“I hope so. I’d like to believe I have something to offer Archie by way of actual, real comfort or emotional strength. And some days, I manage to convince myself that I do. That I’m helping him through this … impossible gauntlet of grief. But then …” She sighed, trailing off.
“But then, awkwardly peppy smiley face emoji,” I said, giving Veronica my best sympathetic look. It wasn’t much of a stretch for me to imagine how my best friend was feeling right now, given that I’d had so many weird, similarly stilted exchanges with Jughead lately. “I’m familiar with that situation myself.”
I mean—Jughead’s mother had come back to town from her first unexpected walkabout, only to take over the local drug trade right behind her own family’s back. And then she bailed on said family all over again. There were no words I could say to make Jughead feel less abandoned. There was no way to convince him of how wholly and thoroughly loved he was—is. Believe me, I’d tried.
Veronica stabbed at a bite of egg, then pushed it aside on her plate. “Equal weirdness with Jughead, huh?”
I gave her a wry grin. “Oh yes. One hundred percent. Although, I’m trying not to be too possessive of his time, even though I’m obviously totally freaking out that we’re separated while he’s at Stonewall. It was bad enough when he was at Southside High. Now he’s boarding at a fancy private school in another town?”
“Only on weekdays. And, as they say … distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Veronica pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
“Counterpoint: Out of sight, out of mind.” Now it was my turn to sigh. “I keep trying to remind myself that this isn’t, like, the end of the world. Stonewall is an amazing opportunity for Jug, and he had to take it. And as for being wrapped up in his sister’s life when he’s home … I mean, I’d have to be a monster to be jealous of that.”
“And yet.”
“And yet.” I set my utensils down on my plate, giving up on eating for good. “I’ll admit it—I want him all to myself!” I sighed. “Don’t listen to me; I’m being awful. Trust me, I know it’s good that he’s looking out for JB now that Gladys is gone. He wouldn’t be the Jughead I love if he weren’t so worried about her. I mean, for starters, JB needs the attention—I’m sure she’s feeling totally abandoned.” I leaned in, elbows on the table, careful to avoid a tiny patch of dried maple syrup left over from someone else’s meal.
Veronica nodded. “Well, real talk: She kind of was. So, yeah.”
“But the truth is … I think Jug needs it, too.” I paused. “I know he likes to pretend he’s so stoic—total disaffected youth, nothing ever gets him, you know—”
“I do know,” Veronica agreed.
“But, well … he’s not a robot. He’s a teenager, with feelings. Whose mom has now walked out on him twice. And he won’t talk about it. He wants to be all strong. For me, for JB …”
Veronica huffed. “What is it with these boys and their outdated notions of stolid invulnerability?”
“Don’t ask me. I’ll admit, it stings a little. But even if he doesn’t want to show it, I know he’s hurting. So I think … I think it’s good for him to have JB to look after. Even if that means there’s less time left for me.”
“Misery loves company,” Veronica offered.
Misery. That was the word for it. “For one, yeah … but more than that, even … I think it gives him a sense of … I don’t know, purpose? Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely,” Veronica said, considering her breakfast one last time before pushing her plate aside entirely like I had. “It’s probably not that different from Archie, running in circles, staying busy with the community center and keeping an eye on his dad’s construction deliveries … He wants to be strong. But I can see the pain in those soulful eyes of his. It’s not about his father’s business—not really. It’s that he needs to keep his father’s legacy alive.”
Her words struck a chord. Archie wasn’t the only one of us who’d lost a father recently. Though my own father’s legacy was one I’d be happy to see buried alongside his body.
“Can you blame him?” I asked quietly. “Fred Andrews was special.”
“Beyond special. One of the most loving, loyal fathers I’ve ever had the honor of knowing.”
I knew Veronica was thinking of her own father’s legacy—and his extended criminal enterprise.
“I don’t blame Archie one bit,” she said wistfully. “I just wish there was something more I could do to actually help him. Comforting platitudes … they only go so far. To say nothing of humiliating emojis and LOLspeak.”
“I know,” I said, just as dejected as she was. “I really, really know.”
“I know you do.” She reached across the table and patted my hand. “At least you get me, girl. What would I do without my bestie to bitch to, on occasion?”
“Well, you said it yourself—misery does love company.” We both had to smile at that.
“Meanwhile,” I went on, feeling suddenly slightly more cautious, “speaking of parental legacies …” I tilted my head at her, questioning, not wanting to say outright what I knew she was thinking about.
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean, how am I doing now that not one but both of my parents are incarcerated?”
“I hope it’s okay to ask,” I said, apologetic. “I mean … my father was the Black Hood. No judgment, obviously.”
She waved a hand at me. “Obviously. And please. No secrets between us, you know that. Besides, if I didn’t have you to vent to, I’d probably have gone stark raving mad by now.”
“So, that means you’re …” I prompted.
“Hanging on, even if only by the slimmest of silken threads,” she said. It wasn’t exactly reassuring, but then again, if I knew my V, she had inner strength to spare. Besides, for better or for worse, this wasn’t her first rodeo dealing with the fallout from her parents’ shadier dealings. This time, she’d even had a hand in their downfall (albeit with a predictably unpredictable outcome).
“At least with your father in jail, he’s out of your hair?” I ventured. I wasn’t sure that was how Hiram Lodge worked, but I’d keep my fingers crossed.
“That’s the theory,” Veronica said. “But we’ll have to see about how—or if—it works that way in practice, too. Alas, it’s impossible to say how long the arm of Hiram Lodge truly is—even from behind bars.”
It was a sobering thought. I sat up straighter against the squishy vinyl backing of the booth. “This is unacceptable, V,” I said, trying to sound authoritative. “Things may not be … ideal around here, these days, but it’s not like that’s anything new.”
“No, we are certainly no strangers to tumult,” Veronica agreed. She fished a few bills from her wallet to cover her half of our tab as Pop swung by, smiling, and delivered it, facedown, to our table.
“Shouldn’t you girls be on your way to school?” he asked, friendly.