I had been so scared of failure, I hadn't told anyone where I was. Hindsight is a bitch, of course. I should have told him.
If sadness and sorrow could turn back the hands of time, I've held enough to go all the way back to before I took my first sip of alcohol. Before I was too cowardly to face the devastation on Bowen's face. Before Brett even got in his Jeep.
In another world, another reality, there is a me and Bowen who love each other because it’s inevitable. Not despite our grief, or maybe even because of. Life is simple, somewhere. But not here.
Here, I feel like every minute of silence from his end is writing our ending for good, and I don't know how to stop it. How do I change the wrongs I've committed and show him that the last thing I want to do is leave him again?
What if it's too late?
Kit
“Have you thought about what you might want to do?” my mom asks, looking at me with so much hope and happiness. We've been shopping for hours, and no matter how many times I said I didn't need anything, she wouldn't take no for an answer. Dad dropped us off at the coffee shop a few blocks away, and he headed back home with all our bags to start grilling for dinner.
I'm exhausted. Between the emotional day yesterday, the wild dinner with the Bennets, my night of broken sleep because of Bowen, and everything today… I'm beat. I'd like nothing more than to face plant on the bed and sleep for a dozen hours.
Maybe a bath first to ease my sore muscles, then bed.
I should text him my grievances. Tell him he's a nutsack for sucking a massive hickey on my throat and then setting me loose with my parents. My mom absolutely clocked the mark immediately but is kind enough not to mention it.
She gently nudges me with her elbow before stopping to look in the window of the bookstore. I clear my throat and pull up the last few minutes.
Ah, what do I want to do with my life? Good question.
“I don't know. Not really. All I was focused on was the next day for so long, you know? Thinking any further was stressful. I'll start looking for something, though, while I figure it out.” I sip my own coffee, willing the caffeine to work miracles.
“Have I told you I'm proud of you yet?” she teases.
“Only about fifty times,” I reply, a small genuine smile pulling at my lips.
We walk down the strip of storefronts, looking in windows and talking about nothing important. It feels good to just be with someone who doesn’t make me dissect every word. Every breath and look.
I'd still rather pull apart every syllable if it meant having a conversation with Bowen.
I've checked my phone two hundred times. Mom has pretended not to notice that, either.
By the time we get home there is a big SUV parked behind Dad's, and we can hear two voices on the back deck through the open kitchen window.
I haven't seen Tucker in two years, but unlike my parents, I haven't spoken to him either. There may have been a handful of texts. Birthdays. Christmas. But nothing more than a well wish, maybe an emoji.
I'm nervous when I'm led out onto the deck by my mom's hand on my arm. The smell of grilled hotdogs and burgers hits me first, then the look on Tucker's face.
Surprise! It's not a welcoming smile or teary hug. It's an up-nod and going back to the grill.
It shouldn't hurt as badly as it does. It's my own damn fault.
“Hey, Tuck,” I try anyway, offering a tired smile as I slide onto the patio sectional. Mom places a water bottle in front of me on the glass table.
Then she stands back, looking between her two sons like she wants to demand we play nice like she used to. But we're grown ass men now, and I didn't just hide his comic or steal his phone charger this time. I abandoned the family and didn't reach out. I pushed him away for years before that.
Tucker may not have been as close to Brett as I was, but they grew up close friends all the same. He lost Brett, too. He lost Bowen when he ran for the lake. He lost me. He's the last one here of the four of us, and my heart pangs in my chest for him.
“How are you?” I try harder, bunching the hoodie sleeves in my palms and squeezing the fabric. Tucker flips all the burgers before looking over at me.
“Good. You?”
Oh, you know, my ass is sore from being fucked by your old best friend yesterday. Three times. Remember him? Oh, you still talk? Hey, did he happen to text you today? Confess his undying love for me? Tell you to tell me that he wants me back at the lake right now? No? Bummer.
“Okay. I'm okay,” I say, wanting it to be true, but it feels like a lie. At least, not a total truth.
