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They get high together for the first time in Tiffany’s backyard when Erin’s just turned fourteen and KJ’s two months shy of fifteen, give or take.
It’s on a Saturday, when the Quilkin’s took a trip out of town to see Tiffany’s grandparents. They had the mercy to leave Tiff at home—the old folks on her dad’s side are pushy, to say the least. Couple lame ass farts. Whatever.
(The grandparents on mom’s side are much nicer, Tiff says. Grandma bakes and has a good sense of humor and grandpa has really cool model trains.)
So it leaves them with an empty house for a night or two. An opportunity they will always take advantage of. It’s even more special because Erin actually gets to stay overnight this time.
(This has been a sleepover in the making, really. Erin could have people sleep over but could not stay over at someone else’s house, no matter how many times Mrs. Tieng met Mr. and Mrs. Quilkin. It took a lot of persistence and finally turning fourteen to get here.
And, well, maybe Mrs. Tieng had a point ‘cause, look where they are.)
Erin could get taken down over this like, three different ways. At least on the account of Mr. and Mrs. Quilkin not even being home, and Erin lying about that, and the weed. The girls, especially Mac, are nothing if not great bad influences.
Though, to be fair, this was Erin’s idea. Mac’s joked about it, sure—has bit out something like, “why don’t you smoke some ganja and chill the fuck out” more times than she can count. But she’d never pushed for them to actually smoke together. The girls have always been cool about her doing it, but she had never thought of them as interested.
Until six days before the Quilkin’s were set to be out of town, when the sun was setting and everyone was dancing around the fact that they all had to be home for dinner (well Mac didn’t, but party of one’s a snooze fest). Erin had tightened her grip on the chains of the stagnant swing set she was sitting on and kicked her feet before blurting it out.
We should smoke Marijuana. Together.
And by the time they were biking home it was a plan. Mac supplies, of course. Tiffany hosts. KJ and Erin show up. Fairly simple. Well, other than the minor detail that Mac’s dealer isn’t exactly consistent, seeing as her dealer is Dylan—without his knowledge or consent. Whatever. It’ll probably be fine, she thinks as she turns onto her street.
He goes dry—like for a few weeks dry—every couple months or so, and it’s been like, a month. If she doesn’t take any for herself the rest of the week, she should be able to get them enough to pack a couple bowls.That would work just fine.
So she abstains for the remaining six days. Which she’s definitely done before, but it’s all the more frustrating when there’s still some in the house. She’s actually cut back on the cigs a bit since she started smoking weed, but for the rest of week she’s near chain smoking, fingers itching late at night. But she perseveres. With the power of friendship, or some shit. And she creeps around when Dylan’s out or he’s busy in the kitchen and folds some bud into a napkin, gradually building her supply.
He catches her on her last trip, the evening before the sleepover. Her hair’s hanging in her face as she sprinkles grinded bud into a takeout napkin, and she hears his steps right before his voice.
“Hey! You fucking rat!” He grabs her by the jacket collar and tugs so she’s facing him, a small pinch of bud falling out of her fingers and onto the floor. Fuckin’ waste. “What’d I tell you about fucking around with my weed!”
Dylan’s well—he’s better than he used to be, somehow. Still a total prick, but they've grown into a better understanding of sorts. They’ve both matured, one way or another. They move as a unit against dad better than they ever did, though his nicknames for her still include “little bitch”. All said and done he’s still her brother, like he’s always been.
But he’s strong—kinda short, just about a head taller than her still, and she hasn’t grown since seventh grade—but strong, lot stronger than her, like he’s always been. And even if he’s not gonna actually do anything, it still sucks to feel so helpless in his grip.
“Fuck off, dickweed! Let go!” she squirms, heat rushing her face and chest in a burst of anger. He does let go, if only ‘cause dad’s across the house sleeping and no one wins if he’s involved.
He sticks a finger in her face, “stop taking my shit. Or you’ll regret it.”
He said this last time he caught her, and the time before that. And every other time she’s been caught snatching anything of his their entire lives. She figured her luck’ll never run out around age nine. So far so good.
