He rolls his eyes as the last remnants of daylight dance across the sky.
“I did.”
Cash has always been careful not to say bad words. Even when Wilder would try tricking him into saying one. It’s one of those things I’ve always struggled with about Cash. When he feels strongly about something, he stands his ground for a while.
Until he caves.
When Cash and I first started dating, we went to a petting zoo for a school trip. I know. High schoolers at a petting zoo?
But Mrs. Crabtree (our English teacher) insisted we pet the animals.
When we reached the last enclosure, there was a donkey. Wilder asked Cash what another name for a donkey was.
Cash ignored him.
So, Wilder kept pushing.
And pushing.
Until finally, Cash blew up and yelled, “You’re a real jackass, Wild.”
Wilder punched a triumphant fist into the air.
Mrs. Crabtree gave them both detention the following day.
Even then, they clashed.
Wilder and Cash’s friendship—while formidable—hasn’t been without its complications.
And sometimes, I wonder if I’ve been the biggest complication.
“I was so angry with you for going to Europe,” I admit.
Cash nods. “I know.”
“I understand why you did it,” I say, “but that was the easy way out.”
“My mom has always been overwhelming,” he admits. “When she wants something, she’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
Which leads to my next question.
“If you knew she didn’t like me, why did you keep dating me?”
Cash shrugs. “I was in love with you.”
“It’s that simple, huh?”
“It was simple then,” he corrects.
Silence falls between us—easy and quiet.
He’s still in love with me.
Wilder was right.
He’s always right.
I used to think that love was easy. Meet someone you like. Spend every waking minute together. Fall in love.
