It's 2:30 in the morning when I leave the hospital. Kendall refuses to come with me. He hasn't seen Lilliana yet and he's not leaving until he does.
She's okay. She had a bad reaction when the pills she was taking mixed with alcohol. Turns out they were a prescription, but her parents don't know how she got them. Kendall says Lilliana started taking caffeine pills during finals last year, to keep alert and stay on top of her studies. When caffeine stopped working, she found something stronger.
It was one of the reasons she and Kendall broke up. He said he couldn't watch her treat herself like that anymore. She told him she wanted to break up because she didn't love him, but he doesn't believe that. He knows the real reason she couldn't be with him was because he was a distraction. A perfectly healthy distraction from overworking herself and trying to do more than any one person could.
He hasn't stopped loving her. And he probably never will.
I leave him, sitting across from Dean who's fallen asleep in his chair. I know Kendall is arguing with himself about whether he'll wake Dean up to see Lilliana first when the time comes. My heart tells me he will, because he's decent. It's why we all love him so much.
* * * * *
I'm wired as hell on the drive home, thanks to two cups of bitter vending machine coffee, and I'm ravenous. I take comfort in the lack of cars outside my house and the warm glow of the kitchen light. Bud must have left it on for me. I don't want to think about what the rest of his night must have been like.
The dashboard clock glows 3:00 AM and Joshua slams into my thoughts like a wrecking ball.
We barely spoke to each other tonight. And he really needed to talk to me.
I miss him.
I miss being next to him and having it not feel strained. Pulled taut like something's going to break if we say the wrong thing to each other.
My mind starts weaving an achingly beautiful fantasy scenario, where I climb the steps, open the front door and find him waiting ... to kiss me ... and take me ... and have me ... over and over again, until we can't feel our legs anymore.
I close the front door behind me and lean my head against the cool ... whatever the hell front doors are made of. Fiberglass?
"Everybody okay?"
"HOLY SHIT!" My heart jumps into my throat. I turn on my attacker with my knees bent and fists clenched in a bizarre defense pose.
Bud throws one hand out, and one over his crotch, protectively. "Oh God, I'm sorry," he says. "I thought you saw my car outside. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry."
My heart drops back into my chest cavity as I catch my breath and lower my weapons.
"Bud, what are you doing here? It's three in the morning. You didn't have to wait for me."
"I know," he says. "I wasn't exactly waiting." He runs a hand through his tousled hair and pulls at the hem of his t-shirt. He shrugged off the button-down at some point.
I get a whiff of breakfast food and give him a puzzled look. Then my eyes fall to a row of filled garbage bags alongside the front door.
"Yeah," he says. "I was going to take those on my way out--"
"You cleaned up?" I ask, an intense wave of guilt and gratitude washing over me. My eyes go all 'you shouldn't have, Bud' and he blushes. "Thank you," I say.
"Of course." He waves me toward the kitchen table, and I follow, too exhausted to feel weird about being treated like a guest in my own house. "I took care of the toilet downstairs, too," he says, milling around my kitchen cabinets and taking out a plate. "That was special." He's in the fridge now pulling out butter and maple syrup. "I think I may have natural born plumbing abilities. The fact that unclogging a used maxi pad from a toilet didn't make me pass out is probably a sign I could handle the job." I grimace at the image. I would have been gagging my ass off if I had to deal with that. Bud is my hero.
He opens the oven door and I'm hit with a warm waft of Saturdays and Christmas. He brings out a pan with a perfect stack of pancakes at the center. He swiftly moves the stack to the plate, fills his remaining hand and elbow crooks with silverware, butter, syrup, and napkins and brings the whole shebang to the table.
"Are you hungry?" he asks, his brow furrowed with worry, like he may have made a mistake.
"YES," I say. "I'm starving."
"Good. Just hang on." He starts maneuvering butter between each perfect layer of pancake. He made them thin, the way I love them. Like buttery coasters stacked on top of each other. Once they're all buttered, he pours a perfect dollop of syrup between each and every one and then, finally, he dumps a generous dose over the top. My mouth aches with anticipation as I watch it drip slowly down the sides of the stack and onto the plate.
He slides a fork over and takes the seat across from me, his eyes urging me to take the first bite. I have no reason to create any more suspense for him. And my stomach is literally digesting itself.
I drag the edge of the fork from top to bottom, bending the stack until the metal cuts cleanly through all the layers. I rebound to the top and send the fork through again, carving out a towering wedge of syrup-soaked morsels. I stab the top four and bring them to my mouth.
The satisfaction is immediate and explosive. I close my lips over the mouthful of perfection and my eyes fill up with tears. And now they're falling.
"Oh shit," he says, covering his eyes. "Are they awful?"
I pull his hand down and shake my head insistently, shoving another four layers into my mouth before I even swallow the first. "They're amazing," I mumble over the mass of kindness in my cheek. I want to follow up with 'you're amazing' but it won't be enough. There aren't enough words to tell Bud how wonderful he was tonight. Keeping his head on straight when the rest of us froze up around Lilliana's collapse. Unclogging the nightmare toilet Ali's dumbass cousin left in her wake. Cleaning up after a bunch of assholes who probably didn't even acknowledge his presence the entire night. And then making sure those assholes got home safely.
I swallow hard over a too large bite of pancake. "How did everyone get home?"
I really hope he's not going to tell me he single-handedly drove everyone home in their cars and then walked back here in between to collect the next person. I might have to marry him out of sheer guilt if that's what happened.
"Josh and I worked out a system," he says. My heart skips at Joshua's name. Mostly because he was being nice to Bud. One more reason to love him. "One of us would drive a drunk home in their own car and drop them off while the other one followed. Then we'd ride back here together for another round. We did that until everyone was home except us. Oh, and Tom, who's sleeping in your bed, Goldilocks style."
