about my love life, and I immediately started drinking. I’m either vaguely remembering a run-in with Blushy, Ben’s roommate, or all of Victoria’s talk about boys made me conjure him in my drunken haze. I could go fifty-fifty on either scenario at this point.

Every month, Victoria and I catch up over dinner, alternating between Boulder, where she now lives, and Fort Collins. But after my exhausting week filled with angsty teenagers/wanna-be gamers, I begged her to drive to me this time, even though it’s her turn to host. Breakfast at Sunshine Cafe was the price tag.

Victoria and I moved to Colorado together from California right after high school graduation. She needed to get away from her overbearing parents, who had a different future, complete with husband and two point five babies, mapped out for her. I needed a fresh start. We both started out in Fort Collins, but soon she got the attention of a Boulder gallery owner and left me stranded. I couldn’t be happier for her, although I’ll never tell her that. Now she gets her own studio for her art and she can create any time she wants. Of course, it also helps that Jamilla, the owner, looks at her like she hung the fucking moon.

I’m glad we keep our standing monthly date, even if the drive is a pain in the ass most times. I’ve got a terrible track record at keeping friends. Sure, I’ve got lots of them– kayaking friends, gaming friends, work friends. I’m too damn charming not to. Ha. But they’re more superficial than my friendship with Victoria. Victoria knows me, and I know her.

My shower did nothing to alleviate the pounding in my head, so the half-mile walk to the restaurant would probably do me some good. But no, Victoria insists on driving because I’ve made her wait long enough for her biscuit fix.

“Really, Craig, what happened last night?” she says as we settle onto one of the cutesy benches out front and wait for a table. Everything about Sunshine Cafe screams quaint, from the painted Victorian exterior to the mishmash of chairs and tables and the cloth gingham napkins. Everything except the portion sizes, which I’m thankful for this morning. Hangover or no, I need bacon grease and coffee.

“What do you mean?” I lean over to pet a passing Jack Russell terrier that made its owner stop so it could sniff my pants leg. The banging in my head makes me regret that decision, even if the adorable wags I get in return are worth it.

“I’ve never seen you drink like that before. Not even in high school, when by all rights, you should have been partying like the little emo gay boy you were.”

“So I drank a little much. It’s not that unusual,” I say, dusting off my hands now that the dog is no longer interested in my pants. Victoria is already holding out a bottle of hand sanitizer, lid clicked open and ready to use. “You don’t see me all the time now, you know.”

“You’re telling me that you’ve been slowly turning into your mother these past few years and I just failed to notice? I don’t think so.”

My breathing slows and I barely move. Victoria knows not to go there, and I’m beyond furious that she did. Victoria was there for me when my mom was AWOL. Her family took me in so many times after our electricity or water was shut off because my mom couldn’t be bothered to pay the bills. Or because she’d drunk away the funds to pay for it. No, I didn’t act like a typical teenager in many ways because of the persistent fear that I’d turn out like her. So at eighteen I didn’t go to college like everyone else. Instead I got the fuck out of Dodge and started acting like the adult I had been forced to become way too early.

“I am not turning into my mother,” I hiss at her through tight lips. “I had a rough week and wanted to relax. I’m not lushing it up with every guy that looks my way. I’m not abandoning a child while trying to drown any reminders that I’m an adult with responsibilities. And I am really, really pissed off that you would equate the two.”

Victoria holds up her hands, and it’s a testament to her understanding how pissed I really am that she doesn’t try to cajole me out of it. “I’m sorry, Craig. You’re right, that was out of line. But drinking heavily last night aside, you seem like something’s bothering you.”

Our names are finally called, and the bustle of getting situated on the patio outside gives me time to calm down. I have to remind myself that Victoria has seen my mom at her worst, and is concerned because she doesn’t want that for me. Despite how overbearing, over-analyzing, controlling, and let’s not forget bitchy, she might be.

Chicory coffee scents the air, and I turn over my cup, greedy for the caffeine. No longer in the shade of the full maple trees that line the front yard of the restaurant, the brightness of the day is drilling into my brain. Best to hide it from Victoria or there will be another lecture coming. Hopefully coffee will help.

