Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
“Aren’t you going to miss this sweet face?” Mom coos, angling Lindsay in my direction.
I give her a tight-lipped smile before shoveling another spoonful of cereal in my mouth.
“She’s so precious, yes, she is,” Mom says. “How could you not want to live nearby so you can see her all the time?”
There’s a loud clatter as my spoon slaps the table, and Mom startles. I shove my chair back and leave my half-finished bowl where it sits. I walk out the back door in my sweatpants, oversized T-shirt, only stopping to step into some Nike slides first.
“Lily,” Mom calls, but I ignore it.
I didn’t think to grab my car keys when I stormed out, and I refuse to go back inside for them, so I cut through familiar backyards till I find myself outside the Greene family lake house.
From what I hear, Casey is the only one who still uses the house, and I know she’s not here, so I find the place blissfully empty. The screened-in porch is unlocked, and I see myself inside, and sag into a lounge chair, and soak in the peaceful silence.
It’s not even five minutes when my phone vibrates. I’m expecting it to be a text from my mom, and I’m grateful to see it’s not.
Casey:
What’s wrong?
I frown. Is this girl psychic?
Lily:
Nothing?
Casey:
I roll my eyes and set my phone down, not going to respond. Only, a moment later, Casey FaceTimes me. I debate ignoring it, but I know her well enough to know she’ll keep calling until I answer.
“Hey,” I say.
“Don’t lie to me, Liliana Marie Lewis.”
“Gah, what the fuck? Don’t full name me.”
“Emily texted last night that she was annoyed you skipped game night,” Casey steamrolls on through.
“I assumed you bailed to hang out with Harlow, but then she told me this funny story that included Harlow, which—strange. So then I thought you were busy with your niece, but now you’re hanging out on my porch before eight in the morning in your pajamas, looking all unkempt and pitiful, so something’s up. Do not lie to me.”
“How the—?” I glance up and spot a security camera. I groan. “Fuck.”
“Yep, but don’t worry,” Casey says. “I’m the only one who gets the alerts for the cameras. So, what’s going on? Did something happen with Harlow?”
“Things aren’t going to work out,” I confess.
Casey pauses and repositions the phone as she sits down on her sofa. Her tawny blonde hair falls in waves around her shoulders. She has her makeup on and is dressed for the day in a cute long-sleeve because, of course, her morning ass is.
Voice softer, she says, “Ah shit. I’m sorry, Lily.”
“It’s fine,” I lie.
“What happened?”
“We live on opposite sides of the country, Case. Things aren’t going to work out. We need to stop pretending they will.”
“That’s such bullshit.”
“Excuse me?” Heat flares across my skin.
“You both knew you lived in different states—and how important your respective careers are—when you first met, long before you got together.”
“Yeah, I know! That’s the whole point. I thought we were on the same page, but obviously things changed for her. She wants me to move back to Michigan.”
“Did she say that?” Casey asks skeptically.
“No, but it’s only a matter of time. She loves The Sweet Spot. She can’t just pack it up and move it to California.”
“Okay. But if she’s not asking you to move—”
“She said she’s in love with me, Casey! That she wants a future with me and wants to tell everyone about us—she wants to tell my mom. The one person who won’t let off my throat about moving back, and I can’t.”
“Lily—”
“I can’t live here, Casey! Not with Mikayla and Gabby less than an hour away.”
“Ah,” Casey says knowingly. “It always comes back to them.”
I bristle. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?” Casey asks. “Like this is something you always do? You keep everyone at arm’s length, and when someone gets too close, you push them away.”
“That’s not true.”
She levels me with one of her signature stern looks.
“Lily, you know you’re one of my favorite people and I love you, but it’s true.
You did it with me when we were teenagers.
You did it to every woman you started to develop feelings for—always finding an excuse to end things before they can really start.
You even keep Emily and your family at a distance. ”
“Oh, come on! That’s not true.”
“Yeah? Then how come Emily still doesn’t know about you and Harlow? You told me Harlow was fine telling people when you made it official, but it was you who wanted more time. And how come you never told any of your family what really happened with Mikayla and Gabby?”
