You know it's bad when even your waffles taste bad.
I'm not sure if it's just because they're soggy from the pace that I'm eating that they taste bad, of if I'm eating slowly because they taste bad, thus sogginess. Either way, my waffles are rapidly spiraling towards being inedible, and coffee is the only part of breakfast that I'm really enjoying.
It's a little after 9am, and this Denny's is just busy enough that the din of other people talking and clinking their silverware prevents the awkward silence from eating us alive. Rachel and Chloe sit opposite of me in the booth, Chloe occasionally asking Rachel to pass her things from the inside of the booth to fiddle with as she already scarfed down her breakfast. The fact that she's asking instead of just reaching leaves me uneasy, more uneasy than the lack of chatter or eye contact.
I still don't know what we're doing today. I hope that, whatever it is, it's distracting enough that we can all have fun.
"So," Chloe says, flipping a jam packet with the back end of her spoon. "Today's San Francisco. There's a few places we can hit up - I was thinking maybe one of the science museums, then the wharf for lunch? Then like, whatever?"
Rachel finishes chewing her bite of pancakes, bouncing her head back and forth like she's counting how long it takes. Once she finally swallows, though, she carves another bite into her stack and says, "I thought we'd be heading up there."
Chloe and I both look to her, but she's got another huge bite of pancake in her mouth and continues on with the head-bobbing maybe-counting. I think it may be one of the longest chewing times I've ever seen.
Then, "I have some friends who go to college up there, and I let them know I'd probably be coming through. Would you drive me up to campus when we get there?"
My eyes flick over to Chloe, expecting some grumbling that Rachel was spending time with other people. At the very least, I expect a highly complainy agreement, complete with Chloe's head sinking to the table.
Instead, we get a shrug and a, "Sure thing."
"Thanks," Rachel replied, blowing some hair away from her face before lifting the final bite to her mouth.
It occurs to me how little I've ever talked about my friends from Seattle, and how little Rachel has talked about her friends from Long Beach. We all talk about the people we know and have known from Arcadia Bay, but it's so rare to actually bring up our time spent anywhere else.
I wonder why, especially for Rachel. Arcadia Bay isn't her home in the same way that it is for me. Just like she said, coming back to California will be her homecoming.
"Who're your friends?" I want it to sound casual, but even to me it sounds too high. It's suspicious, and Rachel's eyes pierce right through me as she looks at me.
I don't think she wants to acknowledge the question within the question, though, as she seems to focus more on pushing her syrup-soaked plate a few inches away from her, just to acknowledge that she was finished with it.
"Just people from high school. They got into the same theater department, thought I'd go say hi."
And I'm not sure what to say to that. "That's cool," I say, deciding to give up on the waffles. At this point, I'm just delaying us.
My phone buzzes, and I'm glad for the distraction. At least until I see who sent the text, and then I'm much more . . . uncomfortable.
I swipe it open.
And I don't know why that makes me sad. Victoria has always been frustrating to deal with, but there's been something about her recently that has left the antagonism feeling . . . off. It's like every conversation is a back-and-forth from the previous time we talked. There is no delicate balance.
"Everything okay?" For the first time all day, I think, Chloe's eyes have settled on me. Her expression is still glum and distant, but there's a hint of worry there that reassures me.
But I just shrug; I have no idea.
"I got a pretty weird call from Victoria last night," I confess. I don't think there's anything to gain from keeping it a secret. Maybe they'll get what's going on, because I certainly don't.
Rachel looks over to me, cheek cradled in her hand, but says nothing. Chloe, however, just wraps her hands around the jam packet she was messing with, leans forward, and asks, "Oh? And what did Miss Blackhell want?"
I shrug again, wishing I had the answers. I don't want to go over the 'have you fucked Rachel yet' bit, but I don't think that's really what's bothering me, anyway. "I don't really know. She started out really mean, but then she started crying."
Rachel's lips flattened into a line, but Chloe's eyes positively brightened. "Whoah, seriously!?" She exclaimed. "About what? What'd she say?"
What exactly did she say? I was tired, and confused, and anxious, and none of these things really add up to the best memory. Still, there were pieces that were pretty clear. "Um, she kind of said I was Rachel's dog. I got real mad and yelled at her, and she started crying."
I expected there to be more general appreciation for her crying, but Chloe looks genuinely taken aback, her brow dropping down as if she's thinking hard. Meanwhile, Rachel lets out a 'gah' of disgust.
I look to her for an explanation.
She rolls her eyes shortly before saying, "She's always been like this. She's totally convinced I'm the bad guy, trying to take her friends and her club, make everyone my bitch like she does."
