20Ready to Let Go || Cage the Elephant
COLE
“Jesus Christ,Monroe. Another casserole? I’m not going to stop you from giving me food, but how many times do I have to tell you that nobody died?”
Monroe pushes past me into my apartment before I’ve even got the door open all the way and sets a casserole dish covered with aluminum foil down on my counter. Honestly, I think that’s how we became friends in the first place. She was a bartender at a club I was doing security for, and somehow she just sort of marched into my life before I’d even fully accepted her as part of it.
I’ve always been grateful to have her, though. Whether they bring casseroles or not, I’m not exactly known for taking the initiative when it comes to making friends.
“I grew up in suburbia, Cole,” she tells me. “My mom ran the fucking Welcome Wagon. This is what suburban women do when something bad happens. They mix pasta, tuna, and breadcrumbs together and then bring it to the source of the tragedy.”
“Tragedyis a little much, Monroe.”
“You haven’t filled your fridge in like three weeks, and your aunt is recovering from a near-fatal heart attack! If I don’t take care of you, who will?”
“I do still know how to function,” I remind her as I pull the door shut, “but thanks. Really.”
“You’re welcome. How is your aunt, by the way?”
“Still feeling pretty shitty. Not that she’d ever actually complain. It’s like pulling teeth getting her to tell us if anything hurts. Lexi helped them hire a nurse to come in twice a week, so that’s making things easier for everyone, but she’s still got a long way to go before she recovers.”
“But she will recover,” Monroe reminds me.
“Yeah.” I find myself grinning. “She will.”
She seems to hesitate for a second. “You will too, you know.”
That wipes the grin right off my face.
“Sorry to bring it up,” she apologizes, “but it’s just...I’ve known you for a long time, Cole. I don’t like seeing you this way.”
“I’m fine.”
She sighs like she wants to argue but heads into the main room without saying anything else. She texted me earlier to ask if she could come over for an afternoon beer, so I grab said beers from the fridge and join her on my couch.
She inspects the label with a trained and judgemental eye.
“This will do, I guess.”
She might spend her days and nights managing a bar that specializes in serving discount shots to shit-faced students, but she’s the biggest snob I know when it comes to what alcohol she drinks herself.
“You know I keep microbrewery craft beer in the fridge just for you.”
“And one day you might actually learn how to pick a good one.”
We clink our bottles together and each take a long pull.
“JP was at Taverne Toulouse the other night,” she tells me. “I did eventually have to kick him out for refusing to stop dancing on tables, but we had a nice chat before that. He said he hasn’t heard from you in a while...”
She’s still trying to turn this into a Talk It Out session.
“Yeah, we’ve got another few weeks before we head to Australia, so we’ve been taking it kind of easy on the rehearsing.”
“Uh-huhhhh.” She draws the word out as she sizes me up over the top of her beer bottle. “Everyone’s worried about you, Cole. You’re...You just always look solost.”
“I’m not a puppy, Monroe,” I tell her. “I can handle my shit.”
“That’s the thing, though!” she shoots back. “I don’t think youarehandling it. It’s like when Roxanne left, you—There! See! You just flinched when I said her name, and don’t pretend like I’m lying about it. She left so you could both become stronger people, but it’s not working for you, is it? You’re—”
