I sucked in a shallow breath, reminded of another person saying the same thing to me. “I’m not that friend anymore, Mom. It’s not like that. It will never be like that.”
“Maybe not, but the future isn’t written in stone.”
This was not what I wanted to talk about and this conversation was pointless, because I didn’t plan on seeing him again. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Mom sighed, and it was a sigh of someone who was worried and not annoyed. “Okay. I’ll talk to you soon. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Hanging up the phone, I sat on the edge of my bed and found my mind wandering once more into places I’d rather it not, but it was something Mom had said—something that my friend Katie had also said to me hours before every aspect of my life had changed.
“You’re that friend, Jillian.”
I felt like that wasn’t really something I needed pointed out, but I stayed quiet as I listened to Katie Barbara break down the last decade of my life with the wisdom only a psychic stripper could lay upon you.
“You’re the friend who’s always there, no matter what. Even if you don’t want to be there, you’re still there.” She pointed the strip of extra-crispy bacon in my direction. “You’re so that friend.”
I glanced down at my scrambled eggs and sighed. How had this conversation even come up, because if I was in the possession of a Time-Turner, I would so go back and stop this from being the topic.
Beside me, Abby Ramsey shifted forward, dropping her elbows onto the table. I lifted my gaze, searching for the waitress. This would be a great time for her to ask if we wanted our checks. Problem was it was Saturday morning at IHOP and the place was . . . well, hopping.
Katie bit into her strip of bacon, which had actually been the last piece of bacon she’d swiped off my plate. “Like this weekend, for example. You haven’t been coming home during the summer. Not really, and you only have a couple of more weeks before your fall semester starts, right? But you’re here today.”
I started to defend myself, but Abby spoke up. “Katie, she didn’t leave Shepherd just for him.”
Well . . .
Sitting back against the booth, I kept my mouth shut. Of course Abby would defend me. I was closer to her than I was to Katie. Abby and I had first met years ago at a book signing, and our mutual love of reading had spawned what I like to think was a pretty epic friendship, considering there was a ten year gap between us.
But love of books knew no age.
Growing up, I’d always known of Katie. Even in a city as populated as Philadelphia and its surrounding suburbs, everyone knew Katie. And it really wasn’t because she was a stripper at the club across from the bar called Mona’s. It also wasn’t because she claimed to be psychic, a side effect of falling off a slippery pole.
It was just that Katie was a friend of everyone. I didn’t think there was a person out there that Katie hadn’t befriended at some point.
But right then I was kind of wishing I hadn’t agreed to this breakfast when I’d told Abby I’d be coming up for the weekend.
“You know damn well that’s why she’s here,” Katie retorted, finishing off the slice of bacon before flipping thick blonde hair over her shoulder. “He’s the only thing that brings her back here at a snap of a finger.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s the only thing,” I reasoned, picking up my glass of soda. “I came home last month.”
“For the Fourth of July,” she returned.
Abby’s sigh was nearly swallowed by the sip of coffee she took. “I think what Katie is trying to say—”
“She knows what I’m saying.” Katie slid the sleeve of her neon purple shirt back up her shoulder. Her bright, ocean-colored eyes met mine. “He treats her like a little sister/slave. He’s not worth it. Not yet.”
Every part of me stilled and then stiffened. Muscles along my back locked up. Skin prickled like a swarm of fire ants. I was a pretty level-headed person. So much so that when I died, I was pretty sure that “calm and collected” would be etched into my gravestone, but nothing, nothing made my head want to spin three-hundred-and-sixty degrees quicker than someone talking smack about him.
“Don’t say that about Brock.” My voice was cool, but fire was sparking deep in my belly.
“He’s a grown adult.” Katie shrugged a shoulder, ignoring my warning. “And he’s making his own decisions. Has been for as long as all of us remember, and you’ve been his little shadow.”
“Well, it sounds kind of pathetic when you say it like that.” I placed my glass back on the table before it accidentally slipped out of my fingers, and my epitaph changed to “ill-tempered and impulsive.”
“If the shoe fits . . .”
My mouth dropped open. Everyone knew Katie could be as blunt as a two by four, but Jesus, that was a little unnecessary. “Katie,” I said, eyes wide.
“You went grocery shopping for him,” she pointed out.
I knew the time she was talking about. Roughly a year and a half ago. “He could barely move,” I protested.
“You did his laundry,” she continued, and the bright purple shirt slipped off her shoulder.
I gaped at her. “He’d had surgery on his chest wall muscle!”
“You actually cleaned his apartment for him,” Katie finished with a clap of her hands. “And who does that? Like, I don’t have a single friend, not even a special friend, who would clean my apartment. You are that friend.”