### Chapter 6 BJI had a craving, a relentless urge for a burger that had consumed my thoughts for weeks. Burgers weren’t exactly in high demand around Magnolia; their presence felt almost taboo, and for reasons beyond me, she was finicky about them. In all honesty, Magnolia was a touch peculiar about several things. Yet, as the stars aligned for one more late-night adventure with the boys, I welcomed the escape. My head was on the verge of exploding from another meal at Farmacy. The food was tolerable—pleasant even—but it was the monotony that gnawed at me. She was going through such a phase where it seemed to be the only thing she’d eat. But tonight was different. I needed something greasy. Thus, I found myself at Patty & Bun on James Street, recognized as the best burger spot in town. It wasn’t a meticulously crafted plan—just a spontaneous decision that started with a quick call to Hen, who was hanging out with Christian. Christian then reached out to Jo, who happened to be with Banksy, and suddenly, here we were. You might be wondering about the dynamic between Hen and Jo. It’s fine. Odd, perhaps, considering Christian and I had been through thick and thin for years, burying and ignoring everything that strained our bond. The thing with Henry is that he possesses an impressive ability to shut his mind off like a water valve. He claimed he was done with Taus, and since then, he genuinely seemed to be. But that begs the question—did he ever really love her? The answer is a resounding yes. He and I are different creatures in many ways. Where he is pragmatic, I tend to lose my mind in matters of the heart. How my relationship with Parks unraveled would have driven him insane. I marvel at how long he endured with Taura—his capacity for love is evident in the way he tried to work through things. It’s like how families of terminal cancer patients often begin their grieving process long before the inevitable, allowing them to move on somewhat swiftly compared to unexpected tragedies. Henry felt like he was losing Taura long before she ever left. He just turned off the valve. And Jo? There’s a new twist in their tale; he’s been spending an unusual amount of time with Bianca Harrington. It’s intriguing. He insists he isn’t interested in her, but I can see right through that facade. Meanwhile, Banksy has an intriguing new boyfriend (or maybe an old flame? It’s a web I can’t untangle), and Jo’s been getting worked up over it. Watching them is a curious pastime. Their chemistry reminds me of the earlier days with Parks—friends yet more than that. Hen’s arm is casually draped over Jo’s chair as she reaches for his chips, leaning into him in a way that feels instinctual. They seemed oblivious, but I watched them with a mix of amusement and suspicion. “What?” Jo mouthed back at me, her brow furrowing in confusion. With a playful smirk, I shook my head just as my phone buzzed to life. Parks. “Hey,” I answered, a warmth spreading through me at the sound of her voice. “Hi,” she responded, her tone brightening. “Where are you?” “Just out for dinner with the boys and Banks,” I stated. “Oh, nice!” she exclaimed, clearly genuine. “Where at?” I paused for a moment, the thought of revealing my burger escapade felt like inviting chaos into my bubble of bliss. Her penchant for food-related drama was well-known, and I wasn't in the mood for a lecture on how fried food could wreak havoc on my system. “Malibu Kitchen,” I lied, and the puzzled expressions from my friends told me they were onto me. “Oh, good! I love that place,” Magnolia chirped, visibly relaxed. Hen mouthed a confused “What?” and I just nodded, shrugging it off before taking a step away from the table. “Yeah, me too—” I replied absentmindedly, shifting the conversation back to her. “How was your day?” “Mm-hm,” she responded, lost in thought. “I had that meeting with—” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to remember if I had heard anything about it. “How’s Rich?” “Good,” she replied, the cheer in her voice palpable. “Happy with it all?