From the Jump(6)

“Yes,” I lie, forcing the wide smile I’ve practiced in the mirror. “They did love it, mainly because of your suggestions. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Anytime.” Phoebe claps her hands together. “I’m so glad it was a success.”

“Operation: Kale is over?” Mac asks, as if he’s heard anything about it before ten seconds ago. “Does that mean you can get the time off work to go to Africa after all?”

It’s a stupid question—if I intended to go on a trip to a different continent with them tomorrow, I clearly would’ve informed them long before today—but everyone’s reaction hurts. Phoebe, in her infinite understanding of my money fears, looks sorry for me. Deiss glances around for a server, as if, after seven years of my excuses for missing their annual trip, he can’t be bothered to hear another one. Simone looks confused, like she’s actually begun to believe I’m incapable of leaving the state of California.

“Sadly, no,” I say coolly. “Also unfortunate: we still don’t have drinks. Anyone want to come with me to grab the first round?”

“I guess I should,” Deiss says, “since you’d have had a refill by now if I hadn’t shown up.”

We collect everyone’s orders, and Deiss leads us toward the bar. With the dark clothing, the beard, and the hair in his eyes, people can barely see him, but it doesn’t seem to matter. It never has. Girls have always wanted to be with him, and guys have always wanted to be his friend. Deiss, naturally, isn’t overly interested in either.

It’s a fact that’s never seemed quite fair to me. What’s cool on him—his aloofness and self-contained personality—is perceived as cold on me. But I suppose you can’t compare the two of us. Not when Deiss makes no effort at anything, and I feel like I never stop trying to get every little thing right.

“Do you think they’re going to talk about South Africa all night?” I ask once he’s ordered the drinks.

Deiss shrugs and leans against the bar, surveying the room. “It’s a pretty big trip for us. Everyone’s excited.”

“And it’s tomorrow,” I agree, his response making me feel petty. It’s not their fault I’m never able to make it. “You should probably all be home packing.”

“Probably.”

“I’m surprised you guys didn’t just cancel tonight. You’re going to see each other tomorrow anyway.” Fishing for affirmation is beneath me, but I want to hear the words. Third Thursdays are sacred. We’d never pass up the opportunity to see you.

“Are you sad you’re missing it?” Deiss says instead. He turns toward me, catching me by surprise with his undivided attention.

“It’s fine,” I lie quickly. “It’s ten days. It’s not like I would’ve seen you guys in that time anyway.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I falter under his gaze. His eyes are piercing, and it feels like they can see right through me. I feel myself weaken, even as I remind myself that nobody likes a woman who whines.

“I hate that I’m missing it,” I hear myself admitting. “I’ve never been anywhere, and I hate that you’re all having adventures and making memories without me. I worry, by the time I have the money to go to all the best places, you guys will have already been there and won’t want to go back. And I’m scared you’ll get used to being without me and stop inviting me at all.”

The confession leaves me breathless, and I can’t believe it’s come out of my mouth. I’ve invested so much into sculpting myself into someone impressive. How could I expose the writhing mess of uncertainty and fear that lies beneath?

Even more surprising is the fact that Deiss simply leans back and lets his gaze drift over the crowd. “That’s what I thought,” he says, seemingly to himself.

“That’s what you thought?” Something sharp and hot shoots through me. It’s equal parts incredulity, rage, and hurt. Never once, in all the time I’ve known Deiss, have I shown anything other than absolute confidence. Now I admit to being worried and scared, and his only reaction is to congratulate himself? “You’re not going to tell me I’ve been making the wrong decision choosing work over these trips? Or that I won’t get left behind?”

“They’re just trips,” he says blandly. “You’ll go when you want to. And as long as we all stay friends, I’m sure you will, too.”

“That’s comforting.” My words come out spiked like icicles. “Thanks so much for the advice.”

“Was I supposed to give advice?” He shifts to his side and drags his eyes back to me. “You seem to be doing fine on your own.”

“I do?” It’s embarrassing, needing this approval, but I can’t help myself.

“Sure.” He shrugs. “If you like that treadmill.”

“What treadmill?” I’m certain Deiss isn’t talking about my stationary runs three times a week. The Husband Huntress says there’s nothing more annoying than a fit woman who brags about her workouts.

“You don’t ever feel like you’re on a treadmill?” He waves his hand lazily, like it’s something we’ve talked about, even though it’s definitely not. “Staring at the same wall as you keep clocking your progress, even though you know you’re just going to keep running and running?”