Blurred Lines (19 page)

I don’t know what made me call Ben instead of Lance.

I only know that when I open the front door of my parents’ house and see Ben standing on the porch that I’ve made the right decision.

A realization he only confirms when he steps into the foyer, closes the door, and without a single word, takes me into his arms and holds me.

I let out a shuddering breath, and for the first time in an hour, I feel…well, not
good
…but I feel like I can survive this.

Like I can survive
anything
as long as Ben’s here.

My fingers clench, tangling in the fabric of his shirt. I rest my head on his shoulder and let myself remember what it feels like to breathe. For the first time in hours.

No, for the first time in weeks.

He smells like other women’s perfume, but I don’t even care. I care only that he’s here.

That he came.

After everything we’ve been through, after the way we’ve spoken to each other, after the immature way we threw away years of friendship over a stupid squabble, he’s come, and he’s here and he’s holding me.

My eyes water, and his hand moves over my hair. “Don’t cry.”

But of course I do. I sob. Just like he knows I will.

And he lets me, never uttering stupid
it will be okay
platitudes. He doesn’t make weird soothing noises. He just holds me.

Eventually I manage to pull back enough to let out a huge slobbering noise, and he glances down at his white shirt, which is now smeared with black eye makeup and the faint beige tinge of my tinted moisturizer.

He points at his chest. “Well,
here’s
one thing I haven’t missed.”

I smile faintly.

“I’ll get the industrial-sized tissue box,” he says, running a hand down my arm before heading toward the bathroom. Then he pauses. Turns back. “Parker?”

“Yeah?” I say, wiping my eyes with the sleeves of my sweatshirt.

He points to his stained shirt again. “It’s the
only
thing I haven’t missed.”

I meet his eyes and melt a little at the warmth there. At the apology written all over his face.

And just like that, we’re okay again. I know it down to my bones.

I sit on the couch, and in a moment he comes back with the box of tissues, dropping it into my lap before he sits beside me. “Where are your parents?”

“Upstairs,” I say, staring at my hands. “Last time we went through this, my mom was so brave, so positive, but this time…” I swallow. “She’s been in her room ever since they learned the news.”

I stare at my hands before continuing. “My dad had to be the one to tell me. And when I went up to see her…all we could do was cry.”

This, of course, starts me crying all over, and Ben once again does the holding thing that he’s so good at.

“It’s in her lymph nodes,” I say when the latest crying jag subsides. “They’re going to start treatment immediately. Some experimental mumbo jumbo that they’ve apparently had some success with, but they’re still throwing around the word
prognosis,
” I manage.

Six months. Maybe a year.

Ben releases me then, leaning forward.

His hands are clasped tightly together, and then he bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

Belatedly I realize that I’m not the only one torn up by this news. He loves my mom, too.

I put a hand on his back. Letting him know that I’m here for him, just like he’s here for me.

“She’s strong,” he says. “She’ll fight it.”

“She will,” I say. “I just…God, Ben, I don’t know that I can do it all over again. Watching her hair fall out, and her throwing up, and shrinking and shrinking and so pale.”

“She’ll get through it,” he says, shifting toward me and holding my hands. “She’ll get through it because you’ll be there with her every step of the way. As will your dad. And me. And Lance,” he says, although I suspect this last one is more of an afterthought.

All of my thoughts over the past month bubble up in my chest, and I feel the need to talk.

Because there are things I need to tell Ben.

Things I don’t know how to express, but my heart is full of
stuff,
both grief for my mom, and myself, but other things, too.

Important things.

Things that I’m just now beginning to understand.

“Ben, there’s something that I should—”

“You should call Lance. He should be here,” Ben says at the exact same time.

He smiles. “Sorry. You first.”

But my courage has failed me. Here I am trying to tell Ben that I think I might—that I have these
feelings
…and he’s reminding me to call my boyfriend?

The worst part is, he’s right. I should absolutely call my boyfriend. Not only for Lance’s sake, but because
I just got Ben back.
I can’t risk losing him again with stupid admissions.

