“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 sippedon 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 Ithink 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 buildany 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.
