Inseparable Read online

  “I’m not suggesting we drink each other’s blood, Ayd.” Shaking my head, I tear a page out of my school journal and start writing.

  “Whatcha doing?” Dev asks, removing a pocket knife from his book bag.

  “Writing out the pact,” I say, sending them both a “duh” look. “We’ll all sign it and seal it with our blood.”

  “Nuh-uh,” Ayden says, shaking his head. “I’m not cutting myself.”

  “Pussy,” Devin proclaims, smirking.

  “Am not,” Ayden protests.

  “Are too,” I say, holding out my finger to Devin. “I’m not afraid. Do it.” He holds my wrist, and my skin tingles from his touch. We stare at one another, and for a split second, time seems to stand still. I feel a brief, sharp sting as he makes a small incision in the skin at the top of my finger, but I don’t react. His eyes don’t leave mine as he makes a cut in his own finger, and we smile at one another.

  “Oh, all right,” Ayden huffs, holding out his hand, trying not to grimace as Devin makes the cut.

  We sign the piece of paper and press our bloody fingers to the page, repeating the words together.

  The awesome-threesome will never die. Best friends for infinity. No matter what, we will always be there for each other.

  I turn over in the bed, feeling a multitude of congested emotions in the aftermath of my dream. It’s quite prophetic that that memory should return to me now. I remember that day as clearly as if it was yesterday. I remember how happy I was that night, believing our bond would last for eternity. God, I was so naïve. I sigh, curling into a ball as knots twist and turn in my gut. I could continue to wallow in the past or get my head out of my ass and go do something. The latter wins out, and I yank the covers off and hop up with determination.

  After I’ve showered, dressed, and eaten, I head out to my balcony with my book bag, aiming to go over my study notes again for the math test tomorrow.

  The sun is high in the sky, and even though the air is warmer than last night, I’ve always been a cold creature, so I bring the blanket out with me. Sinking into the beanbag, I fix the plaid blanket around me, trying to ignore Devin’s scent which seems to have embedded itself into every fiber of the material. I remove my book, pad, and pen and settle into studying.

  An hour later, I toss my books aside with a sigh. It’s no use. I can’t focus my brain. My mind is still too preoccupied with the two boys in my life. I think about Devin’s insinuation last night—the implication that Ayden is hiding romantic feelings for me. It’s true he hasn’t been with many girls, and he hasn’t had a steady girlfriend since tenth grade, but I don’t believe it’s for the reasons Devin suggested. Ayden has his heart set on college football and then NFL. As our school’s star quarterback, with an impressive record on the field, he has a good chance at making it.

  Ayden and I are a lot alike in many ways.

  From an early age, both of us have known what we wanted to do with our lives, and we are both stubbornly determined and focused on those goals. For as long as I can remember, Ayden has lived and breathed football. Although he doesn’t talk about it to me much anymore, his dedication is clear for everyone to see. For years, he’s spent every weekend practicing with his dad, going to all the local games, and attending all the Hawkeye games in Kinnick Stadium. His dad, Carl, had had a promising football career until it came to a devastating end when he broke his leg at nineteen. I know he’s so proud of Ayden and rooting for his only son to have the sports career that was denied him.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket and I fish it out, smiling as Mariah’s face pops up on the screen. “Hey, chica.”

  “Hey, yourself. You want to meet at Mona’s?” Mona’s is the most popular diner in town. I work at The Good Eats Diner, across the road, which is popular with an older crowd.

  “Sounds good. Meet you there in twenty?”

  I leave a note on the counter for Mom, in case she wakes up early and wonders where I am. Then I grab my purse, keys, and my jean jacket and hightail it out of the house. My old VW Golf chugs to life, and I offer up thanks. If it wasn’t for Devin and his mad mechanical skills, old Betsy would be in a metal grave right now. Dev has brought her back from the brink so many times. Mom offered to buy me a new car last month, but I turned her down. I don’t want her spending her money, and I’m rather fond of my battered little car. Call me sentimental, but Ayden and Devin helped me choose it when I turned sixteen and got my driver’s license, and letting it go feels like a betrayal of our friendship. Which is ridiculous, especially considering our relationship is all but in the toilet right now.