And so I do exactly what he says.

I find my phone. I call my boyfriend.

And try very,
very
hard to bury feelings that will destroy everything.

O
NE
M
ONTH
L
ATER

Parker and I are back to normal.

She’s still living with Lance, of course, so the roommate element isn’t there anymore.

But everything else is just like it was before we started hooking up.

There’s the joking, the laughter, the easy conversation.

The carpooling. Parker picks me up every morning for work in her hippie car, drops me off every evening, and conversation doesn’t lull the entire time.

Just like before.

The Blantons invited me for Christmas, and I was tempted. Especially given Mrs. Blanton’s cancer treatment.

But, in the end, I’d gone home to Michigan. My first Christmas at home since graduating from college.

It had been an important one.

A chance to make a fresh start, not just by letting go of my reliance on Parker and her family, but also a fresh start with
my
family.

I think I made progress. Over the holidays I made an effort to get on equal footing with my siblings—to establish that just because I didn’t take the path chosen for me didn’t mean I wasn’t a success.

My mom is still struggling a bit with my decision to eschew law school despite “all her sacrifices,” but I made definite progress with my dad and stepmom. Enough so that I’m actually looking forward to when they come out and visit over Presidents’ Day weekend in February.

All things considered, my life is as good as it’s been in a long time, ignoring, of course, the not-so-minor fact that I have very real, very complicated feelings for my best friend.

Feelings that eat at me when I’m all alone late at night, when the dark loneliness is begging me to tell her how I feel.

But then I see her the next day, and she has some cheerful anecdote about how she tried to make Lance breakfast and exploded avocado smoothie all over the ceiling, and I remind myself that if I care about her—and I do, more than anything—the best thing I can give her is her happiness.

And her happiness is Lance.

Which brings me to the news I’m about to spring on her…

Parker’s already in the driver’s seat when I get to her car after work, tapping away on her phone.

“Hey, karaoke tonight?” she asks as I climb into the car.

“Sure,” I say, fastening my seat belt. “Who’s going?”

“You, me, Lance, of course.”

Of course.

“Plus, Lori and that new guy she’s dating. Lori’s sister. Oh, and this girl from work, Eryn.”

I frown. “I thought we hated Eryn.”

Parker holds up a finger. “We
used
to hate Eryn. Now we think Eryn maybe just needed a friend.”

“Got it. Well, Eryn’s in luck, because it just so happens I’m an
excellent
friend.”

“Definitely,” Parker agrees. “You are. Except, of course, when you—”

I put a hand over her face to shut her up, then drop some of the folders I’ve been carrying in her lap.

She glances down. “What’s all this?”

“There’s this cool trick I’ve heard about,” I say. “It’s called…oh, now I’m forgetting…oh yeah,
reading.
”

She ignores me, already flipping through the assortment of brochures and pamphlets and getting the idea quickly.

Parker glances up. “Business school.”

I lift a shoulder. “I’ve decided it’s time to start embracing the fact that I love my job, and that I want to challenge myself. I was thinking maybe this could be, like, my do-over, since I was pretty average in college. I want to be good at something.”

Her face is elated as she listens to me, and I can’t help it, I think my chest puffs a little, because she also looks proud.

She returns to the brochures, riffling through them more quickly now. “Have you thought about what your specialty would be, or are you going to start general, and—”

She breaks off and I tense, knowing what’s going to happen.

Parker looks up, and this time her face is confused. “These are all in Seattle.”

“Yeah,” I say, shifting in my seat and trying to play it casual. “They’ve got some great schools up there, and—”

“And they have some great schools here. In Portland,” she says stubbornly. Cutely.

“But Seattle is only a two-hour drive,” I counter. “Close enough for an easy weekend trip.”

Hence its appeal. Close enough to be, well,
close
to Parker. To be there for her. But far enough to give us both a little bit of distance.

Far enough to get over her. I hope.

“But what about your job?” she says. “You just said that you—”

“There’s a spot for me in the Seattle office. They said it’s mine if I want it.”

