So I blurt it out: “Why are you guys friends with me? You and Montana?” When she raises her eyebrows, I backtrack. “I mean . . . what do you get out of it?” God, I’m sweating now. Why did I ask that? I don’t need my insecurities validated, don’t need Liz to tell me it’s because they feel sorry for me. I’ve never done anything to indicate I’d be a decent friend. I don’t crack jokes; I don’t have insight to add to a conversation. I’m only like that around Peter.
