shouldn’t surprise me any more, yet, they always do. “We can go over that later,” I say. “Will you tell me who you were in the freezer with?”
A record scratch is the only way to describe this moment. She pushes off of the couch, her stone-cold eyes widen as she stares into mine. I don’t think she’s even breathing. What’s the big deal? “I’m…” her hands tangle in her long hair. I want to know what the big deal is. “It was Ralph,” she spits out.
Ralph? “Rat-tail Ralph?” I want to laugh and maybe crawl out of my skin. Ralph’s the dishwasher, and I’m pretty sure he showers once a month. And he’s got the whole rat-tail thing going on—a shaved head with this tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck. I’m totally skeeved out hearing this. “Whyyy?” I ask.
She looks around, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Would you still be friends with me if I told you I had a thing for rat-tails?” She moves in closer, pouting her bottom lip. “I’m sorry I put you in the position to can me. He wasn’t worth it.”
“Thank you for saying that. Like I said, I fought for you.” She falls back into me. “We need a girl’s night tomorrow night. I miss us.”
“You mean, you miss living vicariously through moi?” She nudges her shoulder into mine.
“I’m not so sure about that any more,” I laugh. “Grant was about to tell me about Ralph tonight, but I didn’t let him. I didn’t know what he was going to say. So I left. I legit walked out on my shift.”
“You should have seen the look on his face when he walked in on us.” She mimics the deer-in-headlights look. I’m guessing he was probably grossed out.
“Well, I’ll go in and let him know I know everything tomorrow. Hopefully, he doesn’t want to get rid of me now too. Walking out during my shift probably wasn’t the best idea.” Seriously. If I lose this job, I’m moving to Mexico. Or Jamaica. I’ll count my losses there.
“I’m sure if you just apologize, he’ll be cool,” she says. “He knows what you’re going through. I wouldn’t even bring me up again. It’s obviously a sore subject.”
When Aspen goes to bed, I grab my phone, trying to distract myself from the cigarette screaming at me from my purse. I’d like to think sleep would help, but I don’t know how to sleep with the urge.
I’m sure Hayes is asleep, but this heaviness in my chest is eating away at me.
Me: I feel horrible.
Shit. Stupid trigger finger hit send. I’m going to feel a lot worse if I find out I just woke him up. I don’t know if he keeps his phone on or not, but I’m guessing it’s probably on his nightstand. After a couple of minutes, of feeling a little more hopeful that I didn’t wake him up, my heart stops when I see he’s typing something. And it’s taking forever.
Hayes: Don’t worry about it. Really. Get some sleep.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Why did I just do that? I can feel the iciness through the text message. I did just text him at—shit—four a.m.?
It’s four a.m.
I surrendered to the cigarette, the rest of the pack, actually. It was my final good-bye to the death stick. Then I watched the sun rise from the front steps. I never realized how much a rising sun looks like the actual ball of fire it is. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to understand how something as beautiful as what makes up the sun, can destroy so much, and yet leave the sky looking as picturesque as it does every day.
It must be close to seven when I feel my phone vibrating in my sweatshirt pocket. I pull it out—my heart awakens at the sight of Hayes’s name on my display. My hands are shaking as I open the message…
Hayes: First—do you sleep? Because I try to.
Me: I’m so so so sorry. I was out of my mind last night.
Hayes: Second—I was bothered by the whole Tanner thing. And while I shouldn’t have been, I guess I had already counted my eggs before they hatched. My problem. Not yours. I still like you and stuff…
I think I’m happy he’s saying this. I knew he was mad, and I’d rather him say it so I can—I don’t know—keep apologizing until I’m blue in the face or fix it or whatever. Because I will. I hate that I