The distraction of being seated and ordering doesn’t deter Victoria, though, who keeps shooting pointed looks my way. I hadn’t told her about applying to school, because I didn’t want the stress of having someone to tell if I didn’t get in. But as much as I hate her butting in, she’s my self-appointed advice-giver, so maybe she can make sense of my jumbled thoughts on the matter. My twisted-up brain certainly hasn’t been able to make a decision on its own.

“I applied to Front Range Community College and I got in.”

Victoria’s eyes bug out, and she covers her cough with a gingham fabric napkin. “Wow, I really thought it was going to be about that guy last night.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Of course you would. Wait, what guy last night?”

“The blond you called, and I quote, ‘Blushy McBlusherson’?”

So I didn’t hallucinate that. “Fuck.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says with a knowing look. “That’s what I thought.”

There is no place to hide in shame. I try anyway. “Did I really say that?”

“Oh yeah. And it pissed him off, too. You don’t remember?” I shake my head no. “Well, he went from flirty red to angry red in less than two seconds. You might want to start practicing your apologies now.”

“I don’t know him. I have no way to apologize.” Victoria looks confused, so I explain. “He’s the roommate of my new co-worker.”

She shakes her head. “That’s our Craig. Irritating strangers since 1991.”

“Bitch!” I rub my chest, pretending to be wounded. “Besides, I shared my school revelation with you. Aren’t we supposed to be focusing on that and all the wonderful unsolicited advice you want to give me?”

“Sorry, you distracted me,” she says as biscuits the size of a box of Pop-Tarts are delivered to our table. “Besides, I had no idea you wanted to go to school. What’s your major going to be? And why now? Honestly, it’s like I don’t even know you this weekend.” Victoria shakes her head as she slathers the top of the biscuit in strawberry rhubarb jelly and forks up a gigantic mouthful.

“No, you didn’t miss anything, because I never mentioned it. I don’t even know if I’m going to go or not.” I toy with my own biscuit, breaking off tiny bite-sized pieces rather than digging straight in. “Or what I’d study. I just got tired of feeling like I missed out on something by not going to college.”

“Then my advice for you is to do what makes you happy,” she says, waving her fork pointedly in my direction before diving into her biscuit again. “God, I’ve missed these. But really, Craig, if you aren’t going for a particular reason, or with a specific goal in mind, then fuck what everyone else thinks. Only go if it’s what you want to do.”

“But what if it makes me happy to do what’s expected of me, even if what’s expected of me wouldn’t necessarily make me happy?”

Victoria snorts at that, loudly, which the waitress dropping off our plates politely ignores.

“Yeah, like my quinceañera? Remember that?”

“That was different,” I hedge, and try to hold in my laughter as I remember Victoria looking like a cupcake in a pale blue chiffon and tulle eruption. The foot-tall crown made her look like Glinda the Good Witch, but with her murderous expression and resistance at every dance and speech in her honor, it felt more like the Wicked Witch was just waiting to sic her flying monkeys on us all. Good times.

“Right. I thought making my family happy and enduring the big party would be easier than fighting them on it. In the end, no one was happy. Don’t be the grumpy tulle bowling ball, Craig.” I can’t stifle the laugh this time, because oh my god, that’s exactly what she looked like. “Do what you want.”

We don’t stop our conversation, but she places her bacon onto my plate, and I spoon the butter off my waffle and put it onto what remains of her biscuit before handing her the hot sauce and pepper. If either of us were straight, we’d be a boring married couple by now, with our practiced ease.

After breakfast, Victoria offers to drive me back home, but I’d rather walk. I kiss her cheek and promise to call her more, and I’m once again reminded that family is sometimes what we make it, and not what we’re born with. I’m not sure if it’s a result of the hangover or because seeing Victoria reminds me of not-so-happy times, but I’m left with melancholy thoughts as I meander through old spruce-lined streets on my way home. I still don’t have a clue what I’m going to do about college, and now I apparently have some amends to make to a blushing, curly-headed, angry man because I can’t control my big mouth. And the weekend has barely begun.