  I park in front of the diner and jump out, waving at Mariah through the glass. She’s nabbed our favorite spot in the middle of the diner beside the window. I love people-watching, and it offers the perfect position to observe without being obvious.

  “I ordered your usual,” Mariah says as I slide into the booth across from her.

  “Cool. Thanks. So, how did last night go? I want all the details.” Mariah went with her boyfriend, Cody, to one of the senior parties last night. I sometimes go with them, on nights when I’m not working, but I wasn’t feeling it last night. I hadn’t been in the mood to watch Devin slobbering all over the latest groupie. And if I’d known he wasn’t going, I still would have stayed home in the hope that he’d come over.

  I’m pathetically predictable.

  “It was kind of boring until Devin showed up.”

  I shake my head, harrumphing. “Yeah, that figures.” I should’ve known he’d go partying once I booted him out. As that old saying goes, a leopard doesn’t change its spots.

  She leans over the table with her mouth open to speak as Jennifer brings our coffee. “If it isn’t my two favorite gals.” Her wide smile is genuine.

  “Hi, Jenn. Thanks.” I smile at the kind, older waitress. She’s worked at Mona’s for as long as we’ve been coming here, and she was super generous with her time and her advice when I started waitressing myself.

  “Any time, sweetie. Food won’t be long.” She affectionately ruffles the top of my head.

  Mariah waits until Jennifer is out of earshot. “What don’t I know?”

  Mariah is the only one who knows about my crush on Devin. I don’t have many female friends—growing up a tomboy and having two boys for best friends pretty much put paid to any lasting female friendships when I was a kid. Once I became a teen, things changed, and, suddenly I had a whole bunch of new girlfriends. Until I figured out most of them were using me to get to Ayden and Devin. I’ve been overly cautious since then. Apart from a couple of girls I’m friendly with in school, Mariah is my only real girlfriend. We’ve been close since we were fourteen, and I trust her with my life.

  “Dev dropped by last night.” I proceed to give her the lowdown on everything that happened.

  Jennifer returns with our pancakes and bacon just as I’ve finished filling Mariah in.

  “Well,” Mariah says, carefully cutting up her bacon. “That explains a lot.”

  “What did he do?” I know he did something, or someone, more to the point. I add an extra layer of steel over my heart in preparation.

  “He seemed sober when he arrived, but he lost no time getting absolutely wasted. Like, I’ve never seen the dude so out of it. He was falling all over the place and mouthing off to anyone who dared cross paths with him.” She shakes her head, slowly chewing her food. “I hate to say it, Ange, because I know how much you care for him, but he’s a train wreck waiting to happen.”

  I put my fork down. “I’m worried about him. He was acting weird last night. Something is going on with him, but, of course, he refuses to tell me anything. When we were kids, I was their equal, but now, both Ayden and Devin seem to think I need to be protected from stuff, and it irritates the crap out of me.” I yank a piece of bacon with my teeth, chewing ferociously.

  “That means they care.
”

  “I know, but it’s still annoying. They can care without keeping secrets.” She pins me with a knowing look. “It’s not the same,” I protest. “My secret is secret for a reason.” Her face is frustratingly neutral as she waits me out. “My secret would kill our friendship stone dead. The dynamics have already changed, and the admission that I”—I look around, making sure no one is in ear shot, and lower my voice—“am in love with Dev would be the final nail in the coffin.”

  “Maybe, or maybe not. Perhaps, if Devin knew how you felt about him, he would stop all the sleeping around and drinking. Maybe he would be a better person for you.”

  “He should want to be a better person for himself. You should never change for anyone else.”

  Mariah beams. “Spoken like a true wannabe psychologist.”

  I grin back at her. “Damn straight, girlfriend.”

  Her expression softens. “Becky was all over him again last night.”

