The Rest of Us Just Live Here

by Patrick Ness

“Here’s what’s important, Mike.” He takes a long time screwing the lid back on the moisturizer. “What’s important is that I know how much you worry about shit. And what’s also important is that I know a big part of that worry is that, no matter what group of friends you’re in, no matter how long you’ve known them, you always assume you’re the least-wanted person there. The one everyone else could do without.” All I can do at this is swallow. I feel like I’m naked all of a sudden. “Even when it’s just you and me,” he says. “I know how you worry that you need me as a friend more than I need you.” “Jared, please–” “I’ve known it since we were kids, Mike. You’re not the only one who worries.” He play-punches me in the chest, leaving the flat of his fist there. “I wouldn’t have made it without you. I got my dad and I got you and I need you both. More than you know.” I swallow again. “Thanks, man.”