“Paprika, paprika, where in the darn hell is the…”

“Talking to yourself is never a good sign, you know,” said an unexpected voice.

“Oh fuck off,” Justin replied with a smile. “Who the hell let you in anyway?”

Trace didn’t bother to respond to that; he merely padded through the back door and across the kitchen so Justin could actually see him. It was well accepted in the Harless and Ayala households that Justin and Trace were a package deal and that they would walk into each other’s places unannounced and uninvited.  They had long since left home but it still extended to their parents’ houses. The other residents had stopped batting any eyes at it before the two were even up to double digits in age. The back doors were always open and frequently they stuck around even if the other wasn’t home. The families were now so intermingled that it was nothing to any of them. Everyone was so used to it that you couldn’t even sneak up on them any more, nobody got surprised.

“Speaking of hell, did it freeze over? What’s with the Martha Stewart act?”

“I’m making enchiladas.”

“Again, I ask, what happened? Pod person invasion?”

“Fuck you, ass, I can cook. Mom’s out shopping with Liz so I said I’d make dinner. There’s enough if you want to stay.”

Trace tried not to raise his eyebrows at that. His own mom was out with Liz Bennington as well, though he hadn’t known Lynn was going. It was somewhat of a surprise since the purpose of the trip was to find a mother of the bride outfit. As the mother of the former groom that seemed like one heck of an awkward thing to do.

Having located the paprika, Justin grabbed the chilli powder and started measuring out doses for the spice mix. He had to resist the temptation to add another pinch; he liked his food far spicier than his mom did. That done, he went back to the chopping board and started peeling the onion he’d left on it. Although he didn’t cook much – why would he when there were far better cooks in his family – he tended to enjoy it when he did. There was something about having a set task and a complete product at the end of it, made him feel like he’d done something productive. His own work tended to be far less easy to measure results wise.

“Sure. Though how it is I always manage to wind up staying for dinner when I only wanted to ask you like one question…”

“Heh.” Another wry smile crept over his lips. “Shoot.”

“So I ran into Sammy Taylor, you remember him?”

“Yeah, course.” He picked up a knife and started carefully chopping. Although he couldn’t do it nearly as fast as people on television seemed to he could keep it pretty neat. He blamed the perfectionism.

“Well, aside from a reminder about the big charity masque thing his wife’s running which I confirmed we’re attending, it’s his birthday and he’s decided to go big on the nostalgia. Cookout at the park, just the way we used to.”

“Seriously?” Justin chuckled. “Keggers and all?”

“Keggers and all, right back to high school. It’s Friday and he’s invited us both, if you’re in.”

“I’m in, sounds like fun. Though, wait, who else is invited?”

Trace looked pointedly at him. “Really?”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Who’s playing? I honestly have no idea why you’re giving me the trout face.”

“Trout? The fuck you mean trout… whatever, you do know and you know full well. Are you actively seeking or actively avoiding Reese this time?”

“Whoa whoa whoa…” Justin put his hands up in mock surrender, though perhaps he should have put the kitchen knife down first. “I was not asking about Reese. I just want to know if he’s asking the gang or if I have to worry about people who don’t know me playing amateur paparazzi with their camera phones. Though now you mention it, if she’s going I may want to think twice.”

Trace opened the fridge and helped himself to a beer. As an after thought he picked up one for Justin too. “Well you changed your tune. You crash her engagement party but don’t want to run into her at somebody else’s shindig where you have a legitimate reason to be there?” He placed the beer next to the chopping board for him before popping the cap on his own.

“Well you were right about the engagement party, so I figure I may as well learn from my mistakes.” The voice had a sour tinge to it.

“Now he sees the light? Damn. Was Nadine that harsh?”

Justin didn’t even bother to ask how he knew it had been Nadine. Trace was something of a gossip troll who always managed to know everything. “She actually brought up Katy freakin’ Marron in front of the whole room. I couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. It’s not like anybody else knew what she was talking about, but Reese looked like somebody punched her.”

“What?” It was a good job he’d already swallowed or he’d be spluttering on the amber liquid. “How the hell did that come up?”

“John was doing his speech and he was playing this silly game with the goon, testing him as the son in law to be…” He knew he was being petty with the name when it wasn’t really Drake he was irritated with. He didn’t care. The knife sounded that little bit louder against the chopping board as he channelled his aggression into it. “He was asking all these questions, like a quiz, and one of the questions Nadine came up with was what he’d do if Katy hit on him in a bar. Seriously, you should have seen the peanut’s face, she was horrified.”

“Umm… wow.” Trace hopped up onto a stool at the counter, giving a whistle. At no point did he lift a finger to assist in the cooking. “Talk about a low blow.”