He stills for a moment, keeps his eyes on hers with this stupid scowl on his face, and then he turns on his heel and grabs his baseball bat from where it’s leaned against his bedframe and storms out. Freakshow.
She tries to salvage the spillage, trying to pick it up with the pad of her finger, to not much success. She dusts her finger off and folds the napkin in half to transport it. She’s got a sandwich baggie in her bottom drawer where she’s been keeping her earnings. Those fucks couldn’t even begin to appretiate her properly for the work she’s put into this for them.
She’s restless all night that night, filled with this eager anticipation that only her friends are really capable of making her feel. It’d been one of the many things that made her feel childish and uncomfortable before, but she’s come to accept it over time as they’ve only given her the same excitement right back. They’ve atomic bombed her with love so hard the past couple years…especially KJ…if she didn’t catch up with them she’d be inhuman.
There was this time with KJ at a sleepover last year that she still thinks of a couple times a week. It was late, Tiff and Erin had crashed a couple hours ago, and they sat curled up against the back of Erin’s living room couch talking. KJ’d held her gaze, looked with her soft eyes in that all too penetrative way. Had put her hand around Mac’s wrist for emphasis.
“You don’t have to be afraid to love us, or care about us, Mac.”
Something surfaces with the memory, something she’s been ignoring all week while she twiddles her thumbs and stubs out cigarette buds on her windowsill. This worry in her mind that KJ can always see right through her, will always have that power. That something about the idea of herself, KJ, and her own lowered inhibitions makes dread sink in her stomach.
Mac falls asleep thinking about soft flannel pajama pants and warm eyes and a hand wrapped around her wrist with care, not for the first time. She dreams of skyscrapers and hulking machines and one hand on her chest and the other on her bicep, not for the first time.
The next afternoon, she tucks the baggie and her pipe—Dylan’s old piece, which is missing half the stem since he dropped it—along with her lighter, into the bottom of her bag under a change of clothes. She makes a sandwich and she rereads a comic Tiff lent her that she still hasn’t returned four months later. After that she picks the book she’s rereading for the third time (she’s been through everything good at the library, multiple times) back up.
The day drags, but eventually she’s swinging her bag over her shoulder, leaving twenty minutes earlier than what might be appropriate. She pedals leisurely and does a couple circles to balance it. When she finally swings onto Tiff’s street, her driveway is empty as expected. She nearly drops her bike right onto a potted plant on the porch. She swears, shaking the adrenaline off and mustering up her most casual knock.
Tiffany answers within twenty seconds, ushering her inside. “Jeez, I’m not your real dealer, Tiff.”
“Shut up.”
Mac drops her bag off by the door, and takes a look around the place as if someone else could be here. She bobs her head, approving. “The digs to yourself for a weekend, pretty cool.”
Tiff shrugs as she takes a seat on the couch, reclining back against the arm rest. “Not all that different from when my parents are here. I just read comics and watch TV.”
Mac shrugs in return, plopping down into the armchair with her body half-turned sideways. “I don’t get the house to myself that much. Alice is always home.”
It goes quiet, and Mac can see Tiff watching her as she fixes her own eyes on a painting hanging on the wall across from her. She rolls a loose thread on the armrest in between her fingers.
Then Tiff asks, “How is she?”
Mac purses her lips, rolls her head over to look at Tiff. “I don’t know. Same old. Drunk.”
Tiffany frowns. “Didn’t she—”
“Relapsed. Dad’s fault, probably.”
Tiff knows…not as much as KJ or Erin, but she knows enough. Alice has gotten sober a couple times over the past year, but her record is about two months. She doesn’t work and her presence every day is a constant, but Mac doesn’t think they’ve had a conversation in a month. Her eyes are heavy and tired whenever they cross paths, empty in this way that scares Mac more than anything else.
