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My mouth fell open as Allen bounded into the living room, his bowl cut and big glasses bouncing on his head as he charged toward Jason’s newest arrival with his arms outstretched. “Bring it in, bro!”
With a last-minute duck and lean, Mark McGrath-in-a-tie completely evaded Allen’s attempt to tackle-hug him, smirking as his stocky four-eyed friend nearly crashed into the coffee table.
Oh my fucking God. It’s Ken.
I suddenly had no idea how to act, what to do. Ken was my pal. I should have at least been able to say, What’s up?, but I just sat there, hiding in plain sight, waiting for more signs of Ken-ness.
He’d already avoided human contact like a ninja.
Very Ken.
He walked into the kitchen and pulled a Gatorade out of Jason’s fridge.
Super Ken.
And when that GQ-looking motherfucker turned and looked out over the living room, he smirked…at me.
Sooooo Ken.
I leaned forward and sighed with dreamy hearts in my eyes before I remembered that I was supposed to smile or…something.
There was nowhere on the couch for him to sit, so my first instinct was to get up. I was going to go over there and talk to him. I could do that, right? We were friends.
I stood and took three steps across the living room before I panicked and made a sudden right-hand turn, bolting out the back door onto the balcony. In January. With no jacket.
Like a fucking moron.
The vibe outside was totally different. White party lights hung from the ceiling, and the local alternative rock radio station was playing on Jason’s outdoor speakers. Whereas inside, it was loud and bright and warm and chaotic, outside, it was dark and cold and still and melodic. A brooding song by Linkin Park was just ending, so I curled up on Jason’s cushy outdoor love seat, lit a cigarette from the pack in my pocket, and enjoyed the moment as much as I could while slowly dying of hypothermia.
The moment didn’t last long. Within the first three seconds of hearing the next song, I was already considering throwing myself off the balcony. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I’d committed to sitting outside in the freezing cold, staring at the apartment across the parking lot where my entire life had gone to shit, the universe thought it would be absolutely hilarious to make me listen to “Falling Star” by Phantom Limb—the song Hans had written for me when we first started dating.
It had been their first and only radio single. Phantom Limb had been dropped from their record label soon after we broke up due to low album sales, but that didn’t stop the local radio stations from playing “Falling Star” every fucking hour on the hour.
With nowhere else to go, I sighed and surrendered to my fate.
As I listened to the lyrics, really listened to them, it was as if I were hearing the song for the first time. It didn’t make me sad. In fact, it made me giggle. And then laugh. And then cover my own mouth to shut myself up so that I could listen some more.
“Falling Star” wasn’t some epic tale of fated destinies and true love, like I’d made it out to be in my mind. It was about a girl who was meant for bigger things than her lover. He’d tried to keep her small, but in the end, she exploded into a supernova, leaving him in the dust.
“You like this song?”
I jumped, my hand still clasped over my mouth, and turned to see Mark McKen closing the door behind him. He was wearing his coat and carrying mine.
A smile split my face wide open. I didn’t know who I was happier to see—Ken or my coat.
Handing over my shiny maroon flight jacket, Ken said, “It’s kinda whiny, don’t you think?”
I burst out laughing as I pulled my coat on like a blanket. “It’s whiny as shit!” I cackled.
I scooted over to make room for Ken on the love seat, but he retreated to the opposite side of the balcony, just like always.
Never too close.
“So, what’s your favorite band?” I asked, taking a drag from my cigarette as if I wasn’t in danger of losing my fingers to frostbite.
“Sublime,” Ken answered without missing a beat.
Snort.“Sublime? Shut the fuck up.”
