Better Off Friends

She spun around quickly. “Oh, hey.” She paused for a second before continuing to stretch.

“You just starting?”

“Nope, I’m done.”

I knew that. I knew her routine. She was happy ru

I had no idea what to do. I wanted to make things right between us, but I wasn’t sure at what cost. So I would start with what I should’ve done months ago: apologize.

“Macallan, about —”

She cut me off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“He’s a jerk,” I offered.

Her lip curled slightly. “He’s your best friend.”

I wanted to say No, he’s not. You are. But I hadn’t been acting like a friend to her, let alone a best friend.

I opened my mouth, trying to think of something to say to mend this tension between us. The words that came out were: “See you at Thanksgiving.”

See you at Thanksgiving? I should’ve asked her to punch me right then and there. Maybe she would’ve knocked some sense into me.

“Yeah.” She began to walk away.

“Hey, Macallan,” I called after her. “Is it okay that we’re still coming?”

She hesitated briefly. “Of course.”

While that pause was only a couple seconds, it was long enough for me to know I’d done some real damage.

My parents let me drive my new car to Thanksgiving. I should’ve been excited for this rather adult responsibility, but I was nervous. For the first time since I’ve known the Dietzes, I wasn’t sure how to act. This needed to be a great Thanksgiving for Macallan. I didn’t want to do anything or say anything that would upset her.

What I did want was for us to figure some way to get back to normal. To pre-Levi-being-an-idiot. To pre-Ireland. Maybe even to pre-Emily.

Adam opened the door with a giant smile. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

Guilt stabbed me as I thought about what Keith had said.

We all exchanged holiday greetings and unloaded our winter coats and gifts. We’d brought the centerpiece, pumpkin pie, shrimp for an appetizer, and some adult beverages for the grown-ups.

The amazing smell of the holidays greeted us as we stepped into the living room.

Mom set out the shrimp cocktail on the coffee table next to Macallan’s offerings: spiced pecans, bacon roll-ups, and, I was beyond thrilled to see, her cheese ball.

“Yes!” I sat down and grabbed a cracker.

“Get your own!” Adam gently shoved me as we both started helping ourselves to the food. If only Thanksgiving happened in the summer, I would never have had a problem putting on weight for football season.

“Macallan!” Mom greeted Macallan with a giant hug as she entered the room. “This all looks wonderful. What can I help you with?”

“Nothing, really.” She glanced at her watch. “I don’t have to worry about anything for at least thirty minutes.”

“Do you want me to be on turkey duty?” Mom offered.

“Turkey’s done. I cooked it yesterday.” Macallan popped a bacon roll-up into her mouth. “I did the fancy turkey last time. This year I wanted to do my aunt Janet’s recipe. Cooked the turkey yesterday, then marinated it overnight in gravy.”

“It’s so good,” Adam said as he took the knife away from me to help himself to more cheese ball.

“Don’t eat the entire cheese ball! You know I’ve got a ton of food for di

“It all sounds fabulous.” Mom rubbed Macallan’s arm. “You look gorgeous, sweetie.” She really did. She had this green dress on that accentuated her red hair. “We’ve really missed you. All we keep hearing from Levi is how busy you’ve been.”

The cheese ball got caught in my throat. I didn’t want the day to begin with me getting caught in a lie. I wanted this to be a fun meal like we always had together, even though I knew my mere presence was enough to prevent that from happening.

I studied Macallan’s face to see if she was going to give away the fact that I’d been using excuse after excuse for reasons why Macallan wasn’t around. Why we couldn’t do Sunday di

But the real reason was that I was being selfish. I didn’t want anything to take away from my time with my guys. I didn’t want to be attached to Macallan. Like she was some sort of tether weighing me down. But it was my ego, my insecurity about where I fit in that was responsible for my stupidity.

Macallan smiled. “Yeah, it’s been a crazy few months.” She took a handful of pecans and headed into the kitchen.

“Ah, I’m going to see if she needs any help,” I said as I got up. I ignored the sarcastic comments from my dad, as it was pretty clear that the only help I could give anybody in the kitchen would be to exit immediately.

Macallan was washing a pot. Her back was to me. I couldn’t tell if she was angry.

“Do you need help?” I offered.

Her shoulders tensed up. “No, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” I approached the side of the sink and picked up a towel.

“Suit yourself.” She handed me the dripping dish.

Macallan jumped up to sit on the kitchen island as I began to dry off the pot.

“Did you invite Stacey for dessert?” she asked.

When Mom had talked to Macallan to see what we could bring, Macallan had invited Stacey to join us later when she was done with her family.

“Nah. I thought it would be good to be only family.” I hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be together.” Which was true. Stacey was a cool girl, but I was with her because I thought I should be with a cheerleader. That was what most of the varsity athletes did. That was what Keith did. Plus, I thought it would be easier to have a girlfriend to keep my feelings for Macallan in check. And that wasn’t fair to Stacey. Or to me.

“That’s too bad,” Macallan replied. There was absolutely no emotion on her face. I couldn’t tell if she really thought this was bad news or if she was being sarcastic. Usually, it was pretty clear when she was being sarcastic, mostly at my expense.

A smile started to slowly spread across my lips as I thought back on some of our epic bantering sessions. Guys think they can talk crap, but they’ve got nothing on Macallan in terms of wit and a rapid-fire reflex.

She looked confused. “You’re smiling over your relationship ending?”

“No, no.” I didn’t need her to think of me worse than she probably already did. “I was thinking about the time we went to that Brewers game —”

“And you dropped your hot dog,” she finished for me.

“Yes! And you would not let me forget it because I —”

“Still ate it!”

“Yeah!” I said a little louder than I intended, mostly because I was excited to remind her about a fun time we’d had. “But!”

“There’s no buts about it. It was disgusting.”

“It was only —”

“ ‘On the floor for five seconds.’ ” She repeated what I kept saying to her that day in a low voice, the one she always used when she imitated me. Usually, it a

“Remember, I hadn’t put anything on it yet.”

“Which would’ve been better because then you could’ve at least wiped the dirty ketchup off.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t stop teasing me about it.”

“Because it was disgusting.” She said this slowly, like she was talking to a toddler.

I started laughing. For the entire game, anytime something happened, the Brewers struck out or the other team scored, Macallan had leaned forward and said, “Well, they may be losing the game, but at least they didn’t eat a dirty hot dog.” Or “Wow, that must be tough to swallow, although not as tough as a dirty hot dog.”