  I grit my teeth, pushing my half-eaten plate away. “I don’t have a violent streak, but she makes me wish I did. That girl pushes all my buttons.”

  “You and half the school.” Mariah shoots me a sympathetic look. “He pushed her away again. Devin is a lot of things, but he’s a loyal friend.”

  “I know, but it grates on my nerves that she keeps trying with him. And I know the reason she persists is to wind me up.” For the last two years, Becky Carmichael has been a major pain in my butt. Besides my friendship with the guys, I don’t know what I’ve done to earn her attention and her wrath. She goes out of her way to try to make my life miserable. Most of the time, I refuse to let her bitchiness get to me, but sometimes it’s hard to rise above it. I thought once you stood up to bullies they eventually backed down. Not Becky; it seems to spur her on.

  “She’s a loser, and everyone knows it. You only have to put up with her for eight more months. How bad can it be?”

  Mom is in the kitchen, yawning over a steaming mug of coffee, when I return home. “You’re up early,” I remark, bounding into the room and kissing her enthusiastically on the cheek. She smells like vanilla and strawberries, and it’s wonderfully comforting.

  “By some miracle, the hospital was quiet last night, so I got to leave a few hours early.”

  “You still look tired. You should go back to bed.” Dark shadows linger under her eyes, and she looks paler than usual. Mom has that delicate, porcelain-type skin. Perfectly flawless but it can leave her looking a little washed out at times.

  “I want to spend some time with you. We see so little of one another these days.” There’s no word of a lie in that statement. Since ownership of the hospital changed six months ago, Mom works the night shifts now—three days on, two days off—so we are like passing ships in the night. She is usually sleeping during the day while I’m at school, and then I have study or work on the evenings she is off. It sucks, but as a single-parent family, it’s a necessity. Thank God, she had the foresight to negotiate a college fund for me in the divorce settlement or she’d probably be working herself into an early grave.

  “I’m up for that. What would you like to do?”

  “I thought we could take the boat out on the lake? If we wrap up nice and warm, it won’t be too cold.”

  “Sounds lovely, if you’re sure you’re up to it? I don’t mind lazing about here if you’re tired.”

  She smiles, mussing up my hair. “I’m never too tired for you, kiddo.”

  I wrap my arms around her. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart. So, so much.” Her lips press the top of my head, and I sigh contentedly.

  Although I had periods, when I was younger, when I really missed having a dad in my life, I’ve long since gotten over that. Mainly because Mom is amazing, and we have a great relationship. It helped that she told me the truth when I was old enough to handle it. Now, I’m glad I don’t know my father or his stuck-up wealthy family who have made no effort to keep in touch either. I have zero plans to ever set eyes on the rich financier or his family.

  Ayden’s dad, Carl, has been like a surrogate dad to me over the years. And Mom is the most awesome mother on the planet, so, between the two of them, I don’t really feel like I’ve missed out on anything. Family comes in all shapes and sizes these days. Mine works, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

  An hour later, we are both freezing our asses off on Clear Lake. There are no other idiots out here today, so the water is placid, the surroundings eerily quiet except for the gentle hum of the boat’s engine and the odd bird chirruping overhead. A twinge of grief hits me in the chest, like it does every time we take Grandpa’s boat out. It’s been three years since he passed, and I still miss him so much. Watching Mom grieve her last parent was tough to bear witness to. Because of her unsocial working hours, Mom doesn’t have a lot of friends either. She had no one to lean on, and while she tried her best to shield it, she couldn’t disguise the utter torment she was going through. I’ll never forget how helpless I felt. And how much it strengthened my resolve in relation to my planned psychologist career. I want to be able to help people deal with their issues. To know I’m giving something back.

  Mom looks sad, and I know her mind has gone there too. Little wisps of her blonde hair escape her hat, blowing across her unlined face, but she doesn’t even notice. Time to drag both of us out of our despondent state. “What was it you said about it not being too cold?” I ask, my teeth chattering. “It’s almost Baltic out here.”