“That’s different.”
“How?” She sounds genuine like she truly doesn’t understand and wants me to explain it to her. But I’m not sure I know how.
I sigh. “Because it’s not their business.”
Casey looks off camera. Her eyebrows are pinched in thought, and she almost looks a little sad.
But I don’t know how to put it into words.
My family never once took my concerns over Gabby seriously.
It’s easier to brush them off, calling me “immature” and “overdramatic,” when they don’t know the truth, but what if the details don’t change their opinion?
What if they still think so little of me?
I think it’ll break me.
“Can I be honest?” Casey asks.
“You’ve been holding back so far?”
The corner of her mouth twitches. She licks her lips, mulling over thoughts, before carefully saying, “I think you’re scared if you let someone close to you, they’ll hurt you like Mikayla did.
I think it was easy to be in a happy bubble with Harlow because there’s safety in the physical distance between you, and that it was a secret.
But now that she wants to tell people and she said she’s in love with you, it all became very real for the first time, and that terrifies you, so you want to run. ”
I tilt the camera up so she won’t see me wipe away the silent tears that are rolling down my cheeks. I leave my phone pointing at the roof as I cover my face with my hands, fingers pressing against my closed eyelids.
“I get it,” she says softly. “I was scared too, and I pushed Dakota away before we started dating. I could have lost her. It was only by dumb luck—and petty jealousy—that I didn’t.
I think you have to decide if you’re willing to risk losing Harlow because you’re afraid she may hurt you like Mikayla did. ”
I don’t say anything. I wipe away more tears, then hide my face in the crook of my elbow.
Casey and I sit in silence together. I’m not sure how long it’s been when she says, “I’m sorry, Lily, but I have to go. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
I shake my head, then forget she can’t see me. “No,” I croak around my tears and curse myself.
“I can talk a little l—”
“It’s fine, Case.” I wipe my snotty nose off on the sleeve of my T-shirt because I have nothing else. God, this is so embarrassing. I’ve taken unkempt and pitiful to an alarmingly high level.
“There’s a key under the frog statue along the back wall. You’re more than welcome to hide out at my place as long as you want. I think there’s some water in the fridge and some granola bars in the pantry if you haven’t had breakfast yet.”
I smile weakly. “Thank you, Casey.”
“Anytime,” she says. “I’ll text you later?”
“Yeah.” And then she’s gone. I find the key easily and head straight for a box of tissues. I’m such a mess. I take the box and a bottle of water and collapse on the sectional, wrapping myself in a blanket cocoon.
Was Casey right? Do I keep everyone at a distance and push away anyone who gets too close? That can’t be true. I love my friends and family so much. If anyone asked, I’d tell them how close we are. But then a small voice whispers, So why did you pick the absolute farthest state away to live?
I could have gone to college anywhere. I could have found a job in any state. And I picked California. Why?
My fingers itch with muscle memory for a long-forgotten comfort.
I used to journal daily. Whenever I was sad or confused or happy or curious—anything and everything—I’d put my thoughts to paper.
I don’t know what it is about gripping a pen and tangibly spilling out all my messy feelings and rambling thoughts onto paper that does something for me.
I can’t lie, I miss it. But I haven’t dared journal since the day Gabby stole my diary and used it to blow up my friendship with Mikayla.
Still, my fingers are restless. Should I …? No, this is silly. I doubt the Greene’s have loose-leaf paper just lying around. I’ll text Case and ask. If they don’t, it’s a sign it wasn’t meant to be.
Casey:
I have a legal pad I was using for work that I left on my dresser. I only used the first couple pages. You can use the rest.
Shit. So much for it not being meant to be.
I find the legal pad easily, and there’s a blue pen resting on top. Taking both, I settle into the ridiculously comfortable sectional. I drape a throw blanket over my legs and get comfortable, resting the pad against bent knees.
The pen taps against the blank page I’ve turned to. My chest feels tight, and my breathing is shallow.
No one will ever see this. I remind myself. No one can steal this and use it against you.
It happened once, who says it can’t happen again? a small voice in the back of my mind whispers.
