“Whatever you say, boss.” Leo salutes me and gets back to work.
I remember being the teenager who was folding the clothes on these tables and shelves. Now, I’m the adult who sits in the office doing paperwork.
When I’m in my office, sometimes I think about when Riley and I worked side by side. Well, I should use the word “work” lightly since most of the time we were goofing off. But she made sure to always greet the customers who came in.
She was warm and inviting, while her laugh echoed around the store as she walked around with customers.
I take a breath before opening the door to whatever chaos I left behind the other day. I’ve created a to-do list,and when I start on something, my focus is pulled toward something else. Then I forget the original task for a couple of hours, remember it, then feel an overwhelming sensation which leads me to ignore it for the time being.
The stress building inside me is overpowering. It’s been long enough that I should be used to all this by now, but I’m not. Something needs to change.
I look at the disaster in front of me and rub my palm over my face. Garbage overflows the trash can, papers scatter along the desk, and the coffee table. Half-written notes I don’t remember writing stick along the desktop.
The gears in my head start to slow down, almost to an immediate stop as I try to figure out where to start. I set my backpack on the couch, my coffee cup on the desk, and pull off my glasses to rub at my eyes.
My fingers itch to reach into my pocket and grab my phone, wanting to give in to what I know needs to be done. I push down this feeling of defeat, not wanting to give up. I also don’t want to bother the one person I told I wouldn’t need help. Guilt and embarrassment creeps over me.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself, taking my phone out of my pocket, and pull up a new message. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
My thumb hovers over the keyboard until I force myself to type and hit send.
TWENTY-THREE
RILEY
When I see the words ‘I need help’ pop up across my screen, everything else that needs to be done doesn’t seem important.
I sent August a text saying I’ll meet him at The Surf Shack in ten minutes. There wasn’t a bone in my body that doubted the situation. There was no way I was going to say no to the opportunity of helping him.
August is much more capable than he thinks. And I’m going to help prove that to him just like I did when we were in high school.
A movie in my head plays out moments we’ve had together when he would say those three words, ‘I need help’. The late nights we had at his kitchen table with textbooks open and calculators waiting to be used. Bags of different chips and cans of soda open.
Nostalgia hits me at once, and suddenly I’m terrified to meet up with him. At this point, we’ve been alone more times than I can remember, just like old times. It’s like time is rewinding, giving us another chance to fix things. Givingmeanother chance to fix things withhim.
I’m walking in circles around my bedroom, and I grab whatever is in front of me. I shouldn’t be overthinking this much about what to wear. I put on black leggings, a T-Shirt, and my jean jacket. When I step in front of the large mirror in my bedroom, I look at the rats’ nest on my head.
My hair hasn’t been washed in three days. I flip my short hair this way and that, but nothing looks good, and now I’m considering just shaving my head completely.
The green hat on my dresser that says, ‘always tired’will have to do. I eye my outfit one more time. I’m too lazy to put makeup on and when I lean closer to the mirror, I see a few pimples starting to form on my chin and forehead.
“Awesome,” I mumble.
I miss the days when I had zero breakouts or blemishes. Tugging on my bottom lip with my teeth, I consider putting on pimple patches.
August wouldn’t care, would he?
Grabbing the box on my dresser, I put on five small star-shaped patches. The only colors I had left were green and pink.
I’ve decided to ride my bike to the shop, needing some fresh air and a clear mind. As I pass by stores in town, most of them are decorating for spring, hoping summer will come sooner.
Some stores have large posters in their windows for the high school Spring Fling dance. Those stores typically sponsor the dances and supply whatever the school needs.
It’s one of the popular dances the school holds, where they vote for the Spring Fling king and queen. Why they have a king and queen for a spring dance is beyond me.
When August and I went together, rumors started swirling, and I had to shut those down quick. Not that Iwanted to. The idea of being August’s girlfriend during that small moment of time was kind of nice.
I’m almost thirty years old and trying to figure out what love means and what it feels like. Do you see stars? The kind of love where you can’t eat or can’t sleep, and all you want is to be with them?