And then, with more contempt than I think I've ever seen her muster, Rachel says, "I fucking can't stand her. She'll hurt you as much as she can until you fight back, then pretend you're so goddamn evil for playing things her way."
That . . . that had never even occurred to me. Victoria was nasty to Rachel's face and even nastier behind her back, but Rachel would always wear this bemused smile. I never got how she could stay so calm when someone was mean to her like that. It never occurred to me that Rachel might be fighting back.
It makes sense, though. Rachel cares more about her reputation than I ever knew. She wouldn't let someone destroy it that easily.
Suddenly, I understand why Victoria was the only person with as much nasty stuff about her graffiti'd over the school as Rachel.
I know it's wrong, but I start to wonder how right Victoria might have been when she said Rachel was 'like her'.
"So, what did she say when she was crying? That's the real stuff."
Chloe looks way too excited to hear this. The excitement is cute enough to drag a smile out of me, but suddenly I don't have much desire to tell them about the 'Come back'. I don't want to fight Victoria, but I might just be selling her enemies weapons.
"Uh," I say, stalling for something to give her. "I don't know, not much. I asked if she was crying, she said 'fuck you', you know, belligerent drunk girl stuff."
Chloe looks disappointed, eyes dropping back to her jam. She flicks it forward so that it bounces off of her plate.
But there's still one thing I want to ask them. "Do you guys know why she's like this? Why she's so nasty but like, ambivalent about it?"
Chloe asks, "Ambivalent?"
My face pinches as I try to figure out how to explain the word. "Like . . . like Katy Perry's "Hot and Cold". Really in-your-face mean, then slightly sincere, or polite until she gets backstabby and underhanded? It's like she holds her hand out, and I don't know whether to shake it or try and dodge a punch."
Chloe's eyes go wide as she's given the task of analyzing Victoria, but to my surprise, Rachel only seems to take a few seconds to mull it over.
"Honestly? I think she's really, really insecure. I think other girls threaten her. I think the real problem is that she won't feel secure unless she's above everyone, and that means she'll stamp us all down until she feels okay about herself."
"Pff," Chloe replies. "I just think she's a bitch. Kate's not fighting with anyone, and Victoria is a total dick to her. Who cares what she's feeling to make her do it - she's mean to you, she's mean to Rachel, she's mean to Kate and Alyssa. I bet she's a total bitch to her own grandma. You two read way too deep into stuff."
I don't say anything. Both of those things feel . . . well, right. Maybe Victoria is insecure, maybe she's just a bitch. Either way, though, fighting with her doesn't give me any amount of pleasure, just anxiety.
I click my phone on again to respond.
Max: Do you think we could try being friends? Or at least not so hostile?Max: I don't like fighting you, Victoria.
I don't get a reply.
"So, I'll see you at like eight or nine?" Rachel says as she hops out onto the curb.
I undo my seatbelt and slide into her seat. Her fingers lay over the rolled-down window, and I wish I could just squeeze her hand before she goes, but everything feels too weird.
"Uh, sure, sounds good. Max and I will figure out where we're staying - we'll pick you up wherever you are."
"Sounds good! See ya tonight."
Chloe and I wave, and then we're off, pulling up the ridiculously large hill that this university seems to be sat upon. Getting anywhere in Frisco seems to make the truck wheeze, but Chloe doesn't seem very perturbed by it.
"So, how about the Astrarium?"
The word sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't think I really know it. "The what?"
Chloe shoots me a quick glance to show her disapproval. "Astrarium. It's one of the science museums in town. Shows you space shit, voiced by George Takei."
"Hmm." A lot of the appeal of that place sounds quickly lost without our stars expert. "That seems like someplace we'd go with Rachel."
"How about Haight Street?"
"I thought we were going to do that after lunch?"
Chloe deflates a little, recognizing that that was, in fact, her plan. "Well, fine, yeah, sure. How about . . . the Children's Creativity Museum?"
"That sounds fun," I reply, and type it into my phone. However, a problem quickly emerges, "Oh. It's for kids aged 2-12."
Chloe pouts, sighing as she leans against the truck door. There's way too much stuff to do in a city, and it all has rules. It works out much better with a plan, and, well, we didn't really have one.
I find another option that sounds cool. "How about Musée Mécanique, the arcade?"
She shrugs. "I saw that - it's at Fishermen's Wharf. You know, the place we're going for lunch."
"Right."