I’ll burn it. The idea startles me, but the longer I sit with it, I realize it’s a great suggestion. I won’t have to worry about anyone seeing this if I turn the paper to ash. It’s that comforting reassurance that allows me to finally click the pen and begin writing.
Words pour out of me, rambling thoughts as I process what Casey said.
All these feelings I’ve been afraid to touch and instead kept buried inside are now ravenous for a chance to escape.
I have to shake out my aching hand once I’ve filled two whole pages.
I take a moment, knowing what I need to do now. I turn to a fresh page and start again.
Hey Mick,
Long time, huh? Do you remember the first time our mom’s let us pick apples all by ourselves at Capnik’s?
We thought we were so grown up running down the rows of trees while our moms sipped on their cider at the picnic table by the front.
We packed our bag until it was overflowing, and your mom baked that delicious apple pie.
We swore nothing had ever tasted so good and my mom said it was so yummy because each apple was handpicked by us.
That’s one of my favorite memories. Every year when the leaves change colors, I think about going to that orchard with you and how that became our annual tradition.
I can’t eat apple pies anymore.
You know, I think I’ve kept all my feelings shoved down because I was afraid to acknowledge I was in love with you, and you broke my heart.
But now that I’m letting myself experience everything and process, I’m realizing that’s not true.
I was just a kid. My feelings were new, and they freaked me out, but I wasn’t in love with you.
I didn’t know it then, but I know what being in love feels like now, and that wasn’t this.
No, I wasn’t in love with you, but I still loved you because you were my best friend, and losing you did break my heart.
I had a crush. A normal fucking crush that almost all girls experience just for most girls it’s on a boy.
My crush was innocent. It was harmless. And you and Gabby took it and twisted it.
You made me feel gross. You made me feel dirty. You made me feel ashamed of who I am.
It’s taken me so long to work through that, to be okay with my sexuality. To believe that there’s nothing wrong with me for being a lesbian. Yet every time I think about running into you or Gabby, all those old fears and shame resurface and suffocate me.
And I hate that. You were my best fucking friend, Mick! How could you forgive Gabby for what she did to me? How could you drop me like I meant nothing to you? I get you’re straight. I get that, I do, but why did you have to stop being my friend?!
My crush didn’t have to ruin everything.
We didn’t have to let it destroy thirteen years of friendship.
You didn’t have to abandon me. We could’ve figured it out.
I would’ve moved on. And I did. I developed feelings for another friend.
But the idea she could reject me like you did made me completely shut down and push her away before she could do it to me.
There’s no chance we could’ve ever been something because I wouldn’t let it. Not with her or anyone.
I’ve never been able to let myself open up to someone fully.
To trust them. To let them see me. Except, without realizing it, someone did.
This gorgeous, confident, caring, and thoughtful woman weaseled her way into my heart without me knowing it was happening.
She’s the reason I know what it means to be in love.
But I got spooked, and now I’m pushing her away because things became too real.
I don’t want to lose her.
I’m so terrified of getting my heart broken again, I don’t let anyone get close to me, but fuck that!
I live eight thousand miles away from my friends and family in a city that I barely spend enough time in to build any real connections.
I’ve thrown myself into work, giving myself this goal of making captain, to avoid acknowledging how lonely I am.
I’ve let you and Gabby control my decisions, and I’m done.
You had fifteen years, you don’t get one more second.
And I’ll be damned if I lose the one person who makes me feel so safe and seen and cherished because I’m scared.
So this is goodbye. I’m letting this friendship and any hope you’ll wake up and apologize go. I don’t need your acceptance or approval. I never did.
I like me, and that’s all that matters.
The paper is illegible with the amount of tear drops that have fallen and made the ink bleed, but that’s okay. I don’t need to read it over. I tear out the pages and find a lighter in the kitchen junk drawer. I head outside, and, while standing over the fire pit, I hold up the papers.
“Goodbye, Mick,” I whisper and light the corner. The paper catches, and I drop it into the pit. The pages burn fast. I stand there staring at the remains for a long time, letting the moment wash over me. I clean up and lock the back door, and then I head home.