“I swear my entire life revolves around making you casseroles at this point,” Summer said as she pushed open the door with her butt, she and Amy both being laden down with foil pans of various oven-ready dishes. “I brought cookies too, where’s Meens?”
“Play date with that horrible little Coco child,” Greta told them, opening the wine. “I guess a bunch of the other kids didn’t really know what to say to the orphan girl, but Coco was just totally normal. So now they’re best friends.”
“That’s really sweet. Maybe she isn’t so horrible?” Amy dumped her dishes and retrieved a glass of red.
“Honestly, my guess is that she’s too self-involved to actually notice what happened to Mina.” She clinked her own glass to Amy’s. It felt like ages since she’d had a girl’s night. She had missed the hell out of her besties.
“You’re so cynical. When did you get so cynical? What happened to my nerdy little Greta?” Summer clinked in too.
“I have always been cynical, thank you very much, I’ve just only recently started applying it to children.” She could feel the tension draining from her already. “What’d you bring? Is there lasagna? Jon likes your lasagna. At least enough to stop bugging for effing cioppino every day when it’s around.”
“Most children probably deserve it, actually,” Amy said. “What is his deal with that stuff, anyway?”
“It’s a mystery to me too. There’s two lasagnas,” Summer pointed and slid them into the freezer.
“This is awesome. Thank you. I actually can cook though, in case you forgot.” Well, Summer was better at it, so she wasn’t actually complaining.
“It’s the Italian in me, girl. I hear there’s bad news, I must immediately feed the recipient. It’s just a thing.”
“It’s true,” Amy announced. “She’s fed me into five extra pounds.”
“You probably needed it, Bones. How is the whole roommate situation going with you two?” Greta took another sip of wine. She was very curious about how Type A Summer was going to handle Type Nothing At All Amy.
“Pretty badly! We didn’t speak for the past three days! Maybe even four!” Amy was obviously not put off in the slightest by the silent treatment.
“Yeah, I pretty much hate every minute of it,” Summer agreed. They all clinked glasses again.
“I guess I’m just a little unclear on why we’re all so fine with that?” Or maybe more than a little.
“Because she’ll move out and it’ll be fine. We’re not going to not be friends or anything. This is something we’ll laugh about later. Post-strangulation, most likely,” Summer told her. Amy just giggled.
“Want to go hang out in Mina’s room?” Greta asked. “I’m folding her laundry.”
“Aw, are you so sad?” asked Amy. “It isn’t going to be easy to say goodbye to her.”
“Maybe I won’t have to.” She led the way to the little second bedroom, wine in hand.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Summer sounded just like Jon when she used that tone of voice.
“It means I was kind of thinking about talking to a lawyer about adopting her.” Surely her friends would understand. They knew her better than Jon, they knew how much she cared for Mina.
“That’s your dumbest idea ever,” said Amy, current reigning queen of dumb ideas.
“So dumb,” Summer lifted her glass in a silent cheers to Amy. Well, wasn’t it nice that they could make up over their mutual disdain. Greta liked it much better when that was Amy’s role.
“Not that dumb. I’m more of a surrogate mom at this point than a nanny. Why does everyone think this is a bad idea? Mina thinks it’s a great idea.”
“You didn’t—Greta, you can’t give her ideas like this!” Summer looked like Jon too, with that little frown. How obnoxious. This was not at all how the conversation had gone down in her head.
“You know what, I don’t want to talk about it.” Shockingly, it worked again. Though from the glower on Summer’s face, she’d wager it wouldn’t work for long. “Amy, how’s the job-search coming?”
“Oh, I’m not looking,” she said contentedly. “Volunteer or paid, this is what I’m meant to be doing.”
“Squatting in my apartment is what you’re meant to be doing?” Summer’s mood was darkening by the moment.
“Um, did you ever hear back about your job, Summer?” Greta wasn’t sure that alone would salvage the conversation, so she went ahead and topped up their glasses at the same time. She remembered the time she tried sobriety, all those two days ago, fondly. It was good that was in the past now. This was no time for a wineless life.
“Oh, yeah,” Summer said.
“And? You didn’t tell me that,” Amy said.
