“Look, Christopher.” Andrew used my full name, generally reserved for when we were about to have an argument. “I’ve made up my mind. Just respect my decision.”
I’d polished off two tubs of Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream that night before Alexander had convinced me to go to bed, while wondering what, if anything, I could do to stop him from leaving. From making what I believed to be a mistake.
“You can’t rescue everyone,” Alexander said to me this morning at breakfast before I left for my apartment. “Sometimes the only way you can help people is to let them be.”
“But I know that isn’t the right decision for him,” I’d almost shouted back.
“I know, but that’s not your decision to make.”
I wanted him to choke on his banana right there and then, but he came over and hugged me, squeezing me tightly, and I knew he was right. That Andrew needed to make his own decisions, even if he wasn’t in the right space to be making them. After all, I couldn’t afford to take more time off to look after him while he continued his recovery.
But we’d been through so much together. He was the first true friend I’d made when I moved to LA. Now it feels like that friendship is being left in tatters, leaving me to stand here helpless in front of him while he empties the remainder of his clothes into his suitcase.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I plead.
Andrew sits on the top of his suitcase and struggles to pull the zip closed.
“You can donate the rest to Goodwill.”
His curt tone tightens the knot in my stomach.
I want to react, but the last words Alexander said to me before I left ring in my ears.There’s probably a lot of guilt and shame behind his anger. Give him time and he’ll hopefully come round. But I’m running out of time. My hand pulses on the stress ball in my pocket, hoping to make this easier to bear.
“Here, let me,” I say, removing my hand from my pocket and reaching over. Andrew gets up, allowing me to close the zipper, and accepts my offer to carry the suitcase up the stairs. Back to where his parents are waiting in the lounge.
“We’ll take these to the car,” Andrew’s father says. They completely ignore me to grab his bags and suitcases, leaving us alone while I say a reluctant farewell.
“Promise me you’ll look after yourself.”
I fight back the tears in my eyes.
“I will.” He fixes his eyes upward as he turns to leave.
I pull him back to hug him. I feel his ribs as I squeeze tightly, not wanting to let go. This will likely be the last time I see him or get to hug him.
Andrew breaks away and he drops the keys in the bowl by the door, the sound echoing as he exits the apartment without another word.
I start to walk to the lounge window, but I can’t bring myself to watch him drive away. I’ve already put my heart through too much to see him disappear down the road. I opt instead to walk around the apartment. The fridge sits empty in the kitchen. His bedroom is vacant. The colorful memories of the afterparties we’d had when the bars closed and the late-night heart-to-hearts we’d had on the couch, putting the world to rights, all fade to black and white.
All gone.
The apartment is a shell of its former self.
Like Andrew.
Like I’m left feeling right now.
Monday
Sk8er Boi
They’re calling me the Prince of Christmas.
Alexander’s text distracts me from the last of the bland salad I’m eating. He shares a screenshot of what seems to be the final chart positions for the Billboard Hot 100.
Alexander’s name sits atop the chart. Mariah Carey’sAll I Want For Christmas Is Youis underneath at number two. Brenda Clark’sRocking Around the Christmas Treerounds off a fully festive top three.
Betty
