When the game is somewhat close, the winners and losers unannounced, I watch Devon and Colton bend over the tally marks. Obviously, I’m a loser, and not just in the game sense. I’m a loser even in real life. Anger boils inside of me, unwarranted, and I clench my fists in my lap.
“It should just be between the four of us,” Marcy finally speaks, and I pay attention this time. “Gracie barely played. It’s unfair to make her a loser when she didn’t participate.”
Devon glances at me, and I look down quickly at my clutched fists, ashamed of myself.
“All right,” Devon agrees and goes back to his activity.
Slowly, I draw my eyes up and catch Marcy’s. She’s glaring at me, but at the same time, her lower lip is wobbling. Tears glitter in her eyes, but she snivels and raises her chin when she catches me staring right at her.
“So, Gracie, how about we play another game? Just me and you this time?”
My stomach clenches again, but I don’t think it’s from guilt this time. “Okay.”
“Good. We can get back to my question from before; Who would I take to my fantasy dinner party?”
There it is. She wants to prod, to see exactly how much or how little I know about her. If I show that I’m an incredibly bad friend, will I lose her? I can’t lose her too. I don’t want to.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Chapter18
Devon
Ican see Gracie’s discomfort, being pinned into playing this game of two. I can see it written on Marcy’s face just how upset she is at seeing how little Gracie knows about her.
“What am I most afraid of?” Marcy asks, leaning towards Gracie across the table. “Come on, Gracie. I told you about this last year over a text message.”
Gracie blinks, those big brown eyes of hers shimmering with unshed tears. I feel bad for her. I want to stop the onslaught, but I can’t. I know this has to happen. Gracie can’t stay shielded from the truth. She has to accept the damage she did, or she’ll never be able to move forward. I also know, though, that this can break or make her. She can use it to rekindle her friendship and keep a tight grip on her sobriety or let it crack her, resulting in her return to meth and drinking and whatever else she was doing.
“Who was my celebrity crush freshmen year?” Marcy asks when Gracie still doesn’t say a thing.
This question cracks Marcy, though. She stands up, slamming her hand onto the table, and makes us all jump.
“Dammit, Gracie, you don’t know shit about me!” Marcy screams, letting the tears flood her face.
Gracie shrinks in her chair and still doesn’t say a thing, her eyes on the table. I stand up, instinct taking over to diffuse the situation.
“Marcy, Gracie obviously feels guilty about the whole thing—”
“Seriously?” She snorts with a roll of her eyes and glares at me. “Don’t stick up for her, Devon. Just like you always have… her puppy dog. Keeping her shielded from everything bad. Let her own up to everything, Dev, all right?”
“It isn’t my fault,” Gracie interjects, her voice quivering though it's somewhat strong as she finally looks up.
“What?” Marcy blinks, and then her eyebrows draw together as she glares at Gracie. “Excuse me? Of course, it is your fault! You gave up—”
“No,” Gracie cuts Marcy off and stands up, holding her chin. “Addiction is a disease, Marcy. You smoked and drank, just like I did, and were able to walk away. I couldn’t. It held onto me. I’m sorry that it ruined our friendship, that I didn’t get to know you the way I should’ve. I really am sorry about all that, but it is not my fault, not entirely. Yes, I chose to smoke and drink at first, but I didn’t know addiction would take over when I did that. I’m sorry, I really am. It sucks, okay? It sucks to know that I chose that shit over everything else. Over you, over Devon and Owen, and just my life entirely. I really am sorry!”
Marcy stares at Gracie for a long moment, unmoving, her expression unchanging. After what feels like an eternity, Marcy’s nostrils flare as she draws herself together. “No. No, I won’t accept that. You literally know shit about me. Regardless of the addiction, you could’ve been texting me or whatever to get to know me again. All you’ve done for the last nine months is gripe about yourself. Poor Gracie wants Devon or Owen back. Poor Gracie has to live rent and bill free. Poor Gracie has to do schooling to get her life in order. Poor Gracie doesn’t have to work. Poor Gracie, poor Gracie, poor Gracie.”
Gracie’s look of surprise at Marcy’s words tells me that this fight has been brewing silently for a while now but utterly unbeknownst to Gracie.
“Ever since I got here, you’ve been going on and on about how miserable you are living here with them. How bored you are with life or whatever, I don’t know. I tried telling you about mine and Landon’s relationship, and while you questioned it, you also just glossed it over. And not just because Landon is your nephew, but because you literally can’t focus on anyone else but yourself. You know what, Gracie? You are a bad friend. You should’ve told your dad no about moving in here. Of course, the guys agreed. Because their hearts are too big to turn you away. You should’ve stepped up and done the adult thing. Your friendship with them would be much easier if you didn’t live with them and drool over them constantly. You won’t let them move on, even though it’s your fucking fault you aren’t with them.”
I’m floored. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or do. I don’t even know if I should get in the middle of this. I know it’s good for Gracie to learn the truth, to grow up and learn how to deal with things. But I still don’t want her upset about these sorts of things. I think it’s the part of me that’s always going to love Gracie that wants to protect her from the pain this is already bringing and will cut her open later on.
“You know, I’m just going to go home.” Marcy chokes out, sounding deflated now as she snatches up her purse. “I’m sorry, really. But you are a bad friend. You need to learn to be a good friend before you can even get into a relationship.” With that, she turns to Colton. “I’m sorry you have to hear that, but I honestly think it’s just best she learns how to be a good friend before she can be a girlfriend or anything else.”
He doesn’t have any time to respond before Marcy leaves. Landon clears his throat, apologizes beneath his breath, and follows her out. The door doesn’t slam shut, though, mostly because it's Landon pulling it closed behind the two of them. There’s silence, except for Owen’s soft snoring. I’d only gotten up from the couch when he had slumped over and passed out. Which was a good thing, because him being drunk apparently isn’t fun. He’s a sappy drunk, mourning his lost relationship with Gracie and griping about his and Donna’s, but constantly going on about good-looking she is. When he’s drunk, Owen rambles. I’ve been told I’m a funny drunk. I wish I knew exactly what that means.