BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Friends
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Author
  5. 31
  6. 14
  7. 31
  8. 14
  9. 31
  10. 14
  11. 31
  12. 14
  13. 31
  14. 15
  15. 31
  16. 16
  17. 32
  18. 16
  19. 32
  20. 17
  21. 32
  22. 17
  23. 32
  24. 17
  25. 32
  26. 17
  27. 32
  28. 18
  29. 32
  30. 18
  31. 32
  32. 18
  33. 32
  34. 18
  35. 32
  36. 18
  37. 32
  38. 18
  39. 32
  40. 18
  41. 32
  42. 18
  43. 32
  44. 18
  45. 32
  46. 32
  47. 33
  48. 33
  49. 33
  50. Acknowledgments
  51. Discussion Questions
  52. Booklist

“You know. It was a...very interesting...er...soirée.”

“Soirée?”

“Exceedingly.”

“And was Eric’s house OK when you left?”

“Oh, yes, it was left in an...adequate state.”

We heard Jessica moan behind us. Dad glanced into the rearview mirror.

“Are you sure she’s all right?”

“She’s fine. She just might have...gastroenteritis?”

“Stop the car,” she yelled, sitting upright, making Dad swerve.

“Calm down, sit back down.”

“STOP THE CAR NOW I’M GOING TO BE SICK.”

“Shit.” Dad put his indicators on and drove up on the curb. Before he’d even pulled the hand brake, Jessica had flung the door open, tumbled out onto the freezing pavement, and fell to her hands and knees, vomiting profusely onto the ground. Dad turned to me. “Gastroenteritis?” he asked. “Fern, honey, I’m not stupid.”

Jessica was paralytic. Dad had to crouch down and rub her back, while she kept saying, “Sorry, I’m so sorry” between retches. We carried her back into the car, thinking she would calm down. But, as we neared her estate, she started kicking the back of his seat.

“Stop now. I can walk from here.”

“Jessica. I need to make sure you get home safe.”

“No. NO! I don’t want you to see where I live.”

“Jessica. Stop kicking my seat.”

“My house is so shit compared to yours. I don’t want you to see it. Please. Let me walk. Please.”

My dad and I exchanged glances, and I was somewhat grateful to have a mature adult with me. I twisted in my seat, patting her knee. “Jessica, hon, we don’t care where you live, we just want you to get home safe.”

“I’m a mess. I’m such a mess.”

Dad indicated onto her road. “Almost there, darling,” he said, braking outside a line of box houses.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

She tapped the window. “It’s this one.” We pulled up by a house at the end—where two dustbins and two doorbells revealed the house was two flats on top of each other. After her protests, I’d been expecting a crack den or something—but it was a perfectly legitimate-looking house. Small, yeah. But the driveway had a nice line of herbs growing up one side; the paint on the door was fresh.

“Fern? Do you want to make sure she gets to her door OK?”

I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the door for Jessica, where she stumbled out.

“Fern? I really am so sorry. Truly sorry.” She let me guide her to the front door. “I know you don’t want to be my friend anymore. I’ve ruined everything.”