Getting Over Garrett Delaney(33)
Author: Abby McDonald

“Interdite,” Dominique adds, coming up behind her.

“No!” I yelp, cornered. “It has nothing to do with Garrett. And I’m not even going. I was going to see Jonny Pardue with my dad, but he can’t make it.”

“Jonny’s playing?” Josh asks, looking over with interest. “I saw him last year. He’s pretty great live.”

“I know.” I sigh. “I guess I’ll catch him on his next tour.”

“No need!” LuAnn exclaims. “Let’s.”

“What?”

“Go see him.” She grins. “I could use a break from this town. Ooh, road trip!” she sings out in glee. Dominique turns to make a hasty retreat. “Not so fast, missy.” LuAnn grabs her arm. “You can come, too!”

“I think not,” Dominique replies, looking mildly disturbed at the thought. “Besides, somebody has to cover if you all take off on some idiotic trip.”

“True.” LuAnn releases her. “Thanks for offering. You’re the best!” She makes as if to hug her, but Dominique has learned from her mistakes and backs away, disappearing into the café in a flash of crisp cotton.

“Look, you don’t have to.” I try to calm LuAnn before she gets carried away on her usual tide of enthusiasm. “It’s fine. I can go in another time . . . and if I’m not seeing dad . . . well, there’s not much point.”

“Sure there is: shopping!” She clasps her hands together. “My wardrobe is crying out for new stuff. This is perfect. Josh?” LuAnn turns to him, batting her eyes. “Wanna tag along?”

“Come on.” He groans. “Shopping?”

LuAnn sighs. “And music, and food, and other manly things. You don’t have to stick with us all day. Go look at the harbor or something while we do the girly stuff. Pretty please?”

He pauses, thinking. “I guess I could walk the Freedom Trail again or tour Fenway Park —”

“Perfect!” LuAnn leans through the window and gives him a loud kiss on the cheek. “Sadie, want to call what’s-her-name? Kaylie?”

“Kayla,” I say, still thrown. “Um, sure. But —”

“No buts!” she demands. “Well, except Josh’s, and that’s only because he’s so cute.” She blows him a kiss. He mimes catching it. “Come on.” LuAnn shoos me out of the hallway. “I’ll get music, you grab some snacks for the road. This is going to be the best!”

Sure, you want to stay friends with him, but friends don’t have to listen to every excruciating detail about his new True Love — not when it leaves you a broken, miserable mess on the floor. Set new boundaries for your friendship: nice, solid walls that keep out all news of romance and breakup angst. With a shark-infested moat. And guard dogs. Killer guard dogs.

You may feel guilty, as though you’re being a bad friend. But this is your heart you’re protecting here. It’s worth feeling “unsupportive” to keep you off that miserable floor.

15

Kayla is working all day and can’t make it, but Aiko jumps at the chance to get out of town for the day, and a couple of hours later, the four of us are packed into Aiko’s car, winding our way through Boston’s downtown traffic, gleaming office blocks towering above turn-of-the-century churches and old brownstone buildings. I look happily out the windows, absorbing the buzz and rush of life on the busy sidewalks. I always love this first swoop into the city, when you’re hit by the rush of energy and confusion: a million people racing along in their own worlds, all in a few square miles. One day, I’m going to be a part of these crowds — here or someplace else — striding along with their certainty, living some extraordinary kind of life. . . .

“Julian Casablancas,” Aiko muses from the front seat. She has cherry-red plastic sunglasses on and her hair braided into pigtails. “Several times. Then marry Jack White; kill Sufjan Stevens.”

“Really?” LuAnn’s voice is outraged, as if these are serious life choices Aiko is debating, instead of a fantasy FMK league. “I can’t stand that whole New York hipster art thing. Kill Julian, have a wild night of passion with Jack, then spend the rest of my days baking and knitting things with Sufjan.” She breaks off a chunk of scone from the snack bag and chews, happily contemplating her craft-filled future.

“What about you, Josh?”

“No comment.”

“Come on!” LuAnn protests. “If you had to, if someone lined up your family with a gun to their heads and demanded you pick.”

He sighs. “Fine. Kill Sufjan. I dated a girl once who kept playing his stuff — it drove me crazy. Then flip a coin for the other two. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” She grins. “Ooh, turn left, just up ahead.” LuAnn leans forward from the backseat. “There are some fun vintage shops on Newbury Street.”

Aiko follows her directions, then pulls over to the side of the street. “Sure you don’t want to come?” I ask Josh as we collect our purses and jackets and pile out.

He laughs. “Trail you guys around dressing rooms all day? No, thanks. I’ll meet you later, for the show.”

“OK!” LuAnn slams the car door. “Call us whenever you’re done being such a history nerd.”

“Geek,” Josh corrects her. “Get it right. We take pride in our geekdom.”

“Sure, you do.” LuAnn laughs. “I bet you have T-shirts and everything!”

LuAnn and Aiko wave him off, jumping up and down and blowing kisses like they’re sending him off to fight in a war, and not just visit old battle sites. “Right.” LuAnn turns back to us, her whole face lit up in anticipation. “Let the wild rumpus start!”

“Somehow, I don’t think this what Maurice Sendak had in mind,” I say later that afternoon, watching LuAnn pull items from the display racks with a whirlwind mix of joy and efficiency. Aiko left us for the record store long ago, and now we’re in yet another vintage place, this one a tiny cave of gleaming curios, velvet drapes, and racks packed with outlandish outfits.

“To each her own.” LuAnn gives me a mischievous grin. “And my own is definitely this.”

I laugh. “Why don’t you try going back to fashion school or something? I mean, it seems like it’s your true calling.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, a touch sarcastic. “I knew even as a little girl, I wanted to serve coffee for the rest of my life.”