The Friends List Ch. 03

Once again, all characters are over 18, and the story takes place in 2010. I thank RawSilhouette and Ravenna933 for their editing and plot development help.

I kissed Kirsten Bäumler goodbye for the last time as I left her house, guitar and amp in hand. It had been a crazy last two weeks. We'd spent time together nearly every single day playing music. We'd jammed alone, with her Dad on piano and my stepfather on bass as a four-piece, and once with the drummer from her Dad's cover band. We had her friends over once to listen to us, and we'd developed a musical chemistry with each other that was rare and exciting. I'd told her as I was leaving that I couldn't wait to play again together when she was next back in town, and she'd enthusiastically agreed.

We'd also spent the last two weeks fucking constantly. It was the honeymoon phase of any new hookup where you can't keep your hands off each other. We'd had sex on the couch, the piano bench and the floor of her basement studio, and occasionally other places in her house when her parents and brother weren't around. We'd hooked up in the shower and her bedroom. We did it once on the stairs, just because we hadn't successfully made it to the bedroom, and once out in her backyard on a lovely warm night at 2 AM just to try it out. It was two of the most hedonistic weeks I could remember having, and by the end of it my dick was completely worn out.

Just before leaving, Kirsten had told me that she very much wanted to play music again with me someday, but as much as she'd enjoyed the last two weeks, our sexual escapades were going to have to be over for good. She didn't want to have any distractions back at the Berklee College of Music in Boston while she was focused on her studies. She didn't like having to lie to her friends, including my stepsister Vanessa, when the girls talked about the guys in their lives, as keeping our dalliance secret was a necessity given the possibility of drama in her friend group. And most of all, she'd never had casual sex before, and had, despite herself, started developing feelings for me by the end of the two weeks. She told me it was nothing personal, but she wasn't okay with remaining my friend with benefits if it was going to cause her pain, and she wasn't at a stage of her life where she was ready to have another boyfriend.

So that was that. It was now June, Kirsten was gone for the rest of the summer, and I was back to square one. Vanessa had been treating me with something approaching kindness lately. I didn't know why and hadn't asked, but I assumed it was from seeing how much good I had done in alleviating Kirsten's stress (she hadn't known the half of it!). Laura Keelor, the girl I regretted hooking up with at a party in late April, was still occasionally sending me sad, romantic, or aggressively horny texts, which I was ignoring as much as I could get away with. And I was still talking to Monique Lachance, who was still occasionally hinting at the possibility of hooking up with at least one other girl she knew; that is, when she wasn't bragging about her own lesbian conquests.

Of the remaining possibilities, I hadn't had a chance to really get to know Michelle MacKenzie or Samantha Fischer. And Natalie Chen, the girl I thought most likely to have the secret crush, wasn't due home from the University of Ottawa for the summer for another couple of weeks.

For the next couple of weeks, my life was spent studying for the upcoming LSAT exams. Walt's message about the rules being loosened around the house hadn't gone unheeded, and both Vanessa and I had started having wine with dinner or occasional beers in the evenings, but I hadn't had the opportunity to bring a girl home (and certainly hadn't been willing to ask Kirsten to spend the night). I occasionally noticed Carson around the house when Mom and Walt weren't around, but I never overheard him and Vanessa being intimate, and she never brought him around when parents were present or had him sleep over.

Things were quiet among the other girls, and since I didn't have many remaining good friends in my hometown, my social calendar remained bare. I was honestly glad for the chance to get some really good, hardcore studying done.

Near the end of June, the family was seated around the dinner table when Vanessa spoke up.

"Dad, do you think some friends and I could go up to the cottage for the Canada Day weekend?"

Walt looked down his nose at his daughter. "How many friends is 'some'?"

"I don't know, the normal group of girls, I guess. We've never been up there without parental supervision, but we're all 18 or 19 now, and you said a month ago that you were going to start treating us like adults more."

"Hey, I've never been allowed to go up there with friends," I pointed out. "Why should you get to?"

"You can come if you want," Vanessa offered.

I was convinced instantly. "Walt, can we go up to the cottage for Canada Day weekend?"

