“Marley,” I say, collecting myself. “You don’t have to go.”
She starts walking away, her yellow shoes standing out against the green of the grass.
“This is a sad story waiting to happen,” she mumbles, her voice barely audible. When she gets to the path, she turns to look at me. “Just friends, Kyle,” she calls to me. “That was the deal.”
I nod, watching as she leaves, disappearing between the trees. I look down to see one yellow dandelion sitting next to me.
I pick it up, wondering what it would have been like to kiss her just now, her eyes on my lips a moment ago. Maybe Sam was right about something else.
Do I really want to be just friends with Marley?
* * *
On Thursday morning I walk to the cemetery. I still have a lot to figure out, but I think I finally have the right words to say to her. To Kimberly.
I stop short when I see a figure kneeling at her graveside, a long arm reaching out to place a big bouquet of tulips against the headstone.
Sam.
Of course.
“The tulips,” I say as I come closer. “They were from you.”
“They were her favorite,” he says, his eyes focused on the headstone. KIMBERLY NICOLE BROOKS.
I kneel on my stiff leg and run my hand across the uneven stone.
“It’s not fair,” Sam says, watching me. “You’re moving on. She can’t. That might be a dick thing to say, but…”
“I get it, Sam. Trust me, I’ve felt like a dick constantly. Going to get ice cream. Watching movies on my couch. Even laughing. It all felt wrong, doing it without her. But if that’s true, the two of us will spend the rest of our lives stuck right here,” I say, gesturing to the cemetery around us, to Kimberly’s headstone.
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t stop me either.
“I finally realized what Kimberly was saying. I didn’t get it before. I didn’t listen to her before. But I finally, after all this time, understand what she wanted from me. For me. The best thing I can do to honor her is to stand on my own, Sam. Like she wanted. I need to let go.” I pause, looking at him for a long moment, realizing he needs this just as much as I do. “So do you.”
He pushes himself up onto his feet while I struggle to get to mine. When our eyes are level, he gives me a long look, before glancing guiltily away. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding as I think of his words at the park. “A lot of things make sense now. How you always defended her. Took her side.”
“I took your side too,” Sam says. “I never went after her. I never told her how I felt.”
“You never told me, either,” I say. “You could have.”
“Would it have changed anything?” he asks.
I shake my head, knowing the truth. “Probably not.”
He smiles at that, and I know both of us are hearing her voice in our heads. Not in a brain-injury way, though. Not this time.
“But,” I continue, “I think it changes something now. I see the truth in what you said before. We have to be honest with ourselves.”
We stare at each other, unsure of where to go from here. We opt for a quick bro hug, and then Sam nudges my arm, giving me a wry smile. “Wonder what your mom did with that beer?” he asks.
I nod toward the path, grinning back at him. “You want to find out?”
We walk together out of the graveyard, just the two of us. Even though I was talking to Sam, I’m sure Kim was there. I feel like she heard me. That I got it right at last. And even as we’re leaving her behind, she feels closer than she has in a long, long time.
17
I shuffle around the kitchen, fixing the silverware on the napkins, the mint iced tea in the corner of the place mat. I’m just about ready.
This attempt at making dinner is going about a million times better than before. Probably because I ditched the rib eye recipe and tried something a bit more… Marley.
Hot dogs and fries. But fancy ones, with a Marley twist.
I carefully set up her side plate, putting eight empty baby ramekins down, encircling a slightly larger bowl filled with popcorn. Then I fill the ramekins around it: one with yellow mustard, one with bacon bits, and the others with ketchup, barbecue sauce, two different kinds of pickles, shredded cheese, and diced onions.
I push them together and add a big stick of celery extending from the bottom. Just as I hoped, the plate is transformed into a condiment flower. I carry it to the table and gently set it down. I want her to feel comfortable tonight. I want her to see that I see her. The way she always sees me.
That this isn’t going to be a sad story.
I plate the hot dogs and the fries, making sure they aren’t touching, just in time for the doorbell to ring.
I head out of the kitchen, trying to calm my nerves. Why am I so nervous? We’re always so comfortable around each other.
I open the door to see Marley standing on our welcome mat, wearing a pair of jeans and her yellow cardigan, her hair pulled back into a bun.
“Hi,” she says softly. She holds out a bundle of flowers. I do a quick scan, trying to guess what she’s telling me with these.
I peer at the clusters of tiny white petals, but I’m out of luck when it comes to a name. All I know is that they’re the poofy ones planted outside of granny houses.
“What’s this one mean?” I ask her.
“They’re hydrangeas,” she says, clutching the strap of her bag with one hand, the other reaching out to touch one of the enormous floral puffballs. “It means… gratitude.”
“Well, I am filled with gratitude for the flowers,” I say, cringing hard at myself. Could I be any lamer?
Luckily, she laughs and comes inside, sliding her shoes off.
“You hungry?” I ask.
She nods and turns her face toward the kitchen, sniffing. “Smells good.”
There’s something suspiciously like relief on her face.