“You’ve already talked to them?” Parker looks stunned. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

I hear the question she’s not asking:

You didn’t tell me?

I understand her confusion. Because once upon a time we’d told each other everything, but now that I
can’t
tell her everything, I have to be, well…careful.

It’s self-preservation.

And maybe it’s completely selfish, but going to Seattle is one way that I can continue to be Parker’s best friend and to maintain all of the best parts of our friendship without completely destroying myself in the process.

“Well, I’m happy for you!” she says. “And I love Seattle! I’ll come up all the time, and you can take me to Pike Place Market, and we can—”

I see the tears welling up, and put a hand over hers. “I just need the change, Parks. You get that, don’t you?”

She sniffles. Squeezes my hand back. “Yes. And if this is what you want, I’m happy for you.
Truly.
”

I smile, because I know she means it. Because over everything we’ve been through, that’s one rather crucial detail we’ve each learned about the other person. That we’ll put their needs first. Always.

We both jerk our hands away when we realize that we’re all but holding hands in our office parking lot. So, okay, not everything’s
exactly
like it was. We don’t touch anymore. Or when we do, accidentally, it gets weird.

By tacit agreement, we don’t talk about my possible Seattle move for the entire ride home, focusing instead on the latest recall of my company’s running shorts that apparently have been linked to a rather unfortunate rash.

“Lance and I can pick you up tonight for karaoke,” she says. “Seven?”

“Nah. I’ll meet you there,” I say.

I’m doing pretty good with the Lance-Parker relationship. As well as can be expected. But I avoid hanging out with just the two of them as much as possible. Again, it’s a self-preservation thing.

The rest of my afternoon passes quickly. Gym. Shower. Take a call from my sister and listen to her ramble all about the
uh-mazing
new guy she’s dating. Do laundry, which I hate more than ever.

I’m still living alone. I keep meaning to put up an ad for a new roommate, but over time I start fantasizing that maybe Parker will come home, and I find an excuse not to do it.

It’s like I said. I
really
need to get to Seattle. Need to get on with my life and get my relationship with Parker back to a purely platonic, non-longing kind of place.

By the time I show up at the karaoke bar at seven, my mood is veering toward irritable, and I’m wishing I had said no to the invitation.

And then it gets worse.

The seating arrangement ends up with Lance
between
me and Parker.

Night. Mare.

Thankfully the rest of the group is hyper and fun, and I feel my spirits start to lift despite the fact that Lance won’t stop fiddling with Parker’s earring like a total weirdo.

I talk to Parker’s new friend Eryn, whom I’ve apparently met before but don’t remember. She’s actually kind of funny in a very forthright,
Oh my God did she just say that
kind of way.

Parker finally manages to detach her ear from Lance’s fingers and the girls all traipse onstage to sing some girl-power anthem I’m only vaguely familiar with, while all the guys at the table take the opportunity to drink heavily in case we’re next for getting dragged onstage.

“You know, I’ve never tagged along when Parker’s done the karaoke thing,” Lance shouts in my ear. “Always thought it was stupid. But she’s really good, huh?”

I nod, because
hell, yes,
Parker’s good, and this shrieking song doesn’t showcase it all. It’s mostly a bunch of them jumping around and shouting.

My brain’s already running through our usual duet options when it hits me that maybe a duet with Parker is off-limits now.

As Lance just told me, he’s never come out with us before on our karaoke nights, which means he hasn’t seen just how good Parker and I are onstage. Together.

And suddenly I want to show him how good we are.

I want to show Parker. I want to remind her.

But the duet opportunity never presents itself. Lori and her new boyfriend sing an off-key version of “Yellow Submarine,” and it’s terrible.

Eryn gets up and sings a country song that I think might have a subtext of stalking, but I can’t be sure.

Parker tries to drag Lance up onstage, but he flat-out refuses, and her eyes meet mine before looking warily at Lance, and I know she’s feeling conflicted. That she wants to sing with me, too, and knows that maybe we shouldn’t.

Lori saves her from the choice. “Hey, Parks, get up there and do a ballad.”