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Yeah.” I nodded, allowing a small smile to escape. “Knew he would be.” “Will you be home late?” she inquired, a hint of apprehension creeping into her voice. “No, not too late—” I glanced back at my table, who were all watching me intently. “We’re wrapping up soon, and I’ll head back straight after.” “You don’t have to,” she insisted quickly, ever cautious about appearing needy. After five years of being suffocated by her own demands, she had learned the art of self-restraint. “But I want to,” I assured her, sensing the shift in our connection. A brief silence stretched between us before she responded, relief evident in her voice. “Okay,” she finally said, and I felt a warmth blossoming in my chest. Before I hung up, I told her I loved her—simple, but profound. “Did you just lie to her?” Christian quipped as I returned to the table, a knowing glint in his eyes. “What?” I blinked innocently. “Not really.” “Why’d you say we were somewhere else?” Jo’s brow furrowed in curiosity. I rolled my eyes. “She’s been a bit weird about food lately, hasn’t she, Hen?” Henry shot me a long look, his brows furrowing slightly before he begrudgingly nodded. “A bit, yeah.” The conversation veered off into chatter about Magnolia’s upcoming birthday. It felt strange—not just because of the occasion, but because I was still grappling with the idea of celebrating. In past years, we’d either celebrated in half-hearted ways or not celebrated at all. Last year was especially painful; she was celebrating in New York, alone, while I sent her a gift—a first edition of *The Little Prince*, marked up with notes just for her. She opened it after we got together, tears welling up in her eyes as she read my handwritten words in the cover: “‘Of course I love you. It is my fault that you have not known it all the while.’” She cherished it, just as I had hoped she would. Yet, I knew how high her expectations were for her birthday, how she craved an event to make the day special. Among the many memorable birthdays we’d celebrated—some marred by bad memories—her eighteenth was an absolute disaster. I thought it would be fun to take her camping. “Camping?” she had echoed, eyes wide with disbelief. Her bewilderment was more than I had anticipated, and as I reminisced, I couldn’t help but chuckle. When she asked, “Do you have an idea for my birthday this year?” it was with that hopeful glimmer in her eyes, and I had naively replied with a proud affirmation. “Yes!” Her eyebrows shot up in eager expectation. I could have taken her anywhere—Paris, sailing through the French Polynesia, or even a simple birthday party at a local joint. Yet, I had chosen the one idea that I would later regret—“Camping.” She stared at me, disbelief written across her features. “Camping! Just you and me… and the boys.” The last part felt like a necessary addition, though the other boys didn’t seem thrilled by the concept either. It was a disaster from the outset. After thirty-two hours of enduring nature—complete with two sobbing women—I had to book us into a motel, which turned out not to be any better. One UTI later, and we all left with a hefty dose of regret. But what made this upcoming birthday weightier than the rest was the absence of Bridget. Parks seemed to struggle under the shadow of her absence as if the very foundation of celebration was shattered without her sister. I desperately wanted to mend things for Parks, but life doesn’t come with a user manual. We were on a rollercoaster, already strapped in, and the ride was tumultuous. After dinner, Henry and I walked home together as we had made a habit of doing. Magnolia was eschewing cars, so I followed her lead. The silence between us was thick, almost palpable. “Are you good?” I finally asked, nudging him lightly. He shook his head slightly, his expression tight. “Don’t do that again.” My brow furrowed, confusion clouding my thoughts. “Do what?” “Pit me against her,” he said, his jaw clenching. “Make me lie for you.” Never one to back down easily, I shook my head. “Bro, you know she’s been crazy about food—it’s not unreasonable.” “Okay,” he conceded with impatience. “So what are we going to do about it?” “I—” I hesitated, his words hitting harder than I anticipated. It felt like a punch to the gut. I completely shut down. “I’m not ready—” “What?” he shot back, surprise etched on his face. “Nothing.” I found myself walking a few paces ahead, unable to tackle the weight of the conversation. “It’s fine,” I reassured him, looking back to convince him I was okay (though I certainly wasn’t). “I won’t lie to her again.” Except even that was a lie. Each day brought new layers of deception, and I was entangled in the web I had spun. Everything was unraveling, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was completely out of my depth. If only I could find a way to make it all right.