We go down the stairs and through the house, all while her head stays on a swivel. Who she’s looking for? I have no idea. Probably her new bestie. I can feel her anger vibrating through her bones; she’s pissed. More than I’ve ever seen her. When she shoves me out the door to her garage, I start to understand the motive of this little excursion. She’s getting me away from listening ears.
When Blakely throws herself into the front seat of her car, I follow suit. She waits exactly one second before unloading on me after we’re locked in the space together. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Chase. What is your issue? Jealous I’m spending time with your boyfriend?” She laughs at the absurdity. “I’m doing this for you, asshole. I am trying to cover for you with him so he’s not alone. In case you forgot, he tried to fucking kill himself, you insensitive dick. He doesn’t need to spend all day by himself in an unfamiliar space, scared and isolated. I’d do it for anyone you care about, because that’s what friendship is to me. But as your friend, I’m gonna be straight up and tell you that you’re being a shitty partner to him right now. Easton needs you, but all he has is me. Luckily, it’s the one enjoyable thing on my plate because everything else is shit. I’m not seeing my own husband. I’m not doing anything besides chasing leads that make me sick to my stomach, and trying to manage the other parts of your life you’ve forgotten about.”
It’s silent for a while. Saying all that took something out of her. She slumps against the seat and looks over at me, eyes filled with tears. “I have tried so fucking hard to prove myself to you. Tried to show you that I’m here for the long-haul. You keep giving me all these micro-tests and I try like hell to ace them. I’m damn good with tests; you know that. But what are you going to do if I fail one? Decide I never cared about you and send me off without a second thought? At what point am I a good enough friend, Chase? Because it’s clearly not now if you think my motivation is anything other than trying to help you overcome this obstacle so you can be happy on the other side of it. I don’t know what else I can do.”
The thing is, I know she’s right. Why it’s so hard for me to accept help without being bitter is one of the great sources of friction in most of the relationships in my life. I don’t like it, but Iknow it’s there. “You remember that project we partnered up for junior year?” I ask into the pained quiet.
“Yeah. What about it?”
It was an entire semester worth of work, and honestly, we bickered more than anything. Blake was maxed out on credit hours and tutoring double the kids that the school would have condoned. I was—well, to put it lightly—a bitter asshole. It was during the spring semester, so right smack in the middle of it, Easton had disappeared on us the first time and holding Brady up while maintaining my grades was wearing me thin quickly. “I don’t think I’ve ever argued with someone so much in my entire life as you and I did from spring break to finals that year.”
She sniffs, furiously wiping the moisture from her eyes. “So what? You unilaterally decided that was when I deserved trial by fire forever? That wasn’t a good year for me either.”
I deserve the skepticism, but I do intend to land the plane here if she’d give me the chance. “No. But after all that, I thought that maybe it had been the end of friendship. I still was half convinced you were hanging out with me out of pity, and I knew that would have run dry. Brady and I went to Chicago, you went to stay in L.A. with your sister, and by the time September came around again, I’d be someone you once knew. What I wasn’t expecting was how sick that thought made me. I stewed on it forever and could never make peace with it.”
A wet laugh escapes her. “And the olive branch you landed on was asking if it was hot in Los Angeles?”
Now, she’s catching on. “Admittedly, I could have done better than that, but I missed you and needed to know if you’d still talk to me. I’m a little surprised you remember that detail.”
Her violet eyes are brimming with attitude still. “Of course I remember. I started to text you about a thousand times and we were only two weeks into summer. Devyn was so sick ofme moping about it, she was threatening to take my phone and break the ice herself just so she’d be put out of her misery.”
I shrug. “Maybe it was better that you didn’t. That you let me come back that time. My point is that I did come back, because being a part of your life mattered way more than my damaged pride. I can see why you feel like I’m setting you up for failure, and I’ll try to do better now that I’m aware of it. But I never watchBake Offunless you’re beside me and just like then, it still matters more.”
“God. I hate you sometimes. Can’t I just be mad and we take turns yelling over each other until someone—probably me—storms off to have an adequate amount of time to stew before we make nice?”
Despite my heart in my throat, I chuckle softly. These people of mine… “Sorry. Maybe next time.”
