You Don't Know Jack

      "Wait a minute. You can get to Florida on a tank and a half of gas. A tank of gas costs about thirty dollars, so that's ninety for the trip, right?"
      "Ok."
      "Well that's not 'a few hundred dollars.'"
      He looked at me across the tiny, mosaic café table, with no trace of arrogance or condescension, waiting to hear my response.
      'Jack,' I felt like saying. 'It costs almost two tanks of gas. That's one hundred and twenty round trip. Plus the cost of the gas I'll use traveling around the state visiting everyone I'm obligated to see. That's at least another tank of gas, and it'll be beachside gas, so I'll be lucky if it only costs me forty. On top of that there's the cost of food. You don't go visiting friends without taking someone out to eat at some point. We're looking at a bare minimum of two hundred dollars for a very cheap trip.'
      I didn't say it, though, since that dollar amount is more than I make in a week and less than he makes in a day. Jack appreciates a lot, but I don't really think he gets the value of two hundred dollars.
      "I already told Laura I won't be going," I said. And, around Jack, I don't need to try to add any emotion to my flat tone. Where most people hear apathy, he hears serenity. I like that. Jack simply wants to listen and understand, and I can't blame him for earning the cost of my rent and food for a month in a day.
      "Like I said, I could manage it, but I don't want to" spend more than a week's paycheck to "go through all the trouble and expense to spend a day driving down, a day driving back, and two hectic days there running around trying to see everybody."
      He accepts this and goes back to his vegetarian meal of porta bellas and pan-seared goat cheese.
      I looked back at my equally vegetarian tomato basil soup. I had expected, without really thinking, that Jack would understand. I brought the topic up mainly because I wanted reassurance that I'd made, not just the logical decision, but the right one. The one that didn't make me a crappy friend for not visiting my better-than-family friends at Christmas.
      "Besides," I went on, sourly acknowledging that I was looking for approval, "I know my boss can't spare me from work, but she's such a pushover she'd let me take off four days with no notice at Christmas. I don't feel right doing that to her."
      Jack clearly did approve of this, and commended me for my sense of responsibility.

- - -

      Gram thought it was a completely reasonable decision.
      "I wish I could go," I'd told her. Late afternoon found me sitting in front of her large living room window. Her Christmas decorations covered every surface and fixture, bringing some seasonal cheer to the cloudy day. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall when Laura shows up at her mom's house in the middle of the night."
      "It's still a surprise?"
      "Yeah. Her family still thinks she's staying in Kansas, having her first Christmas alone."
      "That'll be fun for her."
      "Yeah."
      Without giving her a chance to say anything else, I added, "I know it makes sense to go now, because when will I be able to see Laura and her family in the same place again? And I ought to pay a visit to my mom's parents and my cousins. But at the same time, it'd mean driving during the holidays, and spending money I don't really have, just to have a really rushed, crazy visit."
      "I agree with you, Lilli. I wouldn't do it."
      "I tried to explain it to Jack today." I wondered if Gram could see through my flimsy attempt at nonchalance. "He didn't get it. He travels like that all the time, you know, for his job. And he makes so much more money that he doesn't really comprehend the cost."
      "You saw him again?"
      "Yeah, I met him for lunch." I smile to let her know the visit went well. "We're still friends. I think it's cool."
      In her ever-neutral tone, she says she still thinks he's a traitor. I tried to explain again that everything was on the up-and-up, and that he didn't break my heart or hurt my feelings, but she tells me she can think what she wants about the situation. Maybe some small, vicarious part of me likes that at least Gram is mad at him. There was no fault in reality, but it seems that at least one member of my family should be defensive on my behalf.
      "Though he did tell me that they're moving the wedding to this February, instead of two years from now," I mentioned.

- - -

      "Laura was pretty understanding," I told Mom. "I didn't expect her to be."
      My mother, predictably, made no response.
      "You know how she usually is when I say 'no' to something. But she seemed to get it."
      She continued reading the computer screen, and I realized that even if she did look up at me, it would be difficult to see past the glare reflecting off her glasses.
      "She has a layover in Charlotte, but it's only for thirty minutes. I told her she'll barely have time to get to the next terminal. But guess what? She's got a three-hour layover in Atlanta. It figures, doesn't it? She'll be sitting around bored in Atlanta, when if she'd been stuck in Charlotte, we could've seen each other."
      "Hm," Mom said.
      "I told her I'd watch the flight schedule online, though. In case there's a delay."
      She doesn't look up. "You never know."
      I surrendered the cause and left. I don't know if she was really aware I'd been talking to her at all.