She’s everything that Mac doesn’t want to be—a wife, a drunk, a waste of space. Last time she was two weeks sober she made them these really pathetic scrambled eggs when dad had left for work, had them sit at the table and everything. She looked dead under the poor kitchen lighting. It ended with Dylan shouting and launching his fork across the room. Mac hasn’t been able to eat eggs without tasting that morning in her mouth.
She can feel the awful texture of them on her tongue just thinking about it now. “Whatever,” she sits up, plants her feet on the floor and leans her forearms on her thighs. “We’re comfortably supplied, by the way. You’re all probably lightweights anyway.”
Tiff just stares at her for a moment, face blank. That annoying analytical Tiff face. Mac takes a purposeful look around the room as something tightens in her throat. Tiff has the mercy to move on and ask, “and your stuff is definitely like, all clean, right?”
Mac makes a face, offended. “Yeah. What? I don’t know. It’s just fine, thank you very much.”
“Hey, how the hell am I supposed to know? I assume you’re getting it from Dylan. I don’t really trust him to supply me with a pizza, let alone drugs.”
And, well, maybe she would have gotten defensive over that a couple years ago, but now, coming from TIff…it’s pretty funny. And fair. She huffs in place of a laugh, shaking her head. “Well it hasn’t killed me. So.”
“Good to know.”
Erin gets there five minutes later, and she looks like she’s about to start vibrating in place as she throws her bag down on the floor. “You’ve got it?” is the first thing out of her mouth.
“Yeah, yeah, chill. I got it.” Mac eyes her, suddenly full of affection for this loser.
Erin nods as if she’s trying to convince herself of something. “Cool.”
“Hello to you too,” Tiff says with a smug fondness.
Erin falters for a second, smiles apologetically. “Hey Tiff. How’s it—going?”
“Good.” Tiff nods. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
“Your mom doesn’t have an all seeing eye. She can’t just sense you’re doing drugs tonight.” Mac fixes her with a look, maybe trying to transfer some of her indifference about all this to her through some telepathic link.
“We don’t know that,” Erin says, fully serious, and she perches herself on the far seat of the couch next to Tiffany.
KJ arrives after Tiff and Mac have talked circles with Erin about her mom’s psychic abilities a couple times (she can’t have any—no matter what Erin feels, they assure her this). She doesn’t even knock, just waltzes right in and locks the door behind her.
“Good evening everyone,” she almost says it like an announcement, in that very stupid very KJ way.
“It’s fuckin’ four PM,” Mac bites, actively fighting with something climbing its way up inside her with two hands just at KJ’s presence, shoving it and pushing it back down. It’s this very agitating and ever growing monster inside her.
KJ plops herself down on the floor in front of the coffee table. She turns to Mac, smiles like a little shit. “Good evening, Mackenzie.”
Mac groans, falls back against the chair. “Fuck off, Karina.” She laces it with as much venom as she can, which isn’t all that much anymore.
KJ crinkles her nose at the name, but laughs anyway.
Mac perks up as she remembers her ammunition, “hey, remember your bat mitzvah dress?”
“Okay, that’s enough of that,” KJ says, splaying her hands on the surface of the coffee table. Mac’s giggling as she moves right on to ask, “So. When are we getting high?”
They all look at Mac, and she probably should have expected to be unanimously elected leader of all this. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking after the sun went down. Like eight or so.”
None of them seem to mind this idea. Tiff suggests they watch a movie, and the hangout gets started there.
KJ and Erin want to watch E.T.—even though they’ve seen it like three times. And well, It’s E.T., it's pretty good. So they watch E.T. Tiff pops in the VHS and her and Erin rush to collect snacks as it starts. Mac itches to move by KJ on the floor, but sprawls out sideways in the armchair instead. She fixes her eyes on the TV, trying not to pay KJ any mind while she shifts to get comfy on the floor.
The watch goes as it usually does. Mac insists on calling E.T. an ugly fuck and numerous other insults. KJ repeats several filmmaking facts she’s shared fifteen times. Erin almost cries at the end. Tiff is the only normal one.