She wipes her eyes with an exhausted groan. “Are you really so dumb that it wasn’t crystal-clear to you what I’m doing for Easton here?”
“Don’t underestimate me like that. Of course I’m not that dumb. I am that much of a mess though, so I chose to ignore it for what it really was and create a problem because I’m still coming out of a hell of a depressive episode. Plus, Brady’s too sad to push my buttons these days so I’ve got more bullshit energy than usual.”
Finally, Blakely laughs without a tinge of sadness. “I’m glad one of us does. I’m running on fumes over here, dude. Easton really is the one bright spot in all this. He’s more wonderful than you and Brady have made him seem, which seemed impossible until I spent some time with him.”
I let my eyes close for a moment as the fondness washes over me. “Easton is pure magic, isn’t he?”
She squeezes my forearm. “He is. You’re both so good for each other, lovebug. It’ll get easier with a little time. This is morethan any couple should go through. Some weirdness is to be expected.”
I can’t help but guess the ending. “But don’t doubt you again?”
“Exactly. Glad we agree.”
Well, maybe not about why she’s being so nice to Easton. Other things are still on the table, but I don’t say that. No sense in starting another argument, after all.
After being released from the yelling-safe zone, I find myself wearing a hole in the hardwood. I want to go find Easton, even if I’m not ready to talk it out tonight, I just want to be around him. Soak up a little of his sunshine, just for a little while. I’m so fucking tired of missing him when he’s right in front of me. Instead, because I’m too chicken to bridge the gap, I decide to try and organize this small space.
Living out of various piles of clothing can’t be good for my mental health, right? Or at least, that’s how I justify not doing what I know is the right thing here. We need each other, Easton and I. Maybe it’s some form of trauma-bond, maybe it’s not, but either way, we’re better together than apart. But that would be too easy for my overstimulated brain. It won’t let me take the simple way out of anything lately.
As I sit cross-legged on the floor folding, I mutter softly, “I’m sorry, Chaos,” and hope he hears me somehow. What the fuck was I thinking when I was throwing stuff in this bag, I’ll never know. The haphazard collection of clothes makes some sense, though I’m curious why I ended up with enough shirts to go through three a day for the next two weeks, and, like, four pairs of pants. Miscellaneous chargers for devices that did not make the final cut, a book—odd, because I don’t really read much these days—and an absolutely ungodly pile of mail.
I’d bet my life savings that this is Emerson’s work. The thought behind it is nice, to bring in someone’s mail for them. IfI had done it for him, I probably would have thrown out some of it to save him the hassle, though. No one needs fifteen coupon mailers, for fuck’s sake. I’ll text him tomorrow and say thanks nonetheless. Maybe. Depends on how long I sit here throwing away obvious trash, but I’m definitely delegating that chore to my mom from now on. She’d toss more than she’d keep because she loves us enough to throw out credit card applications before we see them.
I stop dead in my tracks when I recognize the handwriting scrawled carefully across the front of the envelope. I’d know who that belongs to in any lifetime. From the same fingers that have created the most exquisite art and wrote his name all over my heart. My stomach sinks, having a good idea about what this is. If it came while he was in the hospital, there’s only one thing it could be.
“Please,” I beg the universe. “Not this.”
As always, it remains silent to my pleas. My hands shake as I carefully tear the envelope open and unfold the contents. My heartbeat comes to a standstill, waiting for a signal if this is where it decides to continue on or give up entirely. How can it be forced to keep beating when I’m holding Easton’s goodbye? All my love, hope for our lives together, every tear I’ve wiped from his eyes, and each moment I desperately tried to cling to as I held him—all thrown overboard to the seas of his chaotic storms.
Every carefully laid brick I’ve built around myself to shield my heart comes crumbling down. Since I was old enough to be conscious of what love was, I knew to keep it at arm’s length. Family? Sure, sometimes. Friends? As Blakely so kindly brought up, only after they’ve walked through fire and stayed by me still. Partners? Absolutely never. Life taught me well that I wasn’t made for this. Deep down, I’ll always be the boy who didn’t know how to fit in with anyone. How could I expect forever fromsomeone when I would have given up on me a long time ago if it were possible?