- - -

      Laura had been surprisingly understanding. Though she's normally quite rational, there are a few subjects that bring out the distressed teen in her. I thought my refusal to go back home to Florida to meet her and her family would be one of them. I had my defense all planned out, abridged and full versions, but I didn't need them. My choice made sense to her. Though she did lament the layover irony again.
      "How close is Charlotte to you?"
      "About forty-five minutes."
      "Dangit."
      Laura and I lived in the same neighborhood in Florida from the time I was fifteen until I moved away at twenty. Both socially awkward girls with oversized vocabularies and a pronounced disinterest in going to college for the sole purpose of finding suitable, godly husbands, we began spending time together after we met on a home school camping trip. As we grew older and our other friends grew scarce, our loyalty to each other began to solidify. Eventually, we developed a sort of platonic, common-law marriage. Despite the number of times I tried to break up with her, she was consistently the only person by whom I measured all other would-be friends, and the one whose approval I sought before dating a new guy. We're stuck with each other, and I'm happy about that.
      Four and a half years ago, I moved to North Carolina with my family. Two years after that she moved to Kansas to go to dance school. Despite the distance and changes to our lives, we talked over instant messenger almost every day. We generally saw each other at Christmas and at the end of the spring school term, when she and my bio family converged at her mom's house for a few days.
      I missed her. I missed having her at my disposal for those late night Oh god, no one will ever truly love me; I'm alone in the world moments, as well as those Oh god, I need someone to go underwear shopping with me; I hate going into that store alone moments.
      I knew, and I think Laura knew, that the few days a year we're able to spend together don't come close to making up for the loss of that immediacy. Being able to text your best friend at any time of day or night is not the same as being able to drive over to her house and collapse on her kitchen floor in a bundle of stress and tears. I'm pretty sure that's why the trip to Florida wasn't worth it to me. It was too much for far too little.

- - -

      The day of her flight, I didn't watch the airport website like I'd said I would. If there was bad news, I'd hear about it. Otherwise I'd call her the next day and see how her surprise reunion went. Our feeble hope about a layover in Charlotte had pretty much been snuffed out, as the weather was fair. I tried to forget she was traveling that day. Though I couldn't help but notice the small rise in gas prices. Jack forgot to factor in the holiday price jerk in his calculations.
      When Dad got home that night, I convinced him to watch The Homecoming with me. I was sitting on the couch, watching Dad's frustrated attempts to skip to the title menu, when I heard a cell phone tone.
      I glanced at the kitchen clock. No one called me at this time of night --barring emergencies-- except Jack.
      In apology to my dad, I said, "Who the freak is calling me? I don't want to talk to anyone." I ran down the hall and picked the phone up nonetheless. It read "Laura."
      I forced my thumb into the temperamental "accept" button. "Hello?"
      "Hello?" came the reply.
      "Laura?"
      "Lilli?"
      "Yes."
      "Hi."
      "Hi. What's up? Where are you?"
      "Um... can I stay with you tonight?"
      I tore the charging cord out of the phone and headed back down the hallway toward the light of the living room. "Oh my god, are you laid over? Are you in Charlotte?"
      "Yeah, I'm going to be there overnight."
      "I'm on my way." I scanned the floor near the couch for my shoes. Dad paused the DVD.
      "I'm not there yet," Laura said.
      I put my keys back down on the kitchen table. "Are you on the plane still?"
      "I'm in Kansas still. My flight here got delayed, so I missed the one out of the Charlotte airport already."
      "Oh. Well when are you going to be here?"
      "Eleven twenty-two."
      "Ok, I'll be there."
      "Ok."
      "Cool."
      "I know."
      "Well..."
      "Ok. I'll see you later."
      "Bye," I cooed, in our traditional anime-style girl voice. She responded with the same, and I hung up.
      I told Dad that Laura would be spending the night, but that we still had time for the movie.
      He said "Ok," and unpaused.

