My mother, Erica, used to watch us at the kitchen table arguing over homework and say, « One day, the two of you are going to figure this out. »
Jeffrey would grin.
« Figure out what? »
« You know exactly what. »
Then he’d look at me. I’d roll my eyes.
« We’re friends, Mom. »
That was the truth. Or at least it was what we were willing to admit.
« Figure out what? »
Losing my best friend scared me more than dating him ever excited me. I think he felt the same way. So we kept things simple.
Until one summer night when we were 19.
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