Mom laughed. "Dear, they're adults now. I think we can trust them."

"No raucous parties? Just a bunch of girls hanging out?" Walt asked.

"I promise." Vanessa gave her dad the puppy-dog look she gave him when she wanted something, and Walt's remaining resistance melted.

"I need to check with my brother if his family has anything planned up there for that weekend, but otherwise, sure. But you're on probation, both of you. If the place gets trashed, you'll be married with children before you ever get to go up alone again."

"Thanks!" Vanessa smiled.

"Yeah, thanks," I added.

A few phone calls confirmed that Walt's brother did, in fact, have plans for the long weekend at the cottage the extended family collectively shared up north, but the weekend after was entirely free and clear. July was late enough in the year that the black flies would be gone, and the lake would have warmed up enough to swim in.

The cottage was owned by Walt's parents -- Vanessa's grandparents -- and in their advancing years they shared it freely with the entire extended Jelinek clan. We usually went up to the cottage two or three times a summer as a family and once as an extended family, with all of Walt's relatives there. I never really felt welcomed by them -- Mom and I were the only step-family in the entire group -- and after a couple of awkward encounters earlier in my teen years I usually found an excuse not to go to the big annual reunion. But in smaller groups, it was a lovely, secluded place on a lake in the middle of nowhere, tranquil, relaxing, great for swimming or just hanging around a campfire with a beer.

The plans came together quickly. Of Vanessa's friends, Laura, Natalie, Michelle and her boyfriend Jason, and Monique and her latest hookup Becky were coming. Samantha couldn't get the Saturday night off work, and Kirsten was obviously back in Boston. Carson was also coming (and apparently Carson was his first name!) That made nine, which was already going to be a tight squeeze in the tiny cottage, but the guy and the girl from karaoke night were also coming. I remembered his name was Mark, but apparently hers was Priya, and they were Vanessa's university friends.

It was a beautiful summer morning when we set out for the long drive. We'd have to go east for forty-five minutes to Toronto, then turn north on highway 400. From there, it was about four hours north on main roads, then an additional forty minutes on back roads to reach the lake, but the trade-off was total seclusion, with only four or five other cottages on that lake. In Muskoka, the place traditionally thought-of as Toronto's cottage country, the old cottages were being replaced by massive mansions owned by the rich, and Lake Rosseau had been colonized by big city money, but further north it was still quiet, backwoodsy and traditional.

The eleven of us set out in three cars, with me driving Walt's SUV loaded with food and other supplies. Vanessa was riding shotgun and Carson was in the backseat. We gave directions to the other two drivers and told them we'd see them there -- Monique was driving Becky, Natalie and Laura, and Mark was driving Priya, Michelle and Jason.

Once we were out on the open highway, Carson promptly fell asleep in the backseat.

"He's out quickly," I commented. We'd barely left the city.

"He does that," Vanessa said airily.

"I'm not prying, but just so I don't put my foot in my mouth, is he your boyfriend?" I asked. "We still haven't really been properly introduced. And despite what your Dad said last month about being allowed to have boyfriends sleep over, I don't think I've ever seen him spend the night."

"We haven't put a label on it, but no, I wouldn't say it's a relationship."

I let her response hang for a moment.

"It's purely sexual," she added. "I don't exactly want to have that conversation with Dad, which is probably why we're still sneaking around a little. Not that that's any of your business."

"I'm not here to judge. I was only wondering about sleeping arrangements." The cottage was a tiny, 1930's shack, with only three rooms -- a small kitchen and dining area, a living room, and one bedroom with a single queen bed. There wasn't even a bathroom -- when the cottage had been built, there had been an outhouse and no electricity or running water. Now there was a flush toilet and shower, but it was in a small adjacent building constructed where the outhouse had once been.

When the four of us stayed over as a family, Vanessa and I generally slept in the living room on the futon and in a sleeping bag. When the entire extended family stayed, people slept in sleeping bags wherever they could find a spot, or pitched tents on the lawn.