It must be exhaustion. Or heartbreak. I don't know. But I'm crying again. "Why do you want to be friends with us, Bud? We're a bunch of disasters. You deserve better."
"I'm a disaster, too." He smiles. "I'm just trying to find my people."
"You're not a disaster," I say, running my finger over the plate and slurping syrup off it barbarically. "You were the most non-disastrous person here tonight."
"Maybe it wasn't my turn," he says. "I'll blow up at next year's party. Maybe by then you guys will like me enough to want to clean my guts up off the floor when I do."
I want to hug him. There's nothing wrong with him. He's great. Why have we been such dicks about him hanging around with us? He's better than us. He's better than everyone.
"Why don't you be this guy?" I ask, collecting another load of syrup on my index finger.
"What guy?"
"The guy sitting here," I say. "The guys who unclogs toilets like a rock star and makes amazing pancakes and drives his friends home when they're drunk. Every group needs that guy. I need that guy. Be that guy."
"Okay," he says. "That's easy. I don't even have to try hard."
"You shouldn't have to try hard," I say, putting a hand on my overstuffed belly.
He reaches over and clears my plate. He's on his way to the sink when I realize I ate that entire stack of pancakes, while he ate nothing.
"Oh shit, did you want some of those?" I ask, as if I could give them back.
"I already had some," he says. "I wanted to wait for you, but I was really hungry. I didn't eat dinner because I was nervous about coming over ... God, that makes me sound like a loser." He shakes his head over the sink while he selflessly washes my dirty dishes.
"It doesn't make you sound like a loser," I say. It just makes us sound like assholes.
"I did wait for this, though." He's back at the table, smiling. He slides the red envelope to me and tucks his arms against his chest, like he's trying to stop himself from tearing it open for me.
I open the envelope and pull out a handmade card. It's a coupon for late night pancakes with him. "This doesn't count, by the way," he says, gesturing to the table in front of me. "Tonight was a teaser. That's for another time. When you need it. And we don't have to make them, I can take you out. I know all the twenty-four-hour diners within a forty-mile radius so ... kind of an expert on late night pancakes." He clicks his tongue and winks at me.
I can't remember loving a present more in my entire life. "Thank you," I say. "This is ... so awesome, Bud. Thank you." I stand up and lean over the table to kiss him on the cheek. His face is hot, and considerable pinker as I pull away and sit down again.
"Dot," he says quietly, "I have to tell you something."
My stomach turns over. "Oh God. Are you dying?"
"What? No." He laughs a little.
"Did you murder Tom? Is Tom really dead in my bed and not sleeping?"
"Jesus," he says, horrified but smiling, "No. I mean, I drew a penis on his forehead."
"No, you didn't," I say, catching his smirk.
"No. I didn't."
"I'm sorry," I say. "I just don't know how much more bad news I can deal with tonight."
His brow furrows, and he turns his eyes away, but not quick enough. I saw the worry in them. "Just tell me," I sigh. Then this day will end. God, let this day end.
He wrings his hands and chews on his lip nervously. "Josh said he wanted to tell you tonight, face to face, but he didn't get the chance." My heartbeat kicks up and I try to be patient with Bud, who is struggling. "I just don't want you to walk into it at school on Monday or find out about it in some lame group text or whatever."
"Bud?"
He finally looks at me, and his eyes are filled with concern, pity, remorse. That 'don't shoot the messenger' vibe.
"Josh and Ali got back together," he says.
My chest feels like it's going to cave in as I slump over sideways. I land against something soft and warm. With arms and thick palms that are rubbing my back.
"I'm sorry, Dot," he says. "I know how much you love him."
"How can you know that?" I sob against his shoulder.
"You'd be surprised how much you pick up about people when they're pretending you don't exist."
I hug his arm against me. A meager apology. I need to do more.
I sit up and wipe my face on the sleeve of Kendall's enormous sweatshirt I forgot I was wearing. I take my phone from my back pocket. "What's your phone number?" I sniffle.
Bud's eyebrows pop up, waiting for a punchline. There isn't one.
He gives me the number and I enter it in my phone.
Dot: Hey Bud, What's up?
His phone buzzes on the kitchen counter and he scrambles up to retrieve it.
Bud: Not much. What's up with you?
"Am I doing this right?" he asks.
I view his response and giggle. "Yes. Perfect," I say.
Dot: I'm hanging out with my friend. Eating pancakes.
His face spreads into a huge grin, and my heart is getting lighter with every exchange.
Bud: Cool. I like pancakes. 🌮
"Whoops. Let me try that again."
Bud: 🥞👍🏼
Dot: Me 2
"Oooh. Shorthand. Let me try."
Bud: Wuz ur nu yrs rez?
I laugh. "What the hell does that say?"
"Sorry."
Bud: New Year's Resolution?
"Ah. Got it," I say.
Dot: I'm going to spend more time hanging out with Bud.
Bud: Who the hell is Bud? Sounds like a loser.
Bud: 💩💩💩💩
Dot: He's not. And I'll kick your ( | ) if you say that again.
He squints at the phone, quizzically, before he responds.
Bud: Is that my vagina?
I'm dying.
Dot: It's your ass. And it's grass.
Bud: Got it.
Dot: What about your resolution?
Bud: 😠
"Damn it."
Bud: 🤔
Bud: I'll have to think about that and get back to you.
Dot: Okay. Sounds good.
Bud: 😍💩👍🏼
Dot: cuL8r
Bud: 🐎
"Jesus!"
Bud: 🐊
I'm in tears and my face hurts from laughing.
This is going to be the easiest New Year's resolution I've ever tried to keep.
* * * * *