Page 17 of When We Were Young

She gives me a cheeky grin because she knows I’m right.

“Plus, you’d have to actually go into a library once in a while for him to set up a picnic there for you,” Anita chimes in.

Sylvia gasps, and I crack up.

“Great burn, Anita. Spot on,” I say.

“Well, I never.” I chuckle at Sylvia’s attempt at feigned indignation.

“Right. That’s what I said. You ‘never’ go to the library,” Anita adds.

I’m losing it so hard now that tears roll down my face. Who knew Anita had it in her? What’s even funnier is watching Sylvia try her damnedest not to smile. Her pinched mouth doesn’t speak of anger but of someone working hard to prevent herself from cackling.

I stretch across the table and poke Sylvia in the side. A roar of laughter escapes her; I’ve unleashed the beast. Over the next few minutes, the three of us remain in the throes of side-splitting howling. It’s the kind of laughter that, when one of you stops, all it takes is a look at the others to lose control again. When we finally calm, I lean back in my chair and release a satisfied sigh.

“Wow. I didn’t realize how badly I needed that,” I tell them.

“Me, too. And I didn’t realize how witty our dear Anita is,” Sylvia says. She grins toward Anita.

“Eh, what can I say? I like to think I still have some spunkiness in these old bones.”

The bell on the door tinkles, and we all spare a quick glance toward the entrance. A cute couple walks in holding hands, and I watch them for several seconds until Anita speaks again.

“But in all seriousness, Sylvia, you know you don’t need to go to the library to do your best work. All your brand of genius requires is somewhere beautiful to sit and your sketchpad.” Anita smiles at Sylvia before she walks away to attend to the new customers.

“Hey, the library is beautiful,” I call after her. She glances over her shoulder at me, grins, and continues walking. Sylvia takes the opportunity my momentary distraction provides to return the poke I gave her earlier.

“Yeah, it is when you’ve got a hot boy⁠—”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” I whisper yell.

“Uh, I was gonna say boy toy. Not boyfriend. But shows where your mind is.” Her smirk says ‘gotcha.’

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “He’s neither my boyfriend nor my boy toy. He’s my friend.”

“But he could be more…”

I feel my cheeks heat at the thought but then force it away. It’s not possible.

“No. It’s not like that—” I pause and scratch at my fingernail. “It can’t be even if I wanted it to,” I whisper.

Sylvia grabs my hands. She knows I do the nail thing when I’m stressed. Normally, she nudges my hands apart, then goes back to whatever she was doing. This time, though, she squeezes and doesn’t let go.

“Lizzie, this has to stop. You’re twenty-two, and you’re making major life decisions based on how you think numbnuts might react. He’s the one who isn’t and won’t ever be your boyfriend—or boy toy—again. He doesn’t get to decide anything about your life.”

“It’s not that easy, Sylvs.”

“Yeah, it is. Just tell him to eat shit and leave you alone.” To say my best friend is passionate about things is putting it mildly. And when it comes to people she loves, she’s fiercely protective.

“Can we please talk about something else? I don’t have it in me to keep talking about Landon. And before you say it, I’m not in denial. I’m… exhausted. I just have to get through a few more months until he graduates, and then in my last semester of school, I’ll be able to breathe easier.”

Sylvia frowns, then opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again just as quickly. To hold back on speaking her mind is no simple task for her; I know that. So, her doing it for me means a lot.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“You know you’re the only person in the world who can make me mind my tongue, right?” She teases lightly, and I chuckle, grateful for the reprieve.

“Oh, I know it. Believe me.” I lift my coffee mug to my lips and swallow down my last swig just as the alarm on my phone goes off. “Ah, and duty calls. I’ve got to head to work.”