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

She was with George. I knew it right away. A rendezvous arranged in the gasps of time they had between my antics. My grand seduction completely destined to fail from the start—even without all my self-sabotage. My knees found their way to my chest. I couldn’t stop staring at the empty bed. Imagining what she was doing. Knowing George wouldn’t forget her, whereas I’d become a tiny side joke in his wet-dream come true.

I didn’t cry. I wanted to, but I felt too weirdly empty to let tears fall.

Eventually, I leaned over and turned the light off, waiting for her to come back. I listened in the dark to the click of the lock, the careful closing of the fire door, the sticky sound of her bare foot against the tiles, the delicate rummaging of her body back under the sheet. I could hear her breathing in the blackness. I could tell she wasn’t asleep yet. I could sense she knew I was awake.

We lay in the dark, listening to one another’s rib cages expand and contract. But we never spoke of it. Not once.

32

now.

I watched Ben sleep in the morning murk of our bedroom. It still felt like such an unfathomable privilege, to be able to see his vulnerable face surrendering to unconsciousness. His mouth was slightly open, his hair fell over one closed eye, and he’d tugged the duvet up into his fist, clutching at it like a small child napping. I propped myself onto my elbow and drank in every detail of his face, thinking, I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Me. I reached out and traced the skin of his cheek, watching the tiny hairs prickle to meet my fingertip. Me, just me. Ben let out a small groan and rolled away, stirring himself awake.

I wondered if he ever watched me sleep?

I wanted him to. I wished he looked at me like I looked at him. I played out the fantasy of him watching me unconscious, of how I’d look serene and naturally beautiful, my hair splayed over my pillow. He’d watch me breathe and think how lucky he was. Another grunt. Ben turned again. Maybe this was my chance? The mattress squeaked as he turned for a third time and I flattened myself to the bed and fluttered my lashes closed.