Friend is a Four Letter Word

Shayna

SHAYNA

I’m sitting in Carter’s apartment, literally twiddling my thumbs. It’s been almost two hours since I tore out of the parking lot, hoping he didn’t see me.

When I woke up this morning just as Carter was getting dressed, my first thought was that he was maybe going to get breakfast, but then I had another thought:

What if he was going somewhere that would explain his erratic behavior?

And I had to know. And maybe it was overstepping the boundaries that Carter talked about last night, but I don’t care. He dug deep into me, exposed scraps that had never seen daylight. He listened, he understood, he accepted me—but for some reason, whatever he’s hiding—he won’t give me the chance to do the same.

I didn’t find anything out. I watched as a crowd of people filtered out of a Community Center. Maybe he’s doing some sort of outreach? Taking a class? Why wouldn’t he say that, though? When I finally saw him leave, he was talking to a little blonde. I have no idea what they were talking about, but it suddenly hit me what a huge intrusion it was for me to be there. So I bolted.

He’s been gone for so long that I start to wonder if he’s actually coming back at all. I had this feeling that if he saw me, he’d be so angry at me for spying on him that he’d hate me. Why didn’t I think about that before I left? He should be back by now.

The door clicks open and Carter walks in holding two cups and a white paper bag.

“Here’s some coffee and bagels. I got a little of everything, wasn’t sure what you liked,” he says. His tone is curt.

“Thank you. Coffee sounds great.”

I start to get up off of the sofa, but Carter rounds the back and sits down across from me in the armchair.

He clasps his hands together and points his fingers up like a steeple, like we used to do as kids with the rhyme about the church and the steeple and leans forward, resting his mouth on the tips of his fingers.

“Please tell me you didn’t follow me,” he says. He shakes his head and lets out a chuckle—not a happy one, one that is dripping with disappointment and maybe even anger.

“Tell me that you had a killer craving for convenience store nachos for breakfast, and that every store that you stopped out in the entire county was out of cheese sauce except for the place across the street from the center I was at.” Carter says. His eyes are fixed on the coffee table, and I can’t help but feel a wash of cowardly relief because they are so intense that I don’t know what I’d do if he looked at me right now. “Tell me that you were scoping out the pottery class down the hall. Tell me that you ran out of gas on your way to an early bird sale and you couldn’t make it across the road, so you pulled in and coincidentally saw my car. Tell me whatever the hell you want, just please, please don’t tell me that you followed me, Shay.”

I pull my suddenly quivering bottom lip in. Carter finally looks up and he doesn’t look angry like I thought he would. He looks hurt. Devastated. I want to tell him those things; I want to lie if it’ll make him feel better.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“So you followed me,” he says, stating the obvious.

“Clearly I’ve stepped over another line that I shouldn’t have,” I say. “I should go.”

I reach into my purse and fumble for my keys, but Carter reaches over and closes his hand over mine.

“No, Shayna. You wanted to know what was going on so badly that you got in your car and drove across town to spy on me? Fine, then let’s talk.”