38. Arden
38
ARDEN
I stare at the dessert I made the other night.
The uneaten dessert.
Like a zombie, on Friday morning I trudge toward the plate of coconut bars tucked in the corner of my kitchen counter. I pick up one, studying it like a scientist, holding it to the kitchen light, considering it from this angle, that angle.
We didn’t touch any of these. They’ve been here since two nights ago when we made love.
“Ugh.”
I mean . . . when we fucked.
When he took me over the back of my couch like I wanted.
When he gave me a fantasy from my list.
That’s all it was.
That’s all I can believe it was, yet my spine shivers from the memory.
“Stop it, body. Just stop it.”
But I replay the scene again, picturing the moment when he hooked his arm around my waist, then when he went so deep I saw stars.
And the sensation returns. Intensifies. Builds like a storm inside me.
“You are a traitorous bitch,” I say to my lower half. “One taste of him and you’re hungry for more.”
I bite into a hunk of the coconut bar, chewing as I head to the back door, stepping onto the porch. The morning sun blinds me, like it’s fair that the sky is so perfectly clear, like it’s fair that the day is so deliciously warm.
After last night, the sky should be punishing me with pelting cold rain.
Last night was a punch to the ribs—of my own doing, but nonetheless, that’s what it was. My muscles ache, my head hurts, and my throat feels raw.
I take another bite of the bar, but the coconut is cardboard to me. Telling Gabe I only wanted to be friends tasted like the worst lie in the world. I don’t want to be friends. I want to be everything .
I sink onto the steps, sadness shrouding me, my heart caving. A robin swoops down, hopping across the grass.
I remember the robins and their hunt for cheese and crackers the day David dumped me at Silver Phoenix Lake. That same fateful day my friendship with Gabe launched.
I toss the remains of the coconut bar to the bird. Chirping, he pecks at it, and I try to laugh, to tell myself this is funny and I’ll share the story with Gabe. But it’s not any easier to return to our normal today than it was yesterday. The prospect of starting a Words with Friends game with him makes my head throb.
I pick myself up, shower, and change my clothes.
I can’t wallow all day. I’m a doer. So, I do . Grabbing the book I brought home last night, I head to my car and drive over to Gabe’s mom’s house. When she answers, I flash a smile. “Hi, Mrs. Harrison.”
“Hey, Arden, good to see you. Want to come in? Gabe’s not here.”
“That’s okay. I was looking for you anyway.”
“You were?”
I lean in close, whispering conspiratorially, “Don’t tell the Bookstore Police.”
Her blue eyes sparkle, just like his. “Oh! More top secret goodies.”
I hand her the Robert Galbraith, adding my best everything is fine smile. “Just for you.”
She clutches the treasure to her chest. “I’m diving in today.” Then she wraps her arms around me. “You’re such a wonderful friend to my son. What would I do without you?”
Her words are my reminder. This is why I did what I did. To preserve what we’ve had.
Our friendship is a gift, and I treasure it the same way I do words and stories.
As I walk away, I tell myself giving up the chance for more has to be worth it.