“Yes?” It comes out like a question.
“Well, I mean, he was always a cool guy, but that seems weird, and we need to talk about that decision later. As for Sam. When are you going to realize that he’s in love with you?” Now she’s scolding me. I bet if she were with me in person, she would be shaking my shoulders, trying to force the words to sink in. “He has been in love with you for a long time.”
Sitting up, I lean back into the cushions. “Liv, come on. He’s not in love with me.” I’m exasperated with this conversation already, and I can’t stop it from seeping into my voice. I know that Sam said he had feelings but didn’t act on them because of Ethan, and he seems to be… different, but I don’t want to rehash this with Liv now. I’m not delusional to think our budding friendship changes anything—even after Thanksgiving.
“You know, for how fucking smart you are, sometimes you’re incredibly dense.” I flinch at her harsh tone.
“Olivia, don’t be rude,” Talia says in the background. I can almost picture Liv rolling her eyes in response. I want to be mad at her, but, somehow, I’m not.
“I know you haven’t talked to him for several years until recently.” She’s softer now. “But you have to remember that I have. He asks me about you all the time. He’s always wanted to know how you were doing. If you were happy. But the thing he asked the most?” She doesn’t wait for me to provide an answer, “When I thought you would talk to him again.” She sighs and I sit straighter. “Whenever I told him I wasn’t sure, and to give you time, I knew it broke his heart.”
I can practically see her pacing in the living room. Conflict makes her antsy.
“I know your reasons for keeping your distance, but it’s been hard watching the two of you want each other, and for you to shut him out so thoroughly.”
“I knew you talked. I didn’t realize it was that often.”
“Every couple of weeks, or so. Anyway, I don’t have to talk to Sam now to understand what’s going on in that gorgeous head of his. He’s upset because he doesn’t want you to go out with Chris. That man wants you all to himself. But you know he’s a good guy, and instead of telling you whathewants, he’s giving you the space to find someoneyouwant. Even if that someone isn’t him.”
I let her words sink in for a minute. “Liv, I freaked out when I thought that maybe Chris thinks this is a date. I don’t want to date Chris.” I get more confident as I speak. “I’m not sure what exactly I want from Sam. I know it isn’t just friendship. But he lives in Chicago.”
“And that’s why he’s trying to give you space.”
“I don’t want the space.” I breathe out and walk into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. “I want Sam. I want him here.” The words come out before I can thoroughly think through them. But it’s true. I do want Sam. I’m also scared of my heart breaking again when he inevitably decides he doesn’t want me.
“I have some thoughts, but I’m gonna keep those to myself for now.” I take a glass from the cupboard and fill it with the tap.
I ignore her jab. “Ugh. Why does everything have to be so complicated.” It isn’t a question.
“It doesn’t have to be. Just think about that. Now explain to me why you’re having dinner with Chris.”
“Because I don’t want to be by myself. I don’t want to be lonely.”
“Girl, that does not mean you jump at the first guy that walks by.”
“Oh my God, that isn’t what happened. I don’t want to date him. I just thought it would be nice to have a friend.” I pause to guzzle the water in my glass.
“Then you need to tell Chris that, and you definitely need to tell Sam.”
We chat for several more minutes until it’s time for me to shower and start getting ready for my not-date with Chris.
I can’t get Sam out of my mind as I get ready, and I have to stop myself several times from picking up the phone to call him.
I’m about to lose the battle when I hear a knock on the door.
Opening the door, Chris is standing on the other side, wearing navy pants and a black polo shirt. He looks nice.
“Hey, Kat.” His smile is warm. “You look nice.” I’m wearing dark skinny jeans and a grey sweater. My hair is pinned on one side and draped over the opposite shoulder.
“Thanks, Chris. So do you.” He blushes at my compliment, and I know I’m in trouble. That kind of reaction can only mean he thinks this is a date.Shit.
“Well, are you ready?” He holds out his arm for me to take.
“Yes. Let me just grab my purse.” Walking into the living room, I pick up my purse where I left it on the couch and sling it over my shoulder, intentionally placing it between us to discourage any touching. I don’t want to put him off, but holding his arm as we walk out to his car feels too intimate.
On our way to the pizza place Chris chose, we make small talk—discussing the weather, my decision to move back to Charleston, and my new job with Dad’s firm.
The conversation feels a little forced, but not overly uncomfortable.
