Free After Forever by Jasinda Wilder Page B

got what he wanted from Eden, and then Eden gets dumped. It’s a routine by this point. Every few months, I do this to myself.”
    “Talk about yourself in the third person?” I asked, joking.
    “Ha-ha. No. You know what I mean.”
    I sighed. “Yeah, I guess I do. Why do it to yourself, then? If it’s a routine and you’re aware of that fact, then why not try to change it?”
    She gave me a look that said, are you dumb, or joking? “I don’t go out there looking for this to happen. I just pick the wrong guys. I just have shitty radar, I guess. Like I said, I met this guy, Ryan, at a show. He’s a stand-up bassist in a band. I went with some girls from the program. They just kind of dragged me along, you know? Ryan was nice. Took me out, paid, opened doors. And then as soon as I put out, he stops answering his phone.”
    I winced. “That fucking sucks.”
    “Tell me about it.” She swirled the ruby liquid in her glass. “I’ll be fine. I just…someday, I keep hoping I’ll meet a guy who’s after more from me than…that.” I opened my mouth to speak, but she wasn’t done. “You know, it’s not like I’m going home with these guys on the first date, either. I give it time, you know? I try to be smart. I try to make sure they seem like decent guys. And they always seem that way, right until I get burned. And I get fooled every time. I mean, is it the way I look? What is it about me that makes me such an easy target?”
    “Maybe they’re just douchebags.”
    “Yeah, that’s a given. But there’s got to be something about me. I mean, a couple times, okay, bad luck. But an ongoing problem? Every time I date a guy, this happens.” She was halfway through her second glass already, and we hadn’t gotten our food yet.
    I had no idea what to say. “Maybe…I don’t know. Maybe don’t…go there at all? I mean, not never , just see how much patience the guy has. If he sticks around for a while without that, then maybe he’s actually interested in you.”  
    Something about this conversation was making me want to hide, run, talk about anything else. It was too much; it was wrong somehow. I shouldn’t hear this about her. I didn’t want to know.
    Eden laughed. “Yeah, that seems great in theory. Not so easy to do in practice.”
    “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be.”
    “Sorry,” Eden said, pouring her third glass. “This is probably TMI. But you did ask.”  
    “Yeah, I did. It’s okay. We’re friends. We can talk about things, right?”
    She peered at me, her gaze sharp. “Is that what we are? Friends?” Her tone suggested doubt.
    I didn’t like where this was going. “What else would we be?”
    She drank yet more, too much, too fast. Our food arrived and she dug in, answering after her first mouthful. “I don’t know. But ‘friends’ isn’t the right word.”  
    “Why not?” I asked.
    “You choose friends, right? You meet someone, recognize something in them that you like, that you identify with.” She gestured between us with her fork. “You and me? We’re something I don’t think English has a word for. We’re thrown together by life. My sister is your wife, but…brother-in-law, sister-in-law, that just describes the…the on-paper way we’re connected. It doesn’t describe the way our lives have intertwined. You know? How our journeys have intersected. We’re fate-companions. Path-mates. That’s something. It’s more than friends. Even good friends, you hold things back. You share good times, bad times. Get drunk together, maybe fight about something. But this? You and me, bonding over Ever’s coma? It’s something else. Something…thicker, realer than all of that. Does that make any sense to you? Would we be friends if it weren’t for Ever? I mean, are we even compatible, as people? I don’t know. Yes, sometimes. No, sometimes.” She was rambling, but it was coherent, coming from some raw truthful place, drawn out or let free by the wine.
    I set my glass down,