“He’s not ready to couple up, and I don’t want the “I’ll text you” version of Damon. I’m better than that. I’m worth more than that. Sure, we flirt a lot and have come close to crossing that line, but I’m not willing to risk his judgment when it comes to us. It would ruin twenty-one years of friendship—so, yeah, I’ll pass. If this ship sails before he’s ready to board, then it sails.” She flips through her phone, though I know she’s completely tuned into this conversation. “Why are you so worried about this all of a sudden?”
“Because. I’m…,” wishing on a shooting star every night, every time I ride Percy toward a sunset, and every time I close my damned eyes. “I just want you to have who you want.” Because I can’t. “I’m sorry I’m being pushy, it’s your decision. I just know you both would fit so perfectly, and the fact that you can be together and are both being idiots about it, irks me sometimes.”
She lowers her fork, eyes cast down. “I’m sorry if I’ve talked about him too much over the years,” she withdraws slightly.
Cloudy head clearing immediately in response to her rapidly dimming expression, I grip both her hands tightly, including the one still holding her fork, and her eyes bulge at the crazy I’m showing. “Never, don’t you ever think that. You can talk about my other best friend all you want; do you hear me? Tell me you hear me.”
She grins at me as I release her.
“What?”
“You love me,” she declares, “like a crazy person.”
“Hell yeah, I do, and I love Damon just as much. I just wish you two would finally get together, that’s all.”
“Maybe someday,” she sighs, “but you’re forgetting one important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He never talks to you about me.”
“He does.” I pull on my iced tea.
“Not the way I do, and I know it, so let’s drop it, ’K?” She picks her phone back up and begins scrolling and typing, her embarrassment clear. I hate that I did it. What I hate more is that the next time she wants to talk to me about Damon, she might hesitate, or worse, not tell me at all. The whole thing is ironic because all I want to do is confide to her at the top of my lungs…finally confess the secret that’s been bleeding out of my pores for eight straight weeks. Instead, I need her drama—or any drama for that matter—to distract me.
While it may be true that Damon doesn’t talk about her in that context, he’s been looking at her differently more and more over the years, and I want to box his ears for not paying attention to his growing feelings. I don’t relay that to Holly because Damon truly is a wild card. He’s also one of the most lusted after men I’ve ever known, coming a close second to my last lover, who’s currently being worshiped by an increasing number of women on the daily. As I suspected, Easton’s refusal to engage with the media has only made him more alluring to the masses, women especially.
And he’s calling me.
The facts are, I haven’t gone more than a full hour without thinking of him since I left him in that studio.
No matter how much I want to shelve those days we spent together in their respective place, I can’t. Even if I could, he’s everywhere. Videos of his first few concerts on the tour he kicked off weeks ago are not only being spread like wildfire on social media, but his performances are making headlines. So far, the world has done nothing short of worship him since he dropped False Image. A title I find perfectly fitting with the album’s message—defaming fame.
The critics have done nothing but give massive props to the prodigy, who’s broken up the monotony and splashed onto the music scene like a ‘modern-day Elvis,’ Wall Street Journal’s words, not mine.
He’s calling me, and I’m not answering.
The idea that one day he’ll stop is a heavy weight in my gut, but the idea of being anything significant to him while fighting said masses for his attention is beyond comprehension to me.
“Thank God I don’t have to deal with that,” I say aloud.
“Well, aren’t you an asshole.”
I recover quickly. “I mean dating. Does he like me? Does he not like me? Does he have more than one sexual position in his arsenal? Is he worth the price of admission?”
Holly laughs as I roll my eyes exaggeratedly.
“If anyone needs to get back on a horse other than Percy, missionary or not, it’s you. It’s been, what, over a year since you broke up with Carson?”
“Who?” I taunt.
She glowers at me. “Exactly, but still.”
“I’m in no hurry. I’m not saying this shop is closed, but I’m definitely not going to spread myself thin trying to find a decent date.”
“As if you would have to. Girl, do you know how pretty you are? Your summer body is on point this year, bae. Look at you, all ripped and tan.”
True to my nature, I’ve been using the ache in the weeks that have followed Seattle to fuel me and have been hitting the gym harder than ever.
“Forget men,” I declare, gripping her hand and squeezing. “Forget sex, and let’s just date each other.”
“That’s called friendship,” she says. “Sorry, but I need the sex. Are you going to eat this garlic toast?”
“Nope.”
“No bread till September?”
“Yep,” I confirm with a chin dip.
She confiscates my toast, eyeing the clock on her phone. “Shit. Damon says raincheck. Between you two workaholics, I’ll never get a weekend away. I need new friends.”
“Good luck finding better,” I taunt.
“True. I have to run.” She stands before bending to kiss my cheek, smacking her lips exaggeratedly. Feigning disgust, I wipe it with my napkin as she exits the patio and power walks towards her Audi, giving me her signature diva farewell wave. “Don’t make any plans for tomorrow. I’ll dig around and see if I can find something for us to get into.”
“’K. Love you.”
“You too.”
Sipping the last of my tea, I watch her pull away. Holly is by far one of the biggest blessings in my life. We’ve been through it all, from diapers to every part of puberty-driven awkward adolescence and so forth. Even though she’s the perfect ride or die—and I know I can trust her with anything—I’ve kept my time with Easton completely to myself. Because of that, I’ve painstakingly fought through the ache and lingering desire alone.
I did not, at all, make it out of Seattle unscathed.
It was apparent when I got behind the wheel after my flight and saw my tear-splotched reflection in the rearview.
For the first week, it felt like I was hiding a breakup from everyone—especially my parents, which was the hardest task. Even though said task seemed impossible, I went to their house nearly every night and rode Percy until my legs went numb. Sadly, after having the most romantic interlude of my life, I was left talking to my four-legged best friend, who couldn’t produce a word of advice. But riding Percy calmed me, as it so often does. After the first few guilt-riddled days and avoiding non-work-related conversations with my father, I decided I could ride out the guilt until it subsided as long as I kept my secret.
It was when the first call came from EC after week one that I regressed. It took everything in me to keep from answering.
The thing is, I will his calls to continue and can’t bring myself to text him to stop. Even though, deep down, I know it’s only prolonging the inevitable.
Sadly, the workaholic repetition I sought escape from when I went to Seattle—and identified as one of my issues—I resumed with ferocity. Easton told me point blank if I did nothing about it, that I would be responsible from then on.
I know he would be disappointed to find I let myself down.
My temporary cure?
After a grueling day at the paper, I spend my nights recalling the spontaneity in Seattle. It’s been blissful getting lost in those memories, even if I have to walk through hellfire while fighting my pillow after.
Dad was pleasantly surprised when I went into overdrive and says the time away had done wonders for me.