“A ballad?” Eryn asks, wrinkling her nose. “Isn’t that kind of a buzzkill?”

“Not when Parker does one,” Lori says confidently. “Just watch. The room will fall quiet, but in the totally entranced way.”

“Do it, babe,” Lance says. “I love your voice.”

He’s looking at his cellphone as he says this, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Ass.

Still, if I can’t sing
with
Parks, hearing her voice—
just
hers—is the next best thing.

I glance up, surprised to see her watching me. Almost as though she’s looking for permission, although for what, I have no idea.

“Do it,” I say, lifting my drink to her.

She bites her lip and stares at me for just long enough that I wonder if everyone else thinks it’s awkward, and then she walks toward the stage.

“Wait, we didn’t pick your song!” Lori shrieks after her. “Damn it, I hope she does Adele.”

Parker doesn’t pick Adele.

The song she
does
pick takes my breath away.

It’s not a trendy one. Not even close. “I’ll Stand by You” by the Pretenders.

Our freshman year of college, when she and I were just starting to get close, I’d gotten drunk one night. Not super drunk, just
talk about things I shouldn’t
drunk.

And I’d confessed in a moment of weakness that this drippy, mopey song was my favorite.

I hadn’t thought about it since that night.

But Parker remembered. All this time, she remembered.

Her voice is tentative at first, but grows in confidence as a hush falls over the room, and whoever’s working the lights must be paying attention, because everything dims so there’s just one shining down on Parker.

And then suddenly I can’t breathe, because her eyes find mine. They find mine and they hold.

And even though there are a hundred people in the room, and her boyfriend is sitting right next to me, it feels like she’s singing to me.
For
me.

I don’t move a muscle as she sings.

Sings about friendship. About being there for another person.

Her eyes never leave mine, and I know from the deepest part inside me that this song is for me. For us.

And it’s not a bubblegum, best friend pop song.

The song is bittersweet. Agonized.
Raw.

Tears are streaming down her face by the time she’s done, and I’ll deny it to my dying day, but my eyes feel a little damp, too.

I can’t shake the feeling that Parker just told me goodbye. Not goodbye to our friendship, because that will always be there in some capacity.

But goodbye to the way we used to be. The way we could have been.

The crowd goes nuts for her. Of course they do. She’s the best damn singer in the room, and everyone knows it.

“Damn, Lance, you better hold onto your girl,” Lori’s boyfriend shouts over the whoops and yells.

I give him a sharp look, wondering if he was talking about me, but then he motions to the room in general. “Every guy in here wants to hit that right now.”

I tense, but Lance merely smiles, looking completely unperturbed, completely confident that his girl is, well…
his.

And now I’m wondering if that moment was all in my head. If everyone in the room thought Parker was singing to them.

The thought depresses the hell out of me.

I feel someone staring at me and glance up, surprised to see weird Eryn studying me with those intense black eyes of her. And then she gives me an almost imperceptible nod. One of understanding.

Of sympathy.

She knows.

I look away and am trying to figure out if there’s a good way for me to call it an early night, when Lance elbows me. “Dude, let’s go fetch everyone another round. I’ll buy, but need an extra set of hands.”

It’s quite possibly the last thing I want to do: spend one-on-one time with the guy sharing Parker’s bed every night.

But then I see Parker making her way back toward the table, and I realize between dealing with Lance and facing Parker when I’m still feeling like an emotional wreck, the first is my better option.

Only I’m wrong about that. So wrong.

Lance
does
order the drinks, but that’s not why he wanted me to come with him.

“Hey, come here a sec,” he says, gesturing toward a less crowded part of the bar. I glance at the bartender, but, seeing as she has seven drinks to make, I’ve got absolutely zero reason not to cooperate with Lance’s weird demand.

But I should have thought of a reason. I should have thought of
all
the reasons.

Because Lance, the stupid asshole who once dumped Parker, pulls a small red jewelry box out of his pocket and, after glancing around to make sure nobody’s paying attention to us, opens it.