“I just couldn’t believe she did it in front of the whole room.” Justin gave a fierce frown. “Like, I’d expect her to make some kind of jab to me about it, but to do it in front of everyone like that when Reese wasn’t expecting it? In the middle of the engagement party and right when they had the entire room focused on them? That was bitchy even for her, Reese was really upset.”

Trace didn’t fail to notice that all Justin’s concern was for his ex rather than himself. It was wiser to refrain from commenting on it. “Well, she never really liked us even before that all went down. Not surprised she’d go for the jugular.”

“Yeah. Still, it kind of got me thinking.” Putting down the knife he turned his attention to the stove. He picked up the oil and drizzled some in the pan before turning on the heat. “I mean, there was me sitting there thinking what an insensitive thing it was on her part, doing it there of all places… but then what the hell was I doing?”

“If I know you, you were hanging around giving Reese shit she doesn’t deserve like your very presence wasn’t already inappropriate enough.”

“Exactly.” It hurt to admit it, but there was no denying it. “I’d been pissing her off right before so it seemed a little rich to be thinking Nadine was a bitch for her choice of venue. Though she was. But I guess I was being one too, even if I at least managed to do it privately.”

Well, that was a confession he certainly hadn’t been expecting. It seemed like as good a time as any to start prying further and asking a few things that had been bugging him for a while. Even so it would take cautious handling or his friend would only get defensive and close off on the subject again. Trace ran a finger across the condensation on his bottle, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I gotta say, JT, you’ve been kind of a bitch to Reese about the whole thing period. And I don’t get that. I mean, I know you’ve been messed up about it, of course you would be, but it’s not like you to be so…” He really needed to be judicious in his next choice of word. “Confrontational with her about it. Especially since you know you were the one in the wrong.”

Justin was quiet for a moment. The speech was a very Trace way to approach things; in a quiet and roundabout way he was calling him on his behaviour. It was painful to hear and always made him feel a little ashamed of himself, but he knew he needed to hear it. Lord knew he needed somebody around who wasn’t an enabler or a yes man. The instinct was to start defending and justifying himself, but this was his best friend. The guy wasn’t going to buy that and it was insulting to his intelligence to try it.

He scooped out handfuls of the chopped onion and tossed it in the pan. The kitchen felt a little too warm, though it was tough to tell if it was the sunlight streaming through the windows or the topic of conversation heating him up. Normally he was cheered by the room – it was a place where his mom and grandma cooked him all manner of good stuff, usually filled with laughter and always full of natural daylight. It was cosy and warm and lived in, brightly coloured tiles and solid wood counters. It was the place in the house that most looked like home. Right now however it was just about the least comfortable place he’d been in a while and that included the engagement party. Trace had a way of making him squirm like only somebody who knew you too well could.

“Can I preface this by saying I know how dumb it sounds?”

“I expect nothing less, duly noted.”

“It’s the only friggin’ way I can get a damn response out of her these days.”

Trace’s head cocked to the side and he stared hard at his friend, trying to read the expression on his face. “How do you mean?”

“She never wanted to hear me out, which I guess isn’t a big surprise and I brought it on myself. But it just…” He jabbed at the sizzling ingredients with the spatula. “I never expected her to clam up entirely. She didn’t even stop to scream at me or tell me what a bastard I am, never at any point. It wasn’t only that she didn’t want to hear the explanation; she just disappeared back here and never even spoke to me. She wouldn’t answer any calls or e-mails or anything… until one day I got frustrated and was an ass to her. Then suddenly she had something to say.”

“So… now you’re an ass to her just to get any kind of response? Dude.”

“I know, I know.” Justin shook his head, though not at Trace. “The really stupid part is that I don’t actually like doing it. I don’t like seeing her look at me like that or hear her trying to bite back at me; I don’t feel like a good guy after it. But every time I see her it’s like I’m there and I’m doing it before my brain has a chance to remind me that it’s a dick move.”

“So, like, why would you? Is it just wanting any reaction no matter how shitty?”

“I don’t know, I guess... I don’t know.” His lips pursed together. “The situation is just fucked, it feels so weird being back here and seeing her at all. Especially after avoiding it for so long. I mean, I know I had to face it sometime and she’s obviously settling here so it’s not going away. I need to be able to come home without hiding from  her or it being some big deal. Maybe seeing her get married will finally close the book on the whole thing? But… I don’t even know. Right now it’s just bugging the shit out of me, everywhere I turn I’m watching my peripheral like she’s going to jump out at me.”

