The Resistance(52)

“You’re siding with him again.”

“Tracy, calm down. I’m not siding with him.”

“You’re not siding with me either. I need you in my corner.”

I reach across and cover her hand with mine. “I am in your corner. This is just out of the blue. When did you find out? How did you find out?”

“He told me a couple weeks ago.”

The pieces seem to fall into place. I raise my eyebrow and look her in the eyes. “That’s why you came to Vegas.”

She nods. Our drinks are set down in front of us along with a little bowl of olives and a muffin for Tracy. She takes a big bite of the muffin, and with tears in her eyes, says, “I didn’t know what to do, so I left.”

Despite the pastry-filled confession, I understand every word. I pick up the vodka and hand her the drink. With my glass in hand, I say, “Bottoms up.” I shoot the shot and shake my head in disgust afterwards. “Why are we shooting vodka by the way?”

“I couldn’t think clearly. I needed something stronger than coffee.”

I set the glass down and try to find reason in the insanity. “Okay, let’s talk this through. He told you. That’s a pro in my book. Maybe poor timing. He should have told you when it happened or even better, not have done it. That’s a con. But it did happen. Did he tell you why he cheated?”

She stays quiet when the food is set down in front of us. When the waitress leaves, Tracy says, “He shouldn’t have done it. Period. But he did, so I’ve been trying to remember everything about that spring break. I stayed on campus because I had to work. He ended up on a boys’ trip to Mexico having sex with some college sophomore he met from Rochester. End of story. Con. Con. Con.”

“I’m sorry.” My heart hurts for her, but I can tell this isn’t something that’s going to be solved over vodka shots and Eggs Benedict. “If you need a place to stay, you know you can come over to mine until you figure things out.”

“No, it’s fine. Adam went over to one of his friends’ apartments, but thank you.” She sips her coffee, leaving the second shot of vodka untouched as she stares out the window of the restaurant. When she looks back, her tone is steady, but lower. “He’s apologized to me every day through email, text, and voicemail, sent flowers, and he even serenaded me one night. What should I do, Holli?”

“Oh Trace, I suck at relationships. You know this. So I’m not sure I have any words of wisdom on the subject.”

“Tell me as a friend. Don’t be logical and give me pros or cons, but from one girl to another.”

“What does your heart tell you?”

“To forgive him. I miss him, but it pisses me off that I miss him after what he did.”

I drag my fork through the hollandaise sauce. “I’ve been cheated on. It’s not pretty and it’s not easy to get over. I stayed with one guy. I broke up with another, but anyway you look at it, I’m not with either now. Was it because they cheated? I don’t know anymore. I may have thought that at the time, but looking back now, I’m not so sure. I had issues in both of those relationships. The cheating just magnified the problems.”

She sets her glass down and says, “Things have been so good the last few years, heck, I thought all six years were, but was it just a charade he was putting on for me?”

“No, Adam loves you. You can see it. Everyone can see it. Don’t doubt what you’ve shared. It was mistake he made a long time ago.”

“But I do. I doubt everything now.”

“Do you love him?”

“Of course, I do. So much. Still, which makes me mad.”

“Then it sounds like you need more time.”

Glancing down as more food is set in front of her, she says, “I guess I do.” When she looks back up at me, she smiles. “You’re gonna eat some of this with me, right?”

I reach across the table and steal some bacon. “Absolutely.”

We continue eating as I fill her in on the party at Danny’s. “Sounds like he likes you in more than a neighborly way,” she says, raising an eyebrow up suggestively.

“What is the neighborly way anyway?”

Tracy shrugs. “Maybe it’s when you share your old eggs—”

“Don’t talk about my eggs like that. They might hear you and shrivel up and die.”

“That’s gross, Hols. I was talking about the eggs in your fridge. They’re like two months old or more. But maybe he does want your eggs.” She drops her fork. “I think I’m done eating. This conversation has taken a turn for the worse.”