“Well everyone else is having such a shit time of it, it felt really rude to be like ‘oh hey guys I got the job and they’re giving me more money than I asked for,’ you know?”
“Is that what happened?” Greta asked. They could all really use some good news right about now. “That’s amazing!”
“It is.”
“I remember money,” said Amy. “Vaguely.”
“Well my new boss seems like a total jerk, so I’m sure it will suck like everything else. Hey, I have an idea that will cheer us all up,” Summer said, looking a little embarrassed.
“What’s that?” In response, her hand reached over and plucked the phone from Greta’s side.
“Reading your sexts out loud in a dramatic fashion for everyone’s general amusement.” Oh no. Oh, no no. Why didn’t I lock my phone?
“Let’s not do that right now. I bet Amy’s are better anyway,” she said as she frantically tried to retrieve the phone. Damn Summer’s superior height. She’d been winning at keep-away since elementary school.
“I don’t know, I never made a sex tape,” Amy said. “Think that’s on there? Send it to me, Greta never did.”
Summer was already thumbing through the texts, and Greta could see the exact moment when it all came together for her. She silently handed the phone off to Amy, who did the same thing, face gradually going from all smiles to completely empty. Greta sat, feeling like a prisoner awaiting her sentence.
“I did not see this coming,” said Amy, handing the phone not to Greta, but back to Summer.
“This is totally fucked.” Summer couldn’t even meet Greta’s eyes. “Fake-date? Seriously?”
“I’m sorry,” Greta said. And she meant it. Well, she was sorry she’d hurt her friends. Well, she was sorry she got caught basically. Same thing in the end, wasn’t it?
“I’m not mad. You’re only lying to yourself,” said Amy with confidence.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Summer, throwing the phone onto Mina’s bed and standing.
“Summer. Isn’t it obvious? She’s in love with Jon, but scared to admit it. Maybe it started fake, but it got real.”
“No it didn’t,” Greta said, bluntly. “It just got convenient.”
“Greta. You might know a lot more than me about Star Wars and Tolkien. But love is my area of expertise. And you can’t fake the look in your eyes when Jon walks into the room. You might not be ready to admit it to yourself, but you fell in love somewhere along the way.”
“There is no such thing as love, Amy. Trust me on this.” Greta knew her friend wouldn’t believe her, but she plowed ahead. “It’s just a combination of attraction and affection. And that’s all I feel for Jon. All I will ever feel for Jon. And I’m sorry I lied to you guys. I just thought it was a good way to get you to lay off, you know?”
“I don’t, actually. I don’t know. I don’t know why on earth you felt the need to lie to your best friends’ faces for weeks. That’s so incredibly beyond what I thought you were capable of. What was your end game? When were you going to tell us?” Summer’s face was red, and she stood up.
“Honestly? I was just going to fake a breakup, except the whole Bob thing happened and it was easier just to keep going with it. Look, Summer…” She stood too, and put a hand on her friend’s arm.
“Don’t talk to me. Come on, Amy.” She stalked out of the room, turned and came back, drained her wine, left again.
“What happened to ‘we aren’t going to stop being friends’?” Greta yelled after her. She couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Or maybe you’re just mad your matchmaking skills suck!”
“Say what you want. I know the truth. She’ll come around,” Amy whispered with a little grin. “Coming!” She too, finished her wine and scampered off. Greta sank back onto Mina’s bed with a groan.
That was not what was supposed to happen. Her stomach felt as tangled up as when she’d told Mina about her aunt. Screw this, she was napping. With that, she pulled a pillow over her head and put herself to sleep.
* * *
“Attraction and affection,” echoed in Jon’s head. “Attraction and affection.”
He’d tried to be quiet when he got home early not to disturb the girls. He knew how much Greta had needed an evening with them, so he’d found things to do around the kitchen, enjoying the sounds of giggles escaping from the second bedroom.
“Just convenient,” she’d said.
He walked into his bedroom—their bedroom—and lay down on the bed. Her pillow smelled like her, that scent that had said home to him almost since day one, when he’d fallen for her stupid dancing and her reluctance to take his number.
Of course, that was before she’d broken his toe and made this preposterous suggestion about Mina to him. Before he’d deluded himself into thinking she’d come around. That she’d grow to see all the little things that made them fit together so well. The reasons they’d fallen in love.
