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When Jamie told me it was a combined bachelor-bachelorette party for him and Cat, I thought that now would be my chance. That Ange would have to interact with me and I’dsomehow, I don’t know—become a different person. A person she might actually like.
But instead of taking the chance to say anything meaningful to her, I floundered. I told her about puffins, for Christ’s sake.
“Fuck,” I say again, and gulp down the rest of my drink. I close my eyes and breathe in, and then out again. I’m better than this.
What’s more, I’m not used to this. No one else—not a single fucking person—has me by the balls the way Angela does.
“Something wrong?” Hunter asks.
I jump back, opening my eyes to find him right next to me. “You scared the shit out of me, man,” I say.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that,” he says, his blue eyes twinkling.
I laugh because he does know me well. I’m not easily taken by surprise.
“But the question remains,” he continues. “What’s wrong?” He takes a swig from his beer and the movement draws my gaze to his hair. Which is shorter and more groomed than normal.
“Nothing,” I say a bit too quickly. “What’s wrong with your hair?”
“I got it cut,” he mumbles.
“Sure,” I say. “The shaggy dog look you’ve been rocking for your entire life was suddenly out?”
“I wanted to look more professional.” He looks uncomfortable now, and I almost feel bad for my line of questioning. For my not-so-subtle deflection. And I’m sure he knows exactly what I’m doing, and why I’m doing it, because we’ve been friends for twenty years.
“The guys on the crew making fun of you?” I quip.
“No,” he says, more fiercely than usual.
“Okay,” I say, backing off.
He lets out a sigh of relief, and I mentally chastise myself for being such a dick. I’m sure Hunter just cut his hair because he’s tired of being single and has realized that women like a well-groomed guy.
“Tell me what’s wrong and stop deflecting,” he says. “I know it’s Angela. I saw her leave the room.”
“It’s not Angela,” I say, because I can’t even begin to describe everything that’s wrong between me and her. And talking about that feeling…I’m not sure I could get it out and form the words. “It’s my degree. I’m sick of it. I want to be done.” That’s not a lie, I reassure myself. Iamsick of it.
“Hey, only a month left. Right, man?” Hunter puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
“Yeah, that’s true. I just need to get through the next month and then I’ll submit it and it will be done.” I’m at the end of the fifth and final year of the degree, and miraculously, I think I’ll actually finish on time.
“Try and relax this weekend,” Hunter says.
I snort in response.
“I mean it. Just try not to think so hard about everything,” he says, giving me a pointed look that I know is about Angela and whatever he thinks is between us. “I’m gonna get another beer. And I’ll get you a whiskey.”
Hunter heads to the bar and I reflect on his advice. I can’tnotthink though, and I can’t relax. It’s not in me. My mind is always running at a million miles a minute—something I know Angela likes about me. Or perhaps liked, past tense. It used to be something we shared. Something that united us. In our friend group growing up, we were the two cerebral, sharp ones, balancing out the others’ antics. And we’re alike in other ways, too. I’m a master at deflection and Angela is the most private person I’ve ever met. Aside from myself, that is.
So not thinkingtoo hard about things with Angela is the opposite way to approach it. She’ll see right through me in a heartbeat and drive me away. Again.
I don’t need to not think. I need the opposite: I need a plan. Some way of getting her back. Hell I’d take some way of getting her to tolerate me for more than ten minutes. Because even if Angela is never going to feel the same way about me that I feel about her, I don’t think I can endure her hating me for much longer.
3
ANGELA
“Welcome to Isle North,”the captain announces as the boat’s engine shudders off.