- - -

      Believing there would be ice on the roads, Mom wanted to come for the ride. I didn't argue this, as I had come to take her moments of overprotectiveness not as suggestions that I was inept, but as acts of motherly concern. I let her drive, but regretted it as soon as I realized she wouldn't be stopping for gas before driving forty-five minutes out to Charlotte. The gauge was already under a quarter tank.
      Laura had called back to say that she'd left her winter jacket in Kansas, believing she'd be going directly to Florida, so I had mine with me.  When we got there, Mom looped the terminal while I waited for her inside, thinking all the while about the dropping gas gauge. You always need to over-budget for gas when you travel. When you don't have a lot of money, you need to over-budget for everything, because you can't depend on having extra in the bank to cover the unexpected. That's why Jack thought a trip to Florida cost a tank and a half, and I called it at two. But I don't think he'd truly understand that either.
      When Laura stepped off the escalator, I almost tackled her to the ground. I don't normally hug, but Laura was always an exception. Truthfully, I'm more physical with her than anyone else (which may have to do with the reason my romantic relationships never last).
      We sat next to each other in the backseat on the way home, recalling ridiculous secret handshakes, taking note of each other's perfume, and singing the Angry Beavers theme music. Laura hadn't slept well the previous night, and she was particularly exhausted from the antihistamine she'd taken to ward of plane ear. I wanted to hug her again. That seemed excessive, though, so I smiled instead.
     One thing I liked about Jack, as I'd uncharitably told her a few weeks earlier, was that he asked me about things no one else (even Laura) ever wanted to know. He was so invested in understanding everyone around him, including me. Jack questioned me about so many trivial details of my life that, with only slight effort on my part, I could believe I was fascinating to another person. I suppose the unprecedented interest flattered me. Jack called me just to say hi. Jack wanted to know about my menial job, my relationships with my parents, my particular taste in horror films. And for the first time I could remember, I sincerely wanted to learn about another person. Not because it was socially agreeable to ask about someone else's life, but because I really wanted to know.
      But Jack was gone. I had been a fascinating, well-treated, welcomed distraction. And Laura was here again, travel-worn, and predictable down to her perfume.
      At home, I opened my double futon and my weary friend crawled directly under the down coverlet. As she struggled to stay awake, I told her about how I'd tried to explain to Jack why I wasn't going down to Florida, and how he didn't seem to get it. As is traditional with best friends, I had kept her updated on the entire relationship as it developed and ended. But there's only so much you can convey over instant messenger.
      "I've been telling that story so often," I said, and I meant the story of Oh yeah, we're not seeing each other anymore. But it's cool. We're still friends.  "But I hate to tell it, because there's like no way to explain what happened without making him sound like an asshole. But he wasn't an asshole, you know? It just looks that way."
      I could see Laura was fighting off fatigue with all the strength she had left. We had so little time together before her flight tomorrow, and sleeping would take more of it away from us. I knew I should let her sleep, or else force her to stay awake doing something she wanted, but she was here, and my verbal/emotional flood couldn't be dammed any longer.
      "I knew there was someone else. I mean, if you're intentionally 'not exclusive,' there's got to be someone else, right? But I didn't ask about it. And that was so weird for me. You know me; I like to know exactly what's going on. But we were openly not talking about what our relationship was, and I was ok with that. And at the time I was wondering, 'What's wrong with me? Why am I acting like a desperate woman?' But that wasn't it. It really wasn't. I was just happy with him, you know? I just liked being around him, and it didn't matter what else was going on."
      I gave Laura the look of I am done now and you may respond without fear of interruption.
Smiling, her voice cracked, "Homewrecker."
      I laughed, and loved that she was the only person who knew what to say to make me laugh about losing yet another guy to marriage. And even though I knew that was her way of saying 'Shut up, Lills. I know you're not a sap and that you didn't know he was getting married,' I felt the need to clarify.
      "I didn't know about her. I mean, I didn't know it was so serious. I didn't know he'd met the freaking Princess Bride. And it wasn't, like... like when he and I were going out, he wasn't seeing her. He was trying not to like her. He had stopped talking to her. But, you know how that goes."
      She sucked in a little saliva and nodded. Or twitched. But I took it as a nod.
      "I waited so long after he broke up with his girlfriend, to make sure he wasn't on the rebound. And I caught him on the rebound with a different one. But he wasn't a jerk and I wasn't desperate. I was just happy with him. I knew that it wouldn't last forever. No relationship lasts forever, unless you like, both get into a car wreck and die at the same moment. Sooner or later, for whatever reason, it ends. I'd have liked for it to go on longer, but I didn't expect forever. I thought 'I like this. Right now, I like this. I'm happy in this second.'"
      From the depths of her bleary eyes, I know she heard me, and understood.