“Why don’t I give you some space,” I said, loosening my hold and taking a step back as I stared up at him. “Time to get used to—” I looked around the room, so empty and quiet without Brontë here. “This.”
I didn’t want to leave him. He looked so lost without his friend. But I also knew where we stood with one another and we were treading on dangerous territory. If he stayed at my house any longer, he might grow so comfortable he forgot to leave. And I’d forget to ask him to. And then we’d both potentially find ourselves in the kind of predicaments we were trying to avoid. I wasn’t willing to risk our friendship with stupidity and want.
His arms tightened, pulling me close again, but not like before. This time it was brief. An understanding.
“The past couple of weeks have been amazing,” he said. “No one has ever taken care of me like that before. I know I said it last night but, thank you.”
“That’s what friends do for one another, Graham.”
“Yeah.” His voice was soft.
“Shall I bring your duffel over later? I can just leave it on the porch for you.”
But even as I said it, a current of panic ran through my body. This felt like a relationship ending. And while I knew that was silly to think, we were friends and friendships didn’t end like this, I was still worried. Especially in light of what happened the night before, which neither of us had had the opportunity to mention, due to the phone call he’d gotten first thing this morning.
“Sure,” he said. “Thank you.”
He pulled me to him again, burying his face in my neck.
“Thank you,” he whispered once more… and then he let me go.
Chapter 29
Graham
The following morning I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, a to-go coffee cup and a small paper bag from Mornin’ Joe’s sat on my front porch. I stepped outside, looking up and down the street, knowing it would only be from one person. But somehow she was already out of sight.
I took the gift inside, taking a sip of the coffee as I walked to the kitchen, and then placed both items on the counter and peeked in the bag. Inside was a chocolate croissant – the smell of butter and bread and chocolate intoxicating. I pulled it out and a napkin fluttered to the floor. When I picked it up, I noticed it had writing on it.
“From your friendly neighborhood porch fairy,” it read in Lior’s familiar handwriting, a little pair of wings drawn on either side of the word ‘fairy’.
The following morning it was a vanilla bean scone. I sat on the white sofa in my white living room, pulled the scone out of its bag, and took a large bite, a small chunk falling free and landing on the cushion beside me. As I picked it up, I noticed a small triangle of blue between the cushion and grabbed it, pulling until my missing dress sock hung from my thumb and forefinger. I smiled.
Brontë.
My mind was flooded with dozens of memories. Since the day I’d brought her home she’d decided “burying” clothes was going to be one of her favorite pastimes. More often than I could count I’d heard Nadia stomping through the house shouting, “Where did you put my bra, Brontë?” Bra, top, shorts, favorite gym towel, underwear… I’d never forget the time Nadia threw a party after the renovations on the house were done and one of her influencer friends pulled a lacy hot pink thong from one of the matching white armchairs.
“Whoooo!” she’d shouted, swinging it around her finger. “Someone’s sex life is on fire!”
I set my scone on the coffee table and then lifted each of the two couch cushions and chuckled at what I found. The head of the rubber chicken toy I’d thought she’d eaten several months ago when I’d found its headless body at the foot of my bed. A pair of my boxer briefs, a sock, and a kitchen towel.
I removed the items and put the cushions back and then turned to the armchairs.
“What other surprises have you left behind for me, old girl?” I asked aloud in the empty room, a small smile on my face.
I laughed as I lifted the cushion from the first chair. Beneath it was one of my flannel shirts.
“How on earth did you get this entire thing under there?” I whispered, pulling the wrinkled garment free. I held it to my nose and breathed in the scent of my sweet old dog. She must have rolled around with it before tucking it safely away.
Moving to the second chair I saw the corner of a familiar bit of fabric sticking out. I couldn’t place why it was familiar until I pulled it free completely and then I laughed again. Harder this time. Until tears ran down my face and I had to sit in the chair I’d just pulled the shirt from.
Oh this shirt. I stared down at it and shook my head. It was Nadia’s. A prized possession from her early days as an influencer.
She’d hunted high and low for this shirt when she’d packed up her stuff. And for weeks she’d come back looking for it, barging in the front door, asking if I’d found it. She’d made me look everywhere. Behind the washing machine, under it, in every nook and cranny of every closet… even in the attic. But neither of us had ever thought to look beneath the cushions.
I shook it out now, getting a good look at it. It had been in pristine condition as she’d kept it in a sealed bag when she wasn’t wearing it for an anniversary video. Now half the collar was detached from the body of the shirt, the distinct imprint of dog incisors indented in the fabric.
“Good girl, B,” I whispered, and then wadded the shirt up. Perhaps a little fire in the fire pit tonight was in order.