"Yeah, I'd thought about it," Vanessa said. "I was thinking Carson and I would take the bed and you could have the futon, since you're unattached. I told everyone else to bring sleeping bags. Michelle and Jason brought a tent, because they're going to want some privacy at some point or other."

"So I get to sleep on a futon surrounded by six other people?" I asked.

"I don't care if someone sleeps on the floor in the bedroom," she answered, "as long as we have some private time at some point. I imagine Monique will want to have sex with Becky too, and I don't mind letting her use the bedroom. Nobody else coming is together."

"What about Mark and Priya?"

"Not a couple. Mark is Priya's gay best friend."

I nodded. I'd wondered if he was gay, but I hadn't had enough interaction with him to confirm my suspicions.

"And you didn't have any other guy friends you could have invited?" she continued. "We've got a bunch of single ladies coming. No offence, but you're the only single straight guy coming, and I don't exactly want any more of my friends hooking up with you. It's bad enough that you slept with Laura."

The image of Kirsten's round white ass bouncing against my crotch as I fucked her from behind, a knot of her blonde hair clenched in my fist, flashed into my head. I said a silent thank you to fate that Vanessa clearly hadn't found out about it. I then thought of Natalie. This would be the first time I'd be seeing her since last summer, and I was excited, but I also didn't know if any opportunities were going to present themselves to do anything on the down low; that is, if she even was the mystery crush. Monique still hadn't let slip who it was she'd meant.

"The weekend's gonna be a total clambake." Vanessa's interjection interrupted my thoughts.

"Clambake?"

"The all-girl version of a sausage party."

I laughed. "I did invite my roommates, for the record. Steve and Clarence couldn't make it with working, and Tom decided he wasn't making the seven-hour drive alone just to hang out with a bunch of people he'd never met."

"I can't fault him for that. What about your high school friends?"

"Jon's going to school in Calgary and is staying there for the summer, Mike and I never hung out one-on-one and we don't have a reason to see each other without the whole group, and Ian's gotten into drugs the past few years. It's sad what's happening to him, but he's not the same guy I used to be friends with anymore."

"That's really sad."

"It is. I'd be willing to pick up a friendship with him again if he ever got clean, but from what I've heard he's just gone further down that road since I last saw him."

"It's tragic how people who meant something to you just can drift out of your life," Vanessa observed. "I'm lucky my old friends are still all on good terms. I mean, I've been friends with Laura since the second grade. Family's different, though, isn't it? You know they'll always be there, whether or not that's a good thing or a bad thing."

"Which one am I?" I asked her, point-blank.

"I'm starting to come around to 'neutral thing'."

"Likewise."

We sat in silence for a moment as I navigated the heavy Saturday morning Toronto traffic.

"It's been, what, seven years now we've been in each other's lives?," I finally continued. "We've lived in the same house for five, but we still hardly speak to each other. I've gotten to know a few of your friends better the last two months, and they're amazing people, but that hasn't meant getting to know you any differently."

"Yeah." Another long pause descended. "I'm sorry, Peter. There's a lot of history between us. I'm not going to start to trust you just by snapping my fingers. You never treated me with any interest or respect until recently."

"I know." I took a deep breath. "As long as I could remember, it was just me and Mom. I knew growing up that other kids had a mommy and a daddy, and brothers and sisters, and I didn't care, because I had Mom and she had me. We were a team, even when I was little. She always treated me as an equal, not in an inappropriate, oversharing way, but, like... she wanted my opinions, she taught me to trust myself and my judgment.

"Then, after having that for the first fourteen years of my life, suddenly she had a boyfriend. I was so protective of her. I didn't want her to get hurt. And I was hostile to your dad at first, I'll freely admit that. I barely even knew you existed; I didn't care about Walt and I wasn't interested in learning about the twelve-year old kid that was attached to him.

"They eventually moved in together, we gave up our apartment and moved into your house. I told Mom I didn't want to go. I didn't take a stand often, because she respected my opinions even back then and tried to accommodate them, but I did on that. And for the first time in my life, when I stood up and strongly objected to something, I told her that I didn't like this and didn't think she should do it, she ultimately went ahead and did it anyway.