Because they had, of course, she was just too damn stubborn to realize that was what that feeling was. The silly one that blossomed when he cracked the wine and she turned on the music and they shimmied towards each other like total dorks. Or the loud explosive one when they came together, holding each other tight. Or the quiet, soft one that wound around them like vines when they sat side by side on the couch reading books together.
It was love. It had always been love.
For Jon, it might even always be.
“Easier just to go with it,” she’d said. Every remembrance of her voice, her slightly too-deep voice, sent another crack shooting through his heart.
She was never, ever going to change. She was never going to tell him she loved him back. She was never going to be the partner he thought he’d found. And his heart was shattering in slow-motion.
And it wasn’t like he didn’t know that everything going on right now was scary and overwhelming to her. But that shouldn’t have been an impediment—it should have been an impetus. Jon had been determined to be her rock. And by his own accounting, he had been. She should have realized that this was more than a fling, more than convenience. This, what they had, was Fate.
That wasn’t how she’d seen it at all.
And on that one terribly poorly planned Night of Romance Gone Awry, he saw how willing she was to sabotage herself, them, just to avoid admitting to herself that she could have been wrong.
It had occurred to him then, that he couldn’t change her mind, because you couldn’t change a person. Then the next morning, he’d woken up with an aching swollen toe and an aching swollen head and thought—nah. They’d both drunk far too much to hold the evening against themselves. Of course, the fact that he’d found Greta soggy and sobbing in the bath hadn’t hastened him to think it all over too much.
He reckoned he should have seen it. She’d told him over and over that she didn’t believe in love. That was where he’d gone wrong, his common sense all in the bin. If one didn’t believe in love, one wouldn’t recognize it if it slapped them in the face.
Like his mum and climate change.
Her heart’s been through the wringer, though. “Attraction and affection,” her voice in his head answered his.
His had been as well, and he chose optimism, he chose life and love and second chances. She chose solitude and selfishness. She chose her fear.
She chose it over him.
So this is it, Jon thought, holding the pillow as tightly as he could. It’s done now. He had to be done with trying. And that was something in his eye, not a tear. Okay, perhaps it was a tear. Because Jon wasn’t a liar like Greta.
He was first to admit he was lovestruck, and now he was going to be the first to admit he was heartbroken.
He should go into Mina’s room, he should talk this out with her, but it just hurt too bad. Plus, blokes shouldn’t cry in front of their ladies. It was untoward. Maybe he was a coward, but so be it. There was another way. And it was the same way Greta had basically chosen. He had a phone call or two to make.
Firstly, to his agent. The phone only rang once before Mr. Rice’s secretary answered and put him through.
“Right then, I know I said no to the Vegas show, and I’m not normally a diva as such, but…” He didn’t really know how to say he wanted to be added to the bill last minute without being a diva.
“You’re a brilliant marketer, my man, brilliant. We’ll drop you in last minute and double attendance with our surprise guest. CeAnna’s going to owe you royalties! Yeah, you did a good thing here, my man, a good thing.” Rice was oily, but at least he wasn’t mad? This was a weird business.
“Right, well … I suppose you can email me call times and I’ll head out in the morning?” He had no idea how to handle being congratulated for his breakup maneuver.
“Sure, buddy, sure. I’ll go ahead and have whoever works for me now cut you a check.” His agent hung up.
How do you not know who writes your checks? It was the one good piece of advice his parents had given him when he started to get big—if you’re making the money, always be sure you’re the one signing the checks. It was likely time to start hunting for a new agent, then, wasn’t it. Nothing was ever easy.
Jon rolled out of bed, setting Greta’s pillow down with reluctance and finality. Time to pack a suitcase.
* * *
For the … she didn’t want to count … time in a row, Greta woke to a sinking feeling. How many bridges was she going to burn? At this point, she had no idea how to stop setting fires.
And she had no clue how to fix anything she’d broken, either. They’d always been a little triad, she and Summer and Amy, but now she felt she was on the outside looking in. They lived together, albeit in an uneasy truce. Still easier than the situation she now found herself in. Was found herself the right phrase? Had placed herself was probably more accurate, but that sucked.