After that there’s a bit of nothing while they wait for the sun to start going down. Erin and Tiff read comics on the couch with their ankles practically overlapping. KJ starts a three hundred piece puzzle on the coffee table, for fun, which she found in the closet. Mac stares at her in mixture of amazement and horror for a bit before shutting her eyes and getting halfway to a nap.
Erin shakes her coherent the minute the sun starts dipping. “Hey. We’re gonna make dino nuggets.” Tiff and KJ stand behind her.
Mac grumbles, rolling out of the chair, literally, and landing at their feet. “Okay.”
She follows them into the kitchen, Erin and Tiff going to work in tandem to get nuggets on a tray while KJ and Mac sit at the kitchen island. It’s quiet for a bit, Mac twisting her mouth in different ways while trying to not too-obviously eye KJ. KJ’s resting her chin in her palm, free hand idly toying with the friendship bracelet on her wrist. (Erin made them for the four of them last year, out of braided string. They’re color coordinated. KJ’s is blue.)
KJ’s….she’s tough and holds her head high, but she’s kind and giving to her core in a way Mac’s never known in anyone else.
It’s intimidating, terrifying. They’re intrinsically similar in ways she can’t name, the two of them. She knows it in every glance and word they exchange. But one thing about KJ is she’s reached a knack for tenderness Mac doesn’t think she’s capable of. She fetches bandaids for Erin and shares snacks with Tiffany and has held Mac when she’s cried.
Mac doesn’t speak that language. Has learned to understand it when it’s spoken to her, but can’t utter a word of her own. It’s part of her monster, she thinks, the one clawing inside her.
There’s a clatter, followed by “fuck—shit,” and Mac looks up to see Erin balancing the edge of the tray on the counter. “Almost dropped it. Sorry.”
A half hour later the nuggets are done and cooling on the stove, and Mac has her bag over her shoulder and is leading them out to Tiff’s back porch. The air’s thick with anticipation and anxiety, and Mac can’t say she’s entirely exempt from those feelings. She’s never smoked with other people. Usually it’s like, she takes six or seven hits out her bedroom window and then she listens to music in bed.
Doing this with them takes some vulnerability, as silly as it makes her feel. She’s got this pit of worry in her stomach that she doesn’t want to name. She keeps meeting KJ’s eyes as they all sit down in a semicircle on the concrete. They’re lit only by Tiff’s porch light.
Mac zips her bag open to unpack her stuff. First the baggie, which Erin eyes like she wants to touch but doesn’t. KJ picks it up instead, holding it up to examine it like it’s anything more than some crushed herbs in a plastic bag. Then the old zippo, followed by her pipe.
“Is it broken?” Erin immediately asks, taking the pipe in her hands and running her thumb over the jagged edge of the glass.
“Yeah. No. It still works.” Mac takes it back from her, a little defensive. “It was Dylan’s old one. I only have it ‘cause he broke it like an assclown and got a new one. Still pulls smoke.”
Tiff and Erin eye her while KJ shrugs and puts the baggie back down. “If you say so.”
The bowl is kinda gross, caked with resin ‘cause Mac doesn’t know how to clean it and doesn’t really care. She carefully sprinkles big pinches of bud into it while it rests on her knee, feeling a little uneasy as they watch her. This is supposed to be something cool, or whatever, but she feels lamer than she did when she tried to pop a wheelie on her bike and crashed in front of all of them.
She presses the bud down with her finger to pack it tighter, glancing up at them as she wipes her finger off on her jeans. She takes a short breath, just to collect herself. Lets herself slip into her most comfortable role, someone confident and cool, not one unassured bone in their body. The person she had to be, not so much someone she crafted but someone that was packed onto her like paper mache by everyone else around her. The only shell she ever knew. The girls all know her truth by now, seem to identify where the facade ends and she begins much better than she does. But it still works in the way she needs it to.
“Alright, I’ll go first, to demonstrate for you losers,” she eyes them all like this is serious business. She takes the lighter and pipe in hand, flicking the lighter as she hovers the piece in front of her mouth.
