Free This Is What I Want to Tell You by Heather Duffy Stone Page A

mean?
    She looked up. Her face had softened suddenly. I wanted her to tell me things. I wanted to tell her things. I felt, right then, like Dana was going to tell me something very true and important and maybe even become my friend.
    Oh, don’t worry. I don’t mean I’m sleeping with him or anything. Not anymore, she said.
    My throat closed.
    Parker has been my friend for a long time. I love Parker. But I’m not his girlfriend.
    Oh.
    Parker’s just complicated. You’re never going to get a whole lot of him.
    I took another sip of my whiskey. My hand was shaking.
    I mean, physically he’ll act like he wants to give you anything you want, but emotionally he won’t give you an inch. You know?
    Dana laughed. It occurred to me that I should feel threatened by her, but I felt thankful.
    Yeah, I know, I said. I thought it was me.
    Dana held out her pack of cigarettes. I took one.
    It’s not you. It seems like he likes you.
    How can you tell?
    She lit my cigarette.
    The way he looks at you.
    Yeah?
    Here’s the thing about Parker, Dana said. He’ll make you feel really beautiful one second …
    And like you’re not even there the next?
    She smiled again.
    Yeah. But listen, Noelle, I’m just telling you the truth. He’s my friend. There’s something about him. It’s like, he just has this something about him.
    I know, I said. I held out my glass. Can I have some more whiskey?
    Dana emptied the bottle into both of our glasses. Then she held hers up.
    To Parker, she said.
    Cheers.

    Come with me to the soup kitchen, I said at breakfast.
    Noelle looked up from her coffee mug. She pushed her hair back and stared at me.
    Keeley, who’d just come in the side door, turned from the tea kettle she was watching on the stove.
    Okay, they both said at the same time.
    I don’t know why I was surprised. I was the one who asked. But I wasn’t sure where it had come from. I hadn’t been there since Molly left, since before the summer. I’d definitely never brought anyone with me. But that Saturday morning it felt like what I wanted to do. I wanted to remember all of the things I’d spent my time on before.
    Cool, I said. We leave in twenty minutes.
    In less than an hour we were climbing the stairs at the St. Francis Community Center. It was still early and folding tables lined the back wall. A few volunteers were placing chairs at round tables around the room and Ben, who was the pastor who ran the soup kitchen, was lifting a steaming dish onto the back table. His gray beard swam behind the steam coming up from the dish. Keeley and Noelle stood next to me, hands pulled up inside their sleeves. I’d never noticed they both stood that way, kneading their fingers into the ends of their sleeves.
    Hey, I said. Carol.
    Carol looked up from the back of the room. Her glasses slid low on her nose. Carol was in her sixties and she and Ben had helped start the soup kitchen after the Vietnam war about a hundred years ago when, she’d told me once, there seemed to be a flood of men who couldn’t keep a home and needed a hot meal. She waved to me and walked slowly over.
    We’ve missed you, young man, she said.
    I’m sorry. This year has been …
    But we’re glad you’re here now.
    Carol was never one for excuses. She wanted volunteers however she could get them.
    You must be the twin sister. She held her hand out and Noelle took it.
    And the best friend, Carol said, each of her hands holding one of theirs. Come this way and we’ll get you two started on the biggest vat of fruit salad you’ve ever seen.
    As the three of them walked away I could see them laughing. I hadn’t seen that in such a long time—Noelle laughing and Keeley laughing and all of us in one place doing something that felt like normal and wasn’t about all of these things we were trying to keep from each other.
    Well, he’s back. Ben handed me an oversized dish of lettuce and pale tomatoes and pointed to the end of the table.
    I’m sorry I haven’t been around