The Way We Talk

Chris Kamrada wants to talk to me.

Or, at least that's what the voicemails and texts say. My entire missed call log is him, barring a few calls from the girls to confirm dinner, two calls from Jay, and one from Katy.

I answer sometimes. I don't say much. He doesn't either. I don't think he knows what to say, really. He'll never admit it, but he blames himself. He's Christian's best friend, could he have changed his mind? Could he have warned me?

It's not his fault. I don't hate Kamrada. He didn't throw away our friendship to appease his raging cunt of a girlfriend. In fact, he's trying to salvage it, and I'm not all that helpful.

I don't know if I'm strong enough to be his friend right now.

In the handful of times we've talked in the last two weeks, I've learned that he thinks he's done well on his finals and that he's back with Deeanna. She's gotten an internship in Orlando so that they can be together this summer. I'm not surprised. Dee told me about a month ago that she still loves him and she wanted to fix things. She doesn't care that we've done everything but fuck; it was a physical thing for the both of us.

I'm not angry. I don't think I would even if I had the capacity for any more animosity. They deserve a second chance.

Apparently, Chris wants another one as friends.

I close my physics textbook and answer my phone. "Hello." My voice is devoid of any emotion at all. How typical.

"Hey, it's me." Good to know that he trusts me to check my caller ID. "I miss you."

I don't say anything. I miss him but I can't say the words. I think he knows anyway. "TKE's having a party tonight or the graduated seniors. Will you please come?"

"Can't. Physics exam." The first thing to go, I've realized, is the full sentences.

Chris sighs. "It's not until Tuesday. Not to mention, if you don't know this stuff backwards by now, I have no faith in the educational system. Everyone says you study so much."

He's right. I'd ace that final even if I don't study another second. I'm just not in the mood to get sloppy with a bunch of happy fraternity boys.

"If it makes you feel better, Christian won't even be there," Chris adds, noticing my lack of response, "I didn't invite him. We're not even speaking right now."

He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I hate what he did to you. He chose wrong, and sooner or later, he's going to figure that out."

I sigh. He sounds so sad and kind of angry, and I'm gunna cave. I can feel him pouting form here. Why is he so hard to say no to?

"I love you Ricky, and I'm not sorry we didn't work out. You're easily one of my best friends, and I'm not gunna give up on you. You mean too much to me." He sighs again, and I'm not sure if I'm hearing things but he sounds like he might cry or something. "If I don't see you tonight, I won't see you until fall. I'm gunna miss your ass, and you owe me a goodbye shot or two."

The bigger your wall, the harder you fall. "When is it?"

--

I just spent the last 30 minutes standing in the shower.

I don't know how Chris convinced me to go. Something about friendship and shots and Christian being an insufferable asshole.

I hate that Chris is too pretty to say no to.

I stare at my closet in my underwear, towel turban over my still-wet hair, trying to figure out what I'm going to wear.

I'm not sure why I care. I didn't even want to go. I still don't want to go. I could go in sweats and Kamrada would be happy that I showed my face. But the only thing worse than feeling horrible at a party is looking terrible, so I decide that my very short dress from Senior Homecoming will have to do.

I blow-dry my hair for the first time in ages, then straighten it with the precision of a surgeon. I try to put on my mascara with a shaky hand - too much coffee - and frown at what will have to do.

I slip on the dress. What once barely fit is no loose on me. It's not as slutty short as before, and I'm glad.

I slide on a pair of black heels and head to the Metro.

--

As promised, Chris picks me up at Van Ness Metro Stop.

"You look incredible," he says, pecking me on the cheek.

I shrug. "You clean up well yourself." It's true. His hair is perfect as usual, and he's dressed for the occasion in a gray dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, a black tie, and black dress pants.

He links our elbows and escorts me to the frat house.

TKE is bursting with people. Like, literally. There isn't much space to walk, and I'm not claustrophobic but I find it hard to breathe.

One of Chris's brothers spots us. I think his name is Kyle. Either way, he grabs two beers and presses on into our hands. I take mine graciously, flip the tab, and down it as fast as I can. The surrounding brothers cheer, and Kyle? claps me on the back before handing me another beer.

What? If I'm going to get through tonight, it's not going to be sober.