“Cover the side hole with your finger,” she taps it to show them, “inhale when you bring the flame down.” Erin nods attentively in the corner of her vision, like this is a college lecture. Mac takes a steady hit, and maybe it’s sad that it feels a bit like coming home, but she’s not gonna dwell right now. She holds it for only a couple seconds before tilting her head up to exhale.
She sniffs as she lowers the pipe. “Who’s next?”
The three of them exchange glances, and Erin looks a little like her eyes might pop out of her head, but she says nothing. KJ takes the initiative, of course, gesturing for the pipe. “I’ll go.”
This is easy for KJ. She shows nothing other than neutrality while she brings the lighter down, wrapping her lips around the short stem. She doesn’t even cough, despite not being a consistent smoker. She shrugs, but her lips quirk in a little smile. Bastard. Mac should have expected no less. KJ’s a dweeb but she’ll always be cooler than her. KJ may talk funny sometimes and know too much about dead people but she’s never had a cold in all the time Mac’s known her and she picks up bugs that make the other girls wanna piss their pants like it’s nothing.
That used to scare her, threaten something instinctual inside her. But at the end of the day KJ is just KJ. And she’s just Mac, and that’s all they’ve ever been, and that isn’t scary. And they’ll keep being KJ and Mac. KJ who helps Mac with her math homework. KJ who’s always quick to suggest checking out the library but not for herself. KJ who listens to Mac talk about things she never thought she’d tell anyone. KJ who…
Who looks really nice, in the gross yellow lighting out here. With her sharp but all too inviting features. Something churns awfully slow and dreadful in Mac’s stomach. There’s a stark voice in the back of her mind saying something very mean but very true. She’ll clamp her hands over her ears and ignore it like she’s been doing for a very long time.
KJ forces the pipe into Erin’s hands next, and Erin stutters while she holds the pipe and lighter awkwardly in both hands. Mac smirks, “c’mon, new kid,” and the nickname is a little bit of a low blow two years later, but.
Erin narrows her eyes as she holds back a smile, and she shakes it off and holds the pipe up for a hit. She stalls for a second, tapping her index finger on the side of the bowl before going for it. She takes in smoke too fast and coughs like hell, but she takes it like a champ.
“Shit,” she swears in between coughs, patting her chest.
Mac leans over to give her a couple firm pats on the shoulder, “deep breaths man.” Erin nods, coughs dying off as she breathes.
“So when do I feel it?”
After Tiffany’s had a turn and they’ve passed it around to the point of killing the bowl, Erin seems to be feeling it pretty hard. She’s taking slow breaths, sitting frozen with her knees pulled up to her chest.
“Er, you okay?” KJ’s face softens like warm butter, like a switch just flicked in her brain.
Erin blinks as she processes this, looking up at KJ. “Yeah, uh…”
Any remaining amount of Mac’s cool guy act slips off like a sleek jacket as she sweeps in to put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, man,”
“I just,” Erin looks up at her, and her eyes are deep, heavy, like they might start drooping. She kinda looks like somebody just told her someone died.
“Okay, why don’t we go inside and lay down, alright?” she moves into a crouch, keeping one hand on her shoulder while the other wraps around her back. “Is it okay if I touch you like this?”
“Yeah,” Erin murmurs, so Mac guides her to stand.
“I’ll come with—” KJ says, because of course she wants to be there for Erin too. Tiff probably does as well.
“No,” Mac glances back at them, “we’re okay. You and Tiff can stay here.” It sounds a little harsh, ‘cause she doesn’t remember to make it sound reassuring, but there’s no protest. More people might just overwhelm Erin.
Mac takes a pitstop in the kitchen to grab some water—which she nervously glances at Erin as she does so, and then she leads her to Tiff’s room. She has her lay back against the comfy pillows and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
“You okay, dude?” she’s a little foggy herself, after being determined to take more hits than the rest of them. Her heart feels like it’s in her stomach, Erin’s freaking out, and this was probably a stupid idea in the first place.