Her initial burst of energy at being in San Francisco is wearing off quickly. Her shoulders are sagging, eyes focused on the road despite the fact that we have no idea where she's going. I don't want to ruin the fun by being here.
"What do you want to do? Pick something," she says finally, giving me one more glance as we come to a stop light.
I continue scrolling through the options I'm finding online, reading brief descriptions and clicking out when something sounds . . . not quite right for us. I'd like a garden, but I don't think that's Chloe's thing. Alcatraz is too big of an activity for just something to do before lunch. I feel like she'd get a lot less out of an art gallery than me and Rachel would. Most of the shops I've so much as heard of are part of Haight Street, although there are a few that might be cool . . . I guess.
I guess my frustration shows, because Chloe's face becomes pinched, biting at her lip as the minutes roll by.
Finally, I give up, a little too overwhelmed sorting through things while we're driving. My phone doesn't exactly make the process easy.
"I don't know," I finally say, slinking back against my seat in defeat.
Chloe's hands tighten on the steering wheel, and at first she says nothing. I figure she's just thinking, but it quickly becomes apparent I've misjudged what she's thinking about.
"Did you even want to come with me, Max?" She says it so innocently, so lightly, so casually that, at first, I don't really understand the question. It takes me a few seconds to really piece the words together.
"What?" I ask, a little flat-toned in surprise. I turn my head towards her, eyebrows purposefully raised to show my confusion. She's not looking at me, though. "What do you mean?"
Now her eyes are so focused on the road, I know she's avoiding looking at me. Her face isn't pinched in concentration - she's doing that thing where she's holding something back.
What brought this on?
"I mean exactly what I said: did you want to come with me? On this trip?"
Her tone is heavy enough on every word that I know there's more, more words she's ruminating on. But whenever she ruminates, she tends to explode. I don't want that.
Still, the accusation stings. "Of course I did. It was my choice to go. Me and Rachel both wanted to come with you."
She shakes her head minutely, and the way she adjusts her hands to deal with her white-knuckle grip tells me it wasn't the right thing to say.
"That's just it, though. It's you and Rachel." Her tone turns poisonous and sharp, "I'm just your fucking driver."
Despite the poison, I bite. "No! No, that's ridiculous. We're here as your friends."
"No." She's fighting me, but she's not even looking at me. Her anger is all aimed at the road, but it's straightforward, tunnel vision, and it makes me nervous. "I am not ridiculous. You two are here as girlfriends - I am not fucking dumb, Max, and I'm not blind. I'm just your third fucking wheel."
God, I hate it when she drives this mad. I know I need to respond to her, to console her, but she's driving too fast and neither of us know this city. "Please, Chloe, slow down or pull over. You're scaring me."
"I . . . I need to drive right now, Max." Her voice is still holding back, but I know things are about to spill over. The best I can hope for is understanding, and hopefully that can make it easier for us both to recover.
"Okay," I concede. "But please, slow down so I can feel safe talking."
I know she's mad, but I'm so appreciative as the truck slows.
It takes me a moment to recover my thoughts and calm down. I'm not in a position to handle an anxiety attack right now - it would only panic Chloe in an already-vulnerable situation.
I force myself to a quieter volume, softer. I hope it will get through to her better than escalation.
"Chloe . . . you know you are still my best friend, and Rachel's too. What's happening with me and Rachel can never, ever replace those friendships." I reach over, and place my hand on Chloe's shoulder. "Never, do you hear me?"
Her face is so pinched she must be gritting her teeth just to pull it so tense. She's on the verge of ugly-crying instead of the drip-one-out-for-the-homies single tear she allows herself for beautiful movies and things like that.
I'm right - when she replies, it's through gritted teeth, "I get that, Max. I believe you. I just . . ." and she grimaces, as if there's some vile taste in her mouth that keeps her from speaking.
I wonder if it could really be as simple as jealousy. Maybe Chloe really does feel that she'll lose Rachel, but maybe not in the way I'm talking about. If it suddenly, out of nowhere, were me and Rachel instead of Rachel and Chloe, of course she would be scared. Not only because her and Rachel were supposed to go to LA together, but because it would take away Chloe's chance with her.
I swallow, knowing the question would have to be asked, even if it stung. Even if it drove a wedge between us. It was the only way.
"Is this because . . . you love Rachel?"
The sound that emerges from her is somewhere between a laugh and a cry, almost like a flat-toned scream she can't manage any volume for. Her eyes shoot wide, and her face loses so much of its pinch, flattening into lines on her forehead, her brow, her eyes, her mouth.
To my surprise, she finally does pull over - into an alleyway that seems to be used for restaurant parking. She doesn't find a proper place to park, but just stops us in the alleyway.
