“I’ve bought your books.”
“You have?” I was thrilled. So happy. I actually felt myself rocking onto my toes and slammed my feet back down.
“Yes. Roxy Belle is very entertaining. I can see why kids like to read about her and her adventures on the farm and in school and with her family. I think the sister who wears antennae is hilarious, and I like that you made the oldest brother, a football player, kind and loving toward Roxy Belle instead of the usual stereotypical image of a football player.”
“I used to know a kind football player.” I smiled. Couldn’t help it. The oldest brother was modeled after Logan. “I tried to create a somewhat normal family.”
“They’re normal. But hilarious. The scene with the twins trying to catch fish in the aquarium was so funny.”
“I can’t believe you read my books.” I was so touched. Thrilled. I grinned up at him like a weird cat.
“Why? You wrote them, and I knew you’d tell an incredible story, and you did. I noticed that in none of her books does Roxy Belle make alcoholic drinks in a bar.”
“No. That was definitely left out.” Logan and I were friends for so long. He had always been interested in how I was, what I was doing, what I was thinking. He was the first person I’d toldthat I wanted to write and illustrate books for kids for the rest of my life. He’d thought it was a terrific idea and told me so, and then I’d started telling him my ideas for stories, and he loved them. I sucked in my breath. So much…lost.
A man stepped out of the building. “Logan, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but everybody is here for the meeting…”
“I’ll be right in.”
“Okay, thanks.” He smiled at me, nodded, shut the door.
“I’m sorry I kept you,” I said.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s great to see you, Bellini.”
“Thank you. It’s great. For you. I mean—” Oh, help me. “It’s great to see you, too, Logan.”
He stared at me, and I saw glimpses of what we used to have. An easy, fun friendship and passionate romance. I was the class valedictorian. He was the salutatorian. He played football. I was on the chess team. He played basketball. I was on the debate team. He played baseball. I spent a lot of time drawing and making art and writing stories. He was cool and relaxed and socially adept, with a lot of friends. I had a few close friends, two of them my cousins, but was often anxious and nervous in large social situations, unless I was with my family or Logan.
I was—am—an introvert. I like to be alone. He liked to be “alone” with me. Otherwise, he was very social.
Logan went home to a lousy home life, his father a nightmare, strict and punishing.
I went home to my loving, if colorful and flamboyant, mother after I worked in the bar.
We were different, but for some reason, we clicked. It was like I knew, even then, he was my best friend and would be forever.
And then it all exploded.
“Bye, Logan,” I said, my voice wobbling.
He blinked a couple of times. He didn’t say anything for a second. Then he said, “See you later, Bellini,” which caught me off guard. Would he see me later?
My heart was cracking and shattering as I walked away. I know a lot about biology, but what biology doesn’t tell you is that your heart can break when people you love are no longer in your life. It was a wonder I was still standing.
I missed him. I always would.
But what would be the point of trying to talk to him while I was here? We hadn’t talked in years. Logan did not want to see me again, I was sure, and seeing him now had been devastating.
I would return to Oregon in January.
Put him behind you,I said to myself.Put him behind you.Again.
I sniffled and shoved my gloved hands into the pockets of my red coat.
The Christmas tree momentarily lit up, as if for a practice run, the white star on top shining.
I don’t like Christmas. At all.