Erin shuts her eyes, totally slack against the bed. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just…I don’t know. I started feeling it and started getting really worried about Tiff’s neighbors, like they’re gonna know what we’re doing and—” she huffs, throwing one of her arms over her stomach.
“I understand, man. It can be really easy to get freaked out.” Mac runs her knuckles over her palm, going between looking at Erin and the floor.
“Do you ever get—freaked out?”
Mac takes a heavy exhale. “Yeah, sometimes. I smoke a lot at night, so. I don’t know. Sometimes I see figures out my window or hear footsteps in the hall and think—” the thought dies in her throat as she catches up with her stream of consciousness. Something like horror pools in her stomach. “Uh, yeah. It can be weird. Freaky.” Heavy footsteps and creaking floorboards and thoughts of bruises waiting to happen.
Erin misses her weirdness completely, only nodding slowly with her eyes still shut. “Good to know it’s not just me.”
“Yeah, dude. Definitely not just you.”
Erin smiles slowly, and she opens her eyes to look at Mac. Her eyes feel homey like a good hug. She just looks for a moment, and it’s scary but Mac can’t look away. “Thank you. Can you stay for a while?”
“Obviously. I’ll be right here.”
They emerge from Tiff’s room a half hour later, once Erin says she feels better and she actually looks it. She kinda shuffles more than she walks, but she doesn’t look sick like she did earlier. Tiff and KJ are playing on Tiff’s game console, and they immediately pause and get up when they enter.
“Everything okay?” Tiff asks.
“Yeah,” Mac gives Erin a gentle pat on the back, “all good. You guys good?”
“Yeah,” KJ gestures back at the TV, “we’re just playing a game.”
First time Tiff’s put her own console to use in a while. She used to play all the time before they met, she’s said, but one day she kinda just figured she plays it too much. Got more into comics and too busy hanging with them. Mac knows she still misses it sometimes.
“The nuggets are still on the stove. They’re probably like—cold now but you guys should get some.”
Mac and Erin end up on the couch sharing a big plate of nuggets with two big glasses of water for each of them. KJ and Tiff resume their game, switching off every round. KJ struggles and Tiff dishes her shit for it.
“You suck,” Tiff says bluntly, and everyone laughs.
“I—fuck you,” KJ’s voice goes high. “Your mom sucks.”
“Oh!” Mac hollers, nearly knocking her water over in the process.
“I don’t mean that,” KJ says immediately, barely moving the joystick anymore, “your mom’s really nice.”
After they’re done eating Erin tucks herself into Mac’s side, and it feels nice and she wishes they did stuff like this all the time. She zones out watching KJ and Tiff bump shoulders as they play, and is hit with a deep, full body longing. It tears through her with no mercy.
It’s familiar, a longing that’s existed inside her for as long as she can remember, but one she had mastered keeping under high level security. Except the past couple years, when it’s been rising faster and faster to the surface. Except when she’s stoned and feels soft and malleable and needy. Like it isn’t enough to hug somebody, but like she needs to become a part of them and them a part of her.
She’s not that gone, though. She lets the feeling wash over her, fade like a bruise.
She’s left with a lingering melancholy that mixes with her buzz in a weird way. When Tiff and KJ get bored of their video game, KJ stumbles as she stands. “Can we play Clue?” she throws her arms out in front of her as she asks. “Pleaase?” It’s kind of unlike KJ to whine, and it makes Mac smile.
“Yeah, sure, you big baby.”
“You hate Clue,” Tiff says, and it feels like a deeply personal callout. All Mac can do is shrug.
KJ snatches up Professor Plum like she always insists, and Mac takes Colonel Mustard while Erin and Tiff take Miss Scarlet and Mrs. Peacock respectively. They set up on the coffee table—laying the board on top of the puzzle KJ started earlier—under the yellow overhead light, and Tiff pops a Fleetwood Mac CD into the player on the shelf. Because, well, it’s Fleetwood Mac. Even Mac likes Fleetwood Mac, especially stoned. She has Rumours on CD and it’s probably a couple scratches away from not working at all anymore.