“I totally understand all of that.” Trace took another swig of his beer before continuing. His foot dangled from the stool, idly swinging back and forth. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re being so aggressive with her when you do see her.”

“Don’t look at me, I don’t get it either. Every time I see her I just get wound up. It’s like she’s turned into some person I don’t recognise. I don’t know, I get around her and suddenly I’m angry even though I have no right to be. And before I know it I’m standing there saying shit to her that I know isn’t fair.”

Trace’s eyebrows creased and he tapped his finger rhythmically along the bottle as he took a moment to think.

“So… what I think I’m hearing… is you’re pissed with her for running away and not letting you have it out, one way or another? You’re angry with her for turning her back on everything like you never happened, so… you pretty much act like a total prick to her just to prove that it still matters even if she doesn’t act like it.”

Justin paused before answering. He tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his t-shirt, which suddenly felt constrictive.

“I’m starting to regret asking you to stay for dinner.”

“Don’t hate me ‘cause I speak plain.”

“It’s not you I hate right now. I kind of hate me because I think you’re probably right.” He let out a sigh as he ripped open a carton of chopped tomatoes and started pouring it over the browned onion. Somehow his hands followed the recipe even though his brain wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the process.  “Jesus Christ. This is the stupid thing, I know I’m screwy in the head for all this but you know what’s going to happen next time I see her? Same shit different day.”

“Come on, don’t kid yourself like you have no control over that. If she’s not reacting like you expected her to then you need to put on your grown up pants and deal instead of being a shit to her. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“I know, but…”

Trace didn’t let him get very far with that. “Seriously, man, you near damn killed the girl. Cut her some slack.”

“You know what, that’s exactly the damn problem. Apparently I did kill her and some clone with a completely different personality has taken her place. That’s what’s so fucking aggravating, I don’t know where my fiancée went but that Stepford Wife running around with her face is not her.”

He tossed the spatula aside with force. It crash landed in the sink and the dirty saucepan lids it disturbed let out a loud clang.  

“Alright, alright, calm your ass down.” Trace held his hands up in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Easy does it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Justin rubbed a hand over his face, a fretful scowl settling over his features. His lips drew together in a rigid line. “I know I don’t have any right to worry who she is any more. I just… fuck, man. What the hell did I do to her?”

“Stuck your tongue down someone else’s throat and let her walk in on you practically getting a lap dance when she was trying to surprise you.”

Justin’s face quickly hardened into a pissed off visage. He could’ve been spitting venom. “It was a rhetorical question, asshole.”

“Yeah but I think maybe you still need to hear the damn answer, brother.” Trace replied in equally harsh tones. “You’re my boy and I’ve got your back but I’m not going to sit here and sugar coat this shit for you. You screwed up, you hurt her really fucking bad, and now you’re acting like you’re entitled to a say in how she responds or what she does with her life. You don’t have the right; you gave that up the second you let your dick start doing the thinking. I know it was complicated, but you did it and these are the fucking consequences. Deal with them, but don’t take it out on me and you sure as hell shouldn’t be taking it out on her.”

He deflated with almost the same speed that he’d puffed up. It was probably unnecessary for Trace to have been such a smart ass to begin with, but no righteous indignation could survive in the face of that diatribe.

“See now I hate both of us because you’re right. Fuckin’ A…”

For the first time he dropped the cooking and picked up the beer Trace had retrieved for him instead. After tossing the cap aside he knocked back a gulp at least three times the size of his usual. Within a matter of seconds his face twisted from angry to forlorn to irate and back again. It was hard to stay too mad at him when he was obviously struggling.

“Seriously, man… I’m sorry to be harsh on you but you have got to start getting a grip. She’s doing this, she’s getting married, and even if you never understand it you’re going to have to accept it and move on. Without making a bad guy out of yourself in the process.”

“You know, sometimes…” Justin picked at the label on his beer with a fingernail. The room was starting to smell like garlic and spice. “Sometimes I kind of feel like I already am the bad guy and I might as well act like it. Which before you say it I know is stupid.”

“Well if you’re doing that under some notion that it’s eventually going to force whatever conversation you’re looking for out of Reese, you need to disillusion yourself. She’s stubborn that way.”

“I say again…” Justin sighed wearily and picked up the spoon again, trying to put his concentration back into the task at hand. “I’m kind of regretting inviting you to stay.”

“Yeah yeah.” Trace sat back in his seat with an unrepentant face. “You should worship the ground I walk on for dealing with your copious bullshit.”

“Quid pro quo, man. Not like I don’t deal with enough of yours.”

“Fair point. Call it even?”

That was as close to a détente as the two were going to get. They’d known each other too long for apologies.

“Even.”