“A few more weeks, I imagine. Being back here cost me some time.”
Jeff looks back at the television, where a fighter jet is taking off from a ship in the middle of the ocean. “How’s Lennon?”
Yesterday before the funeral I’d filled him in on why I’d come home. He didn’t care that it wasn’t solely for him, or if he did, he didn’t show it.
“She’s alright.”
“You two, uh”—he glances at me—“you found your way together yet?”
“That’s a loaded question.”
He gestures around the room. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I shake my head. He may have the time, but I don’t. I told Brady I’d be over to pick him up at seven, and I’m already running a few minutes behind. I can’t stand being late, so there’s no way I’m spending even two more minutes explaining the world’s most complicated situation to my uncle.
“I have to go,” I tell him, walking toward the door. “Be back soon. There’s food in the fridge, okay?”
Uncle Jeff waves a hand and looks back to the screen.
The door falls into place behind me as I hurry to my truck. I zone out during the drive, and think of Lennon, because is there really any other thought in my head? For me, it’s the cabin, keeping myself alive with the basics like food and water, and Lennon. My uncle wants to know if we’ve found our way together yet, and who knows what his follow-up questions would be? Probably something along the lines of,Why not?
I could pretend not to know, but the answer is smack dab in the middle of the paper, written in red ink.
She loves Brady.
I can’t even blame her. Who wouldn’t love Brady?
But she loves me too. And she loves me differently than she loves him. I can feel it when we’re together. She and I have a spark they don’t have. I’ve seen them together a hundred times, I see the way he makes her feel safe and stable. But that’s not enough.
She needs to choose. I know an ultimatum isn’t fair, but dammit, I’m close to giving her one. Someone who doesn’t know us, who doesn’t understand our unique situation, might say she’s being selfish or unfair, dancing back and forth between us the way she does. But here’s the heart of the problem: by choosing, she automatically decreases in love by fifty percent. Or at least I’m certain that’s what she believes. Brady won’t stop loving her immediately, like a gushing spout being turned to the off position. But he’ll pull away. He’ll need time to recover from losing to me, probably for the first time in all the time we’ve been friends. Eventually he’ll get to a place where he loves her the appropriate amount, the way a long-time friend should.
I’m using Brady as the loser in this example because Lennon choosing him is inconceivable. Of course she’ll choose me. We have a spark that’s never been allowed to smolder, and I know as soon as we’re given the green light, we’ll become a massive, fiery blaze.
Maybe Lennon and I will live in the cabin. Or will she want to go back to her job in Dallas? It’s sad a job like that is even needed, and it’s killing her slowly to be in that role.
In the picture I’m painting in my head, we live in my cozy cabin. Lennon sits in a brown leather armchair, her knees pulled into her chest, an open book in her hands. She wears an oversized soft looking sweater. And underneath she wears nothing.
This is the part of Lennon I’ve never gotten to know, and I’m looking forward to learning every inch of her, every curve, every freckle and blemish. We’ll make love, have sex, fuck, whatever it is we want to call it. All the damn time. Because we can. Because wefinallycan.
Maybe we’ll—is that Lennon's car?
I slow to a stop behind that fancy SUV Lennon has been driving around.Laine’s car. What the fuck is it doing here so early? Lennon must have come over for breakfast.
If Lennon’s car weren’t here, I’d honk my horn and wait for Brady to come out. It’s not like I’m nine and I’ve just shown up on my bike, knocking on the door and asking if Brady can come out to play.
But since Lennon’s here, I climb out of my truck and set off across the yard. I’ll take every opportunity I can get to see her.
Just as I’m about to knock, the door opens. Mrs. Sterling yelps and jumps back, her hand flying to her mouth. She recovers quickly, laughing at herself, and apologizes. “Finn, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone when I opened the door. Sorry about that.” She’s dressed and her purse is in her hand. She looks as ready to go as I am. Her smile falters as she looks over my shoulder and her eyebrows pull together in confusion. “I didn't hear Lennon come back this morning,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me.
“Back?” Now I’m the one who’s confused.
“She showed up late last night, and…” Her sentence dies out as she realizes what she’s saying. “She must’ve left and come back for breakfast.”
“Cool,” I say enthusiastically.Fake.“I’ll go find them and steal a muffin. You have fun wherever you’re going.”
Mrs. Sterling glances down at her purse. “Oh, right. I’m running late.” She hurries through the front door and past me, saying goodbye as she goes.
I walk in the house and look around. I’m afraid of what I might see, but determined to find Lennon nonetheless. The kitchen is empty. The living room is empty. I check the other rooms too. Empty, empty, empty. Finally, out of options, I open the door I really don’t want to open.