It doesn’t really set a murder mystery vibe, but it’s nice. The game starts a little slow, especially as Erin keeps breaking very basic Clue rules.
“You can’t go there!” KJ reaches over to put Miss Scarlet back in the Dining Room. “You only rolled a six.”
“But I’m right outside the door!”
“And you need a seven to go in!”
“You cannot be that fucking high still, Erin. We’ve always played with the same rules.”
“I think we should just let her into the Ballroom,” Tiff speaks up, and the bickering explodes because we’ve always played with the same rules.
Their shit’s a bit more sorted by the second half of the game, and Mac enjoys it more than she has any other time they’ve played. Clue got repetitive and boring for her fast, especially since KJ has never been beaten no matter how much Mac tries to cheat. And god has she tried. KJ is always one step ahead. But she can feel the happy sounding little guitars from Fleetwood Mac that all seem to blend together alive in her body, and all of her friends have good laughs. She smiles so much it hurts as KJ adopts a really bad posh British accent somewhere, and as in turn Tiffany makes Mrs. Peacock French.
“Welll I fink,” KJ starts one of her accusations, louder and more obnoxious than she’s probably ever spoken in her life, “It wos Miss Whoite, een the kitchen, wif the lead poipe!”
Tiff says something in that stupid French accent, but Mac can’t even really understand it and this is her living nightmare but also the best thing they’ve ever done.
In the end, KJ wins. And Mac was in fact cheating again. She’d think KJ was cheating all this time if she didn’t know better.
KJ dramatically pulls the cards from the little envelope one by one, “Mistah Green,” she slaps his card face up on the table, “in the stuh-ee,” the study card comes next, “wif the dah-ger!” and there’s the dagger card. “I always knew Mistah Green was a dir-ee ly-arr!”
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Mac barks, and her stomach hurts from laughing.
“You can nev-ah trust ze bald ones,” Tiff says.
After they’ve packed the game back up they end up spread around the living room, KJ on the floor with her back against the couch with Mac sitting on the arm rest next to her. Erin sits in front of the coffee table while Tiff sits in the armchair.
“So,” Mac says, glancing around at them and pursing her lips. “How are you guys like…feeling?”
It’s ten by now, so they smoked a couple hours ago and are pretty sober. “Pretty good,” Tiff shrugs. “It’s kinda worn off but I had fun.” Mac can see KJ nod in her peripheral.
Mac slides her gaze to Erin, who was in the middle of yawning but perks up when she notices. “I’m good! After I calmed down it was just fun.”
“Cool,” Mac bobs her head. She was pretty sure such was the case, but it’s nice to hear. “We do have more if you guys wanna just like…chill.”
They take a moment to glance at each other, and a couple of them shrug, and then Tiff goes, “yeah, sure. I’ll probably just have a little, though. I think I’m ready for bed.” To which Erin agrees.
“Laaame,” Mac says, but she expected this since Tiff and Erin have been looking increasingly tired the past hour. Her and KJ are usually the ones up later, and Mac tells herself every time this kind of situation falls upon her that it doesn’t make her excited. It doesn’t.
So they head out to the porch and Mac packs the second bowl, feeling better about it this time, like it’s more normal for them. It’s mostly quiet other than crickets and the flicks of the lighter as they start passing it around.
Erin and Tiff take a couple turns each before saying goodnight to go inside and head to Tiff’s room.
“Thanks for this,” Erin says before she gets up, “it was a good time. And thanks for…being there for me earlier.”
“Of course, yeah,” Mac’s quickly going a little drowsy off three hits, but her chest sparks with something cozy. “Anytime, man.”
After they’ve left the silence hangs for a moment before KJ scooches over to sit right next to her. “It’s really sweet, yknow,” she says as she hands the pipe back to Mac.
“Wha?” Mac mumbles, not sure what KJ’s getting at.
“How you took care of Erin. It was sweet.” She tucks her knees up to her chest and folds her arms on top of them. Mac meets her eyes and then decides that’s too much so she focuses on taking a hit instead.