She turns and looks at me finally, and I can't read whether she's angry or surprised or frustrated or sad - her eyes are just wide and her gestures . . . big.
"Are you fucking - serious Max?"
I open my mouth to speak, but though her tone isn't loud, the feeling that she's yelling at me is too much, and I can't make the words come. There are small stutters, half-words that manage to croak from my throat, but there's nothing.
She understands well enough to continue from her end.
Her eyes finally pinch again, holding back more tears. "God, Max, no. I'm in love with you."
And then it's hanging there, and I can't make my mouth work. I don't try and pretend that I don't know what she means - Chloe is not cryptic, it's not a facade. Even if she doesn't always mean what she says when she explodes, this isn't something she would just blurt out.
She turns off the truck and leans her head against the steering wheel. "Fuck, fuck. Fuck . . . Fuck." The pause between the words grows each time, and finally she's not saying anything anymore.
I need to say something. I need to reassure her. I need her to know that I'm not mad or scared. I need her to know I could never disdain her for feeling something good. I need her to know I'll still be there for her. I need her to know how much she means to me. I just need to get one sentence out, just something, something.
I get a word: "Chloe."
She looks up from the steering wheel, and it's almost like her face is wiped blank. Her eyes turn down and her mouth finally falls open a little.
"Fuck, Max, are you having an anxiety attack?"
I manage to shake my head yes, and she has her seat belt done in an instant. In a second more, she's on her knees in the middle seat, and she's grasped my hand, crushing it in her grip.
"Okay, Max, breathe. Come on, deep breaths. It's eight seconds in, come on, with me."
She tries to go for eight seconds, but the cigarettes are really killing her breath control. I can't even make it past three, and I'm struggling to force myself to exhale.
She starts to fumble around in the car, looking for something to breathe into. After quickly recognizing the task is futile, though, she pauses, and pulls her beanie off.
"Max, here," she says, offering it to me. I take it and pull it over my mouth and nose, exhaling as well as I can before breathing in again. The beanie is barely effective at trapping air at all, but it isn't the carbon dioxide that begins to slow my heart's break-neck speed.
No, no, it's the familiar smell of Chloe's shampoo, the smell of her bed. The beanie reeks of it.
It takes me a long time, hunched over breathing into that beanie, but Chloe keeps rubbing my back, and eventually, I can breathe on my own. I clench the beanie in my hand, breathing just over it.
"Chloe."
"Yeah. Max?"
"I'm sorry. I'm so dumb."
"No, Max. This isn't your fault."
"I should have seen it. I haven't understood how you've been feeling. I've been too stuck in my own head-space to be there for you."
She shakes her head, and switches from rubbing my back to just holding her hand on my shoulder. "Look, Max. It's my fault for falling for my best friend." She paused, if only for a beat, "And you weren't totally wrong. With you and Rachel both, it's always been . . . this blurry line. I know which side I'm on, but not where it ends. Sometimes it's okay to just be your friend but sometimes . . ."
She exhales, and her head turns down, her hair framing her face. I'm only watching her from the corner of my eye, but I know this sort of intimacy doesn't come easily to her. Before long, I know her walls will be back, but for a second, she's raw, she's here with me.
"Sometimes, I want to be everything."
It feels like a punch in the gut - not the pain, but the breathlessness, not knowing how to make it come back, not knowing how to stand yourself up. It's not because Chloe feels this way, or because I knew too late to keep it from hurting her. It's that, when she says she wants to be everything, I know what she means. I've felt that. I've wanted that. I've known the feeling of just wanting Chloe and me, me and Chloe forever. The image always changed: partners in crime, a princess and her knight, a super hero duo. However we masked it, this was a fantasy we had shared.
But it wasn't that easy. Because, somehow, those images felt lonely now. They were warm and comforting, but they weren't enough.
Being with Rachel was scary. But I've never felt quite so high as the moment I became her girlfriend. And that's not a feeling I could toss aside.
I say, "You and I . . . we'll still last, Chloe."
She replies, "I know."
And that's all either one of us can promise.
Several more minutes pass, but then someone comes for their car, and we have to pull out into the street again. Chloe pulls out her phone and puts something in, then lays her phone down.
"C'mon," Chloe finally says, softly. "Let's check out the Exploritorium."
And I'm in no state to argue. I'm not panicking. We're in some liminal state, I know that. When we return to Arcadia Bay, this friendship of me, and Chloe, and Rachel won't be what it was.
But I think it will still be there.
We'll last.
And that's enough.