“You do?” She nods. Her phone is starting to ring but we ignore it. The sound of love songs I’ve never heard, visions of art work I could create, all with wavy hair and hazel eyes, are washing it out.
Lily’s gaze travels over my face carefully. “I wanted to tell you so you know I really mean it when I say we’re going to be okay. You don’t have to say it back.”
“I love you too.” It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever said. So refreshing and right. I might have been waiting my whole life just to say it. “I love you too, Lily. I’ll see you soon.”
After repeating ourselves too many times and another missed call from her driver, the love of my life leaves, albeit temporarily.
When she texts me twenty minutes later that she got home okay and she misses me already, I’m in my studio, a garden of blooming lilies starting to form on the page.
twenty-six
GRANT
There have beenmajor changes to Derek’s apartment since I helped him move in last summer. The shelf where he displayed his Dodgers memorabilia is barren, only decorated with a diffuser that’s too pink to be his. The dining area is different, too. The cedar table with matching chairs and embordered cushions is gone, replaced by lighter oak and matching showroom seats.
Derek doesn’t say anything while I observe the changes Scarlet has made to his life. The silence between us indicates the change she’s made in our friendship, too.
Some lifelong best friends go months without speaking. I’ve tried to understand that Derek moving back to Boston means he’s serious about a life with Scarlet, regardless of her track record. After moving in, marriage would be on the horizon, and kids to follow. In all the years I’ve known him, Derek’s dream of a wife and kids has never wavered.
Good friends support one another when their dreams are in reach. I do support Derek and want him to be happy. I just never expected it to come at the cost of our friendship.
When he texted me this morning, asking if I wanted to hang out, my instinct was to ignore him like he’s done to me on countless occasions. Those actions would be valid, I think, with how lonely he’s left me recently.
Then the thought of my girl, and the promise I made her, appeared in my mind.
I’ve been giddy remembering that night despite its rough beginning. I’m not proud of how I acted and some of the things I said. But at the end of it, Lily gave me three things. A highlight of my bad habits, the realization that good things are to come if I can reflect on myself, and most importantly, her love.
My finals next week can’t even stress me out when the girl of my dreams loves me. And the irritation I felt seeing Derek’s text can’t overpower the dedication I have to her, and the promise that I would work on things.
He offered to come to my place, but I wanted to be here and see what it is—or who it is—consuming so much of his time.
I didn’t have much faith that his girlfriend would be here, though. When we walked into an empty apartment, free of tinkering around the kitchen and the pattering of shoes on hardwood floor, I knew I was right.
“Something up with Scarlet?” It’s the first thing I say to him when I take a seat at the dining room table.
Derek nods, short and small, his curls poking out of the backwards baseball cap.
In our second year of college, Derek got into a huge fight with Scarlet, featuring hours long phone calls spent crying and asking how he could fix their relationship. The argument lasted three weeks, two of which were just my best friend groveling over unanswered text messages after Scarlet dumped him.
They got back together, like they always do, but with the contention that he “watch his words” next time they talk about professional baseball. Because the fight that sent him spiraling for nearly a month stemmed from his new love for the Los Angeles Dodgers, and Scarlet was a huge Red Sox fan, upset that her boyfriend “betrayed her” after he “abandoned her .”
I gave her the benefit of the doubt back then. It was hard for them to be apart so young after dating through their formative years. I coughed it up to Scarlet being too immature to realize how unimportant MLB teams were to a serious relationship.
Just like their relationship, though, Scarlet never really changes.
Derek cracks open two beers from his fridge, keeping the wider, Modelo bottle for himself and sliding the Blue Moon Belgian White to me wordlessly. I pick up the bottle, white wisps still pouring out from the neck. It's cold around my hand but manages to warm me.
I’m not much of a beer drinker, and Blue Moon is the only brew I’ve ever enjoyed.
The drinks were waiting in the fridge for me. It’s good to know Derek hasn’t forgotten me completely.
He pulls out the seat directly to my left, wood scraping against wood. Two swigs of his Modelo are chugged down before he opens his mouth to speak.
“Scarlet went to stay with her parents for the week,” he says, voice raspy and defeated.
I tap the side of my bottle, condensation gathering on my skin. It’s usually Derek who has to leave. Scarlet stays while yelling at him to get out and to only come back when he’s ready to admit he’s wrong.
My hand grips onto the neck of the bottle, ready to drink if this means what I think it means.