“I was just…I don’t know…” she trails off as she exhales. “You’re the one who takes care of people.” She doesn’t really know why she says it, but she’s uncomfortable with the attention on her. She hadn’t thought of helping Erin out as particularly sweet, especially with how…fumbly she felt she went about it all.
“Maybe,” KJ hums, “but you do too.”
“I don’t know…”
“You’re too hard on yourself.” KJ states, and then she gestures for the pipe back. “Always too hard on yourself,” she mumbles as she lights up. “You take care of all of us, in your own ways. Maybe you’re not used to…having people to care about like that. But I see how easy it’s gotten for you.”
“Really?” Mac stares at her profile, the way the curls of her bangs frame her face. She still looks as nice as she always does, under the fluorescent yellow light. It makes Mac ache like…like something that’s trapped her under its thumb. Something that’s supposed to be unstated that she feels coming at her like a skateboard down a hill.
“Yeah,” KJ meets her eyes and says it like it's so real that it halts Mac’s doubts. “You have a big heart, Mac. We all feel it. Even if you can be…”
“Mean?” Mac supplies.
“Sure,” KJ laughs softly, “but never malicious. Unless it’s Wally Becker. Which, deserved. You’re tough. You’ve had to be. Doesn’t make you…evil.”
And KJ’s said so many important things to her, has opened her up with her words and her persistence time and time again, but hearing this from her is a special kind of affirmation. A counterclaim to something she’s been carrying with her as a fundamental truth. She’s not a monster, she loves her friends, they know it, she shows it, and they love her right back.
“I know what it’s like to feel…like something’s wrong with you and that’s never gonna change. But it’s not true.”
And there’s that twinge, that haunting sense that KJ gives her. Like there’s something she’s missing that she’s so close to finding but it’s not something that exists at all, despite being something incredibly important. She feels it in KJ’s eyes late at night like this and she wants to know so badly if KJ gets it too. Phantom sensations of something she cannot recall. Something that makes her feel tethered to KJ.
As she sits here looking in KJ's eyes, somehow she knows it’s real. The most real thing she’s ever felt. And she swears she can see it reflected right back at her. “Do you think…” she starts to say, and it’s stupid but she’s buzzed and she has to say something, has to throw out something like a life floatie, “we were always meant to be…friends?”
KJ cracks a gentle smile. “Yeah. I know it.”
And it crashes like a wave, picks her up and takes her under. She struggles and struggles and KJ looks down at her mouth and maybe she looked at KJ’s first but either way she ends up washed up at shore, shore being pressing her own lips to KJ’s like an idiot.
And she’s done it before, even if she never has. She’s felt this before when she never has. She’s felt this warmth and comfort. Maybe that’s just what KJ does to her, maybe that's how it feels for everyone when they…
A hefty clink breaks into the air, and they both pull away to watch the pipe rock back and forth on the concrete at KJ’s feet. It’s unharmed, thank god. Mac does not want to go back to times before she had her own pipe and she could only hit Dylan’s.
“Shit! I—sorry.” KJ giggles.
Mac breaks out too, she can’t help it. “It’s okay,” she huffs for air, “Jesus shit.”
They go quiet again after a bit, KJ folding her arms back on top of her knees.
“We should do this more. It was fun.” KJ comments as she draws meaningless designs on her elbow with her finger.
“The…?”
“Weed,” KJ laughs. “But the other thing wouldn’t be so bad either.”
And god it’s…it feels like this should be harder. And it’s still not…easy. It’s been a long two years. It will be a long coming years. But there’s that thing, that tether that is all consuming that tells her it’s gonna be okay. That this is okay.
“Yeah.” Mac says quietly. “It wouldn’t.”
They don’t get the opportunity to smoke as a group very often after, but there are a few notable times such as when KJ’s parents go out of town for a whole week. Mac and KJ smoke together much more frequently, as it’s a lot easier for the two of them to sneak around. They start doing a lot of sneaking around. Tip-toeing and biting back laughs and secret smiles and quick kisses.
Things are okay, like the tether told her it’ll always be.