"It took me a couple of years to get over that sense of betrayal. It took until after they got married when I was sixteen before I was able to look at them together and not feel hurt or angry. Now, with age and perspective I can totally understand why she married your Dad. She had to look after herself first, and your Dad is a really good guy. But it messed me up for a couple of years. Your dad never stopped trying to be a father figure to me, and in time I came to accept him. But with you, I don't think either of us ever made an effort. One of us needed to reach out, and I was too in my own head to think to do it. But you never did either."

Vanessa kept staring out the window, thinking. "I know."

"I'm trying to reach out now," I pointed out.

"Yes, I've noticed," she finally said after a long pause. "My Mom died when I was nine. That's the worst possible age to lose a parent. If you're younger, I think you aren't able to hang onto the memories as much, and you accept whatever's normal for you when you're old enough to be conscious of it. When you're older, you're better equipped to deal with it. But I remember what happened to my Mom, every step of the way.

"I remember how they were trying to have a second child and couldn't conceive. I remember standing at the top of the stairs in my pyjamas when I was about five, secretly eavesdropping on hushed conversations after dark when I was supposed to be asleep, knowing something was wrong, but knowing they didn't want me to know. I remember worrying myself sick wondering what was happening. I remember them finally sitting me down and telling me Mom was sick, and she was going to have chemo and radiation and lose all her beautiful brown hair. I remember that strong, proud woman gradually growing frail and weak and becoming an old lady in front of my eyes. And I remember seeing her in the hospital for the last time, in palliative care, unconscious, and Dad telling me that I had to say goodbye." She started crying, and I instinctively handed her a tissue from the console.

"It took Dad and I years to start healing from losing her, but just like you and Diane, at least we had each other. And then I went through the same thing you did when our families merged. But I don't think I ever had the same anger towards your Mom that you did towards Dad, because I'd had a mother before. Diane was never going to replace Mom, I didn't ever think of her in those terms, and I appreciated that she never tried to be a replacement.

"But let me tell you, having your big, manly, bearded father explaining to you about your first period was mortifying, both for him and for me. I missed having another woman around. I missed all the milestones with Mom I'd never get to have, and I needed that feminine presence in my life. It took time for us to learn to trust each other, but Diane has filled that gap for me, and while she'll never replace my Mom, I appreciate your Mom so much for being there for me over the years she's been in my life.

"But you know what? I had been kind of looking forward to having a big brother. I'd always wanted a sibling, and I was excited when I found out they were trying to have one, right before Mom's cancer diagnosis. And then my new big brother was this sullen, moody kid who spent all his time in his room and wouldn't even look at me, let alone giving me the time of day. I eventually warmed up to your Mom just fine, but it wasn't a happy time living with you in the next room. I was honestly glad when you left for university. I could breathe again. I could feel comfortable in my own house again. It's only been for the last two months that I feel like you've treated me like a person."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't accept your apology. It's been too long, and it still hurts how you treated me. But I promise you I'm going to work to getting to the point where I can forgive you."

I nodded. "I never knew what it was like for you. But I don't remember you being super welcoming of me either. You were resentful. You used to snap at me, be rude or bratty at me. You never forgave me for not taking your Dad's name."

"It would have made us a family, Peter," Vanessa blurted sharply. "Diane's now Diane Jelinek, you're still Peter Lonergan. Why do you still want to hang onto a name that no one else is using?"

"Because it's my fucking name! Mom got married, she wanted to take her husband's name, that's her decision. I'm not Walt's son. I'm not Czech. I didn't keep Mom's name, I kept my name." I was annoyed. "You never wanted me as a brother. You wanted the idea of the brother that you already had in your head, something to make you a complete family, and you never accepted the fact that I was my own person with my own personality."

Vanessa and I glared at each other.

"Thank you for inviting me this weekend," I finally said as I had to look back at the road. "I really like your friends."

She said nothing, but kept staring out the window. I drove on in silence for a long time, past the airport, through the basketweave, and then north on the 400 past Canada's Wonderland towards the Holland Marsh.

"I'm sorry," she finally said, quietly.