“Just like when you were saying you were the DUFF,” Liv says. “You always thought that and you would say little things about your nose being too wide or hating your hair and your hips. Why do you think I’m always trying to get you to wear your hair curly? I don’t know what it must be like to be the only person in a room who looks different than everyone else, but I have seen the way it affected you. Maybe even more than you because I was on the outside looking in.”
“We all go through a phase where we’re insecure about our looks.” I try to defend myself, even though she’s right on.
“Of course we do, and we all build our defenses accordingly.” Liv squeezes my hand. “And you did that by laughing off things that hurt you. You don’t excuse racism, but you have learned to deflect and make excuses for people when they do things that are offensive.”
“You know how much we loved your dad, right?” Marie says, and my lungs forget how to function as I brace for whatever she’s about to say. “But remember when you were thinking about going to a historically Black university and your dad talked you out of it because he was disappointed you would go to a school that excluded people? And so you ended up miserable with us at the whitest college ever, where you had to build up your defenses even more every time someone asked you what sport you played or what you thought of affirmative action.”
I haven’t thought about that in such a long time that I almost forgot it happened. But now that Marie mentions it, I feel like it happened yesterday. I was so tired of sticking out all the time. Of the teachers looking to me for the “Black perspective” in history class and being overlooked by all the boys who loved my skinny, blue-eyed friends. I thought maybe, if I went somewhere I didn’t stand out as soon as I walked through the door, maybe things would be different. The horrified look on my dad’s face when I asked him broke me. I remember not feeling sad as much as I felt shame and guilt. I thought I’d raised you to be different than that, I thought you’d want to go someplace that welcomed everyone, he’d said. And that was the last we talked about it. I don’t think he meant harm by what he said, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t harmful. And I think I understand how he felt. Maybe he was afraid that I was ashamed of him, that I wanted to distance myself from him. But what he didn’t understand, what I’ve never acknowledged, is that he made me feel the same way. It taught me to measure my thoughts, my feelings, and to place them beneath the feelings of everyone around me.
And that has gotten me here.
“I thought we had fun together in college.” My deflections get weaker as their words continue to penetrate and break down my defenses.
“Sure, we had a blast together and you only remember that because you ignored the other shit you dealt with. And that wasn’t wrong . . . but I also think maybe Quinton was more right than you want to admit.”
Well, at least we can agree on that.
“Well crap, you guys.” I fall back against the fleece blanket. “What am I going to do now?”
“Probably call your therapist because you have some shit to work through.” Liv yanks me off the ground.
“But until then.” Marie picks up my thermos and stands up. “How about we meet back at your house? I’ll bring cupcakes and Liv will bring wine.”
“That sounds like a plan I can get behind.” I stand up and help Liv fold the blanket.
We walk back to our cars, navigating the headstones as we go. Liv and Marie bicker over what movie we should watch, a crying one or a laughing one, and when I look over my shoulder at my parents’ grave, the flowers already wilting in the vase, I feel a sense of peace starting to settle over me. It’s a foreign feeling, but I’m ready to fight for it.
Thirty-seven
A knock on my door forces me off the couch.
“Pizza’s here!” I yell to Marie and Liv, who are spread out across my living room, practically comatose from the amount of wine and junk we’ve consumed over the course of our sleepover.
I would also like to note that sleepovers are way better as an adult. You can eat what you want, watch what you want, and drink all you want. Way better than when I was a kid and my dad made us go to bed early . . . even though we’re adults now and still wanted to go to bed early.
I swing the door open, holding out money for the tip, and freeze when the money is snatched out of my hand, but not by the delivery person.
“Thank you.” Brynn shoves the money in her jeans pocket before pushing past me. “Even though I think we are owed much more than five dollars for how long you’ve ignored us.”
For fuck’s sake, Elliot! Use the goddamn peephole!
Poppy, Vonnie, and Greer all file in after Brynn as I stand dumbfounded by my open door.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“Well . . .” Brynn grabs a cupcake off of my coffee table and licks the frosting off like a toddler. “Since you weren’t responding to our text messages, we decided we had to force our way into your house. It’s a good thing you answered because I bought a lock-picking kit and was prepared to get in no matter what.”
“I did not agree with that plan, so thank you
