I’ve come to realize that while having a motherly figure in your life is important, you can get by without one. That’s exactly what I’ve done, because she gave me no choice.
The more something triggers my memory about my upbringing, the more I know I made the right decision in not sticking by her side through all of this.
I wasn’t brave enough to say it all to her face, but maybe one day I will be.
If the roles were reversed, she probably would’ve just left me on my apartment floor for somebody else to eventually find.
“I‘ll be back,” Cole tells me with a kiss on the cheek, throwing a t-shirt over his head before rushing out the door.
Cleaning up from breakfast, I check my phone to see the Herring Girls’ group chat popping off. Texts from each sister either talking about how incredible Olive’s demos are sounding,or asking Cassandra how she and Harley have enjoyed the first few days of their honeymoon.
I’ve barely had time to respond and wash the single pan he used for breakfast before he rushes back through my door, face bright red and splotchy.
“Was the elevator not working or something?” I ask, washing my hands in the sink after putting the dishes on the drying rack.
“I took the stairs.” He throws himself onto my couch. Cole has spent one night in my home, and is already way too comfortable for my liking.
But it’s my fault.
He wouldn’t have stayed the night if I didn’t beg him to.
He did what any good friend would do.
Maybe he’s asking me to do this with him as a distraction technique? Maybe he thinks I’m still too emotional to be left alone? Or maybe I’m his only option because everyone else is busy.
I can’t have been his first choice to help him run lines, that’s for sure. I’m a hairdresser, not an actor.
He pats the empty spot on the couch next to him, an excited grin on his face, and I can already tell he’s up to no good. “Here you go,” he says, handing me a thick stack of paper, stapled and folded at the corner.
Flicking through it, I quickly realize it’s not at all what I expected it to be. “This isn’t…” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“A sex scene?” He quirks a brow. “No, Snow. Get your mind out of the gutter.” Laughter rumbles through his chest. “It’s one where I have to be emotional and I’ve…never had to do that with anyone.” He clears his throat, hand rubbing the back of his neck, and his eyes burning holes in the paper.
“And you want to do it with me?” I ask. “In character, I mean. I’m not expecting you to be vulnerable with me just because I was with you. I don’t want to see you cry or anything. Hell, Idon’t want anything from you. Even though if you cried, it would be about something completely scripted and fictional and totally make-believe.” This time it’s me scrambling for words, and he doesn’t interrupt me. He waits patiently for me to be done, his lips tugging up at the side.
“You’re my friend, right?” He asks.
“Right.” I nod.
“Friends help each other in times of need, and I just happen to need help.” He places a hand on my thigh and quickly pulls it away, as if my skin is hot to the touch.
The two of us have thrown around the word ‘friend’ a lot in the last day, and it feels as though it’s slowly starting to lose its meaning.
He’s spent the night at my place, and cuddling was as far as it ever got.
I haven’t had a sleepover with any man since my ex, and even those were few and far between. There wasn’t exactly space in a single bedroom trailer to share a bed with your boyfriend, and his parents were too religious with an open door policy.
Cole paces my lounge, eyes darting between me and the piece of paper while he reads his lines with conviction. Anger, sadness and fear dripping out of every word, every gesture, every expression.
I don’t know why he felt self conscious about this scene. He’s making me feel everything he needs me to feel, and he’s doing it with God damn ease while I sit on the couch, watching him, only realizing that my line is due when the silence lingers a little longer than necessary.
He moves to sit next to me, still in character, eyes searching mine, and my stomach flips while my heart rips out of my chest, seeing him so strained, yet so…
“I said, do you love me?” His eyes flick to the paper in my hands, before looking back at me, clearing his throat, and Irealize I got so caught up in the moment, that I forgot this wasn’t real—forgot he wasn’t talking to me, Jenna Rogers.
I hate that it rips me apart.
“Yes,” I say, reading the single word off the piece of paper awkwardly before he strokes my cheek with his thumb.