It would be easier to live with if there was anyone to blame but herself. Only, for the life of her, Greta couldn’t figure out how to shift any of it off.
She could have said no. She could have told her friends, ‘hey, not ready.’ That hadn’t even occurred to her. Lying and setting up a scheme was actually the first thought in her head. What kind of a person did that make her? Not the kind she had thought she was. Not the kind she wanted to be.
If she’d been in either of their shoes, she’d be furious. More than furious, she’d be ready to walk away and never go back. Just like—well, just like her father. This was betrayal on that level. She was going to be that person to them now, she was the little niggling voice in the back of their heads when someone made a promise.
Ugh, she collapsed on the bed again, I am literally the worst. And for once, that wasn’t a figurative thought.
Of the three of them, she was the bad friend. Worse than that, though, because a friend wouldn’t behave that way. This was the sort of thing that Coco would do and she would immediately ban Mina from having any sort of contact with her ever.
Mina. Sweet Mina. She’d have to make a note to remind Mina not to be this kind of a dick. Dishonesty was so uncool. Lessons learned. Teachable moments.
How had it even gotten to this point? Sure her dad and a few boyfriends had been commitmentphobes and jerks, but had she really become so wary of men that she was willing to sacrifice her oldest and best—hell, her only friendships—just to maintain her cynicism?
She felt like an absolute heel right about now. The pillow was going to stay over her head for a while, as she wallowed in her guilt. Worst nap ever. Somehow she instinctively knew that wine and a bath wouldn’t make it any better, though. This was the worst possible kind of problem. It was the kind that must be dealt with head on.
The kind she’d spent her entire life avoiding. Gross.
And yet—when she replayed the entire sequence of events in her head, and she did, ad nauseam—she couldn’t change the thought that even though it turned out shitty, she probably wouldn’t have done it any differently.
Maybe she was destined to be an ass. Maybe it was Fate. But was it her destiny to lose Amy and Summer? Not after like, twenty years, she couldn’t let that be her new normal. No, remember how Summer had said her and Amy’s fight was circumstantial? Surely the same applied to her.
Surely.
But if her best friends were going to forgive her, why did she still feel so terrible? They were all she’d ever needed, after all.
When she emerged, finally, to make dinner, Jon didn’t even say hello. Which was really not cool. So what if she was heating up Summer food instead of cooking her own. It was the stupid lasagna he loved so much, so he’d come around at some point. She’d even serve it on fancy plates.
Wait, so why was he eating a sandwich?
“Why are you eating a sandwich?” she asked.
“Hungry,” was the simple answer. If Greta was to guess, she would think there might be a more complex answer beneath, but eff that, because she was super annoyed.
Okay, he didn’t know she’d just had an awful fight with her best friends, but since when did they not do dinner together? It was normally their ‘family’ time.
“Are we not going to have dinner together then?” She could hear the note of rudeness in her voice, but felt powerless to stop it. It just felt like everyone was mean tonight.
“Nope.” A one word answer. Well, sheesh. Of course now the only other friend she had in the world would have to be pissed about something. Well, she’d told him she hated washing dishes, so if his snottiness came from the pile in the sink, he would just have to deal.
Like everyone else in the world didn’t just do it themselves. Or use paper plates. Or not even use plates. There was just no reason to be fussy. Was it even worth heating up an entire pan of lasagna if Mina was gone and Jon was eating a sandwich? She supposed not, but now her own dinner would have to be a sandwich as well.
And Greta did not want a sandwich.
Why were so many first world problems piling up on her? This was not fair. All she had ever wanted was her own life. The one she’d been perfectly happy with, alone with her television and her bathtub and her wine and her watercolors.
All she’d gotten was a big old hassle. She opened her mouth to have it out, and her phone rang. It was Angie, wanting to meet up in the morning, and while they made plans, Jon went into the bedroom. When she hung up, she considered going in after him but felt like the moment had passed.
So maybe everything that had happened tonight was her own fault, but Greta was not even in the mood to hash out another set of problems, so she simply went back to Mina’s room. Ostensibly it was to finish packing, but instead, she just went to sleep. At least in her dreams, things could be like they were.