Weekend Friend

11.

I LEAVE FOR California bright and early on Monday morning. It's less than a three hour flight from Seattle to Monterey, so I'm standing on the curbside of the airport pick-up zone by noon, and sitting on a stool at my kitchen island with a kale salad in front of me by one.

Autumn Quarter doesn't start for another two weeks, and spending time at home where I can walk along pristine beaches and take advantage of Mom's cooking is exactly what I need before surrendering myself to the chaos of student life.

"Your brother should be here by dinner," Mom says as she puts the glass bowl of salad leftovers into the neatly arranged refrigerator.

While it's considerably less full now that Logan and I don't live at home full-time, she's kindly stocked it full of our family's go-to foods.

"Should is the key word," I mumble out through a mouthful of greens. I'd gaslighted myself into thinking that I didn't need to spend money on travel snacks, but my stomach started complaining one hour into the flight. "Because when has Logan ever been on time?"

"Logan's not driving."

I freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth, and a chickpea falls back into the bowl. Despite the tangy ocean breeze passing through the open windows, the air is suddenly thick with apprehension.

I don't want to ask my question, but I also don't want to pass up an opportunity to hear the name I can't bring myself to say aloud.

"Then who is?"

Mom turns around. I've inherited my green eyes and terrible poker face from her, so I instantly recognise her sincerity and prepare for her to give it to me straight.

"The Jeep is in the shop, so Ryley offered to drive him up."

I set my fork in the bowl before moving it off to one side so I can fold my arms in front of me and rest my forehead on my forearms. After taking a few measured breaths I reply, "What a considerate asshole."

Mom sighs, long and patient. "Have you given any more thought to telling Logan your side of the story?"

"Nope," I say with my head still down. The countertop smells clean, but not in the chemically induced kind of way. It's fresh and cold against my forehead, giving me something to focus on as I provide my usual justification, "Nothing has changed. Ryley's still his best friend, and has been since the dawn of time."

By the dawn of time, I mean our first day of kindergarten. I still remember holding Logan's hand as we walked into Ms. McMahon's classroom in colour-coordinated outfits, and sitting at a table with a kid with moppy brown hair, gangly limbs, and a Timex stopwatch that he kindly let me wear for the day. This event was a catalyst of sorts as he'd neglected to ask for it back, resulting in me wearing it home.

I have no memory of this next part of the story, but Mom and Mrs. Lawson treated it like folklore when we were together. Mom used the class list to call the Lawson household, informing Mrs. Lawson of the situation, and assuring her that I didn't mean to walk off with her son's watch. In essence, she wanted to assert my innocence before anyone could imply otherwise.

The watch could have been exchanged at school the next day, but Mom being the relentless fixer that she is, insisted on returning it that evening. She corralled us kids into the Suburban and drove to the Lawsons' house—the same house I'd drive to years later.

According to the story, Ryley sat waiting for us on the porch with mother. As it turned out, he'd confessed to intentionally not asking for the watch back in hopes that it could facilitate a playdate, which it had.

Even then, he liked scheming for what he wanted.

Ryley and Logan played like brothers ever since—all through school and baseball, until they both wound up together at Cal Berkeley. It was the perfect bromance, right down to the part when I fell for my brother's best friend.