  “It’ll toughen you up,” she retorts with a gleam in her eye.

  “Or I’ll get frostbite,” I moan.

  Mom laughs. “Always so dramatic.”

  “I’m a teenager. We’re supposed to be dramatic.” I playfully stick my tongue out at her.

  “Speaking of drama, did something happen between you and Ayden?”

  I pull my woolly hat down over my ears, frowning. “Why do you assume that?”

  “Because he came over earlier, and he had a bunch of lilies for you.”

  We share a knowing smile. Turning up bearing lilies is Ayden’s signature way of apologizing. I give Mom a censured version of what went down last night. While we are close, and I tell her most everything, there are some things I keep close to my chest.

  Like my unrequited love for Devin.

  And how Ayden sometimes sleeps in my bed.

  I get freaked out in the house alone at night, so Ayden keeps me company on occasion. I know Mom would read more into that than there is. Plus, I don’t want her feeling guilty. She has to work, and I’m almost eighteen years old—old enough not to get spooked by the thought of things going bump in the night.

  “So, that’s why Ayden’s groveling,” I finish explaining.

  “Have you heard from Devin?”

  I nod. “He sent me a text.” A one-word text at five a.m. “Sorry.”

  She moors the boat to a nearby buoy and comes to sit down beside me. She wets her lips, opening and closing her mouth as if she’s struggling to speak. I wait for her to compose herself. “I know how much those two boys have meant to you, honey. How much they still mean to you, but I think you need to consider the possibility that things might never be the same. People grow up. Move on in their lives. Friendships aren’t always what they used to be.”

  “Not ours.” My words resonate with confidence I only partly feel. I can’t lie to myself. I am worried about what will become of us, but I’m afraid to verbalize it. Like it will make it real if I say the words out loud.

  I trace a finger over the small infinity tattoo on the inside of my left wrist. Ayden and Devin have one too. It was Dev’s idea—naturally—and he found a tattoo place that didn’t give a rat’s ass about age of consent. We snuck off one day, took the bus to Minneapolis, and got inked up. It’s not the traditional infinity symbol. Dev designed his own and gave a sheet with the drawing to the tattoo art
ist to replicate. I smile as I trace the intricate, successive loops with the tip of my finger. Each line is delicate and fine, but they are all interwoven, and together they stand out. It symbolized us, Devin had explained. Interconnecting and stronger as a unit, just like our friendship. The memory replays in vivid Technicolor in my mind.

  Ayden’s lower lip is trembling, and Devin and I trade knowing looks. “Just hang in a little longer,” I tell Ayd. “And think of how awesome it’s going to look.” My eyes move to the tattoo artist, bent over my wrist, inking my skin with focused precision. Ayden winces, and I wish I could reach over and hug him. Devin and I have barely flinched, but Ayden’s tense and jumpy, and I know he’s not enjoying the experience. He’s only doing this because we coaxed him into it, like we have done so many times with so many things, and I love him for his devotion to our friendship, even if we constantly push him out of his comfort zone.

  A massive lump builds at the base of my throat, and I’m struggling to swallow over it.

  Mom looks down at my wrist and then peers into my damp eyes. Her arm goes around my back, and she pulls me into her side. A sob rips from the very innermost part of me. I should know better than to try to fool her. She can always see straight through to my soul.

  The day we got the tattoos was one of the few times when I can honestly say Mom was really disappointed in me. Not that I got the tattoo, per se, but that I did it without speaking to her first. While I was quietly confident she would have let me make the decision myself, at fifteen, I was too afraid she’d say no. I didn’t want to let my best friends down, and I wanted a permanent mark of our friendship. A reminder of what we meant to one another.

  What I failed to understand then was there is no such thing as permanent. Everything can change in a heartbeat. The only thing that is guaranteed is in the moment. Perhaps that’s why I’m always trying to confirm what’s around the corner. Why I’m so fixated on the future and knowing what lies in store for me. Because I’m scared everything is transitory.