I pretended to be outraged. I don’t remember what I said in retaliation, something like, Oh yeah? And what is Thomas? Tho-mas. Isn’t it, like, a lame modification of Christ-mas?
He laughed. I remember that because I was bursting with pride in being the one who brought it out in him.
It’s Saturday again, and it’s all I can think about as I enter Crème and Beans. Nicky’s voice is all I hear, and Thomas’ glinting hair and amused eyes are all I can see—and it’s a good thing, too, because if I think about whom I am here to see, I might turn back and never come out of my room.
As if he senses me standing here, he looks up from his mug of coffee. My chest is caving in on itself as I take in his face, a face I haven’t seen in more than two years. God, he looks…older. So much older, as though he’s let himself go, given his body permission to grow out on him. Longer hair, broader shoulders, shadow of a beard.
But then he smiles, and it’s the smile I’ve seen in my dreams forever, a smile that never fails to make me smile.
And then we’re running toward each other like a couple of kids. I jump into his arms, laughing and crying. It’s like the last two years never happened. It’s like all the awkwardness in the world can’t overshadow the fact that he’s the closest friend I’ve ever had.
Caleb Whitmore, my very first friend.
We break apart, still laughing, and he lets me down on my feet.
“Hey,” he says in a voice that’s so familiar to me, so fucking familiar that all I want to do is break down and cry.
“Hey,” I whisper over the ruckus my heart is making. I’m so damn happy to see him.
“You look…fantastic.” He tucks my unruly hair behind my ear.
“You do too.” I poke his wispy beard. “Where did that come from?”
Caleb gives me a sheepish grin, rubbing the spot. “I’m going for a mature look.”
“What? Why?”
“People take the beard seriously.”
“You’re kidding.” I frown. “They’re giving you a hard time over at your dad’s office?”
“Eh, it’s not too bad, but you know, extra muscle helps.” He rubs his barely-there beard again, making me laugh.
“Do you want me to kick their asses for you?”
He laughs, an indulgent look in his eyes. “God, I missed you.” He swallows, growing serious. “So much.”
“Yeah,” I admit on a broken whisper.
We walk to his table and sit across from each other. Caleb watches me expectantly, and I shoot him a questioning look. He glances at his coffee and then at me. “You don’t want to steal it?”
No, I don’t steal anymore. The only person I want to steal from is not here.
A lump forms in my throat and I chuckle around it, trying to keep things light. “Are you calling me a thief?”
“Well, yeah. You are one.”
“I don’t think you’re remembering things correctly.”
“I remember everything about you, Lay.”
I glance away. It’s too hard to look into his eyes and find my old self reflected back. There are ghosts moving in the depths of them—my ghosts, but I don’t look like them anymore. I’ve changed. I’ve changed so much since the time he knew me. I’ve done things, despicable things since then. Then again, maybe I haven’t changed at all.
I was crazy then. I’m crazy now.
“Thanks for the gift basket,” I say to break the silence.
Yesterday evening, Caleb sent me a gift basket with Twizzlers that I only noticed when I came home from Thomas’ office. It was sitting on the coffee table; Emma had brought it in. She grilled me about it, too, asking me who the secret admirer was. I had to laugh at that, though it came out distorted, too much like a sob. I told her it was from Caleb and that he is gay. It didn’t hurt to say that. It didn’t hurt to say I used to be insanely in love with him but he never loved me back.
In fact, if I’m being honest, I haven’t thought about Caleb at all in the past few days. Makes me wonder if Thomas was as much a distraction for me as I was for him.
“You didn’t have to bribe me, you know.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after…what I told you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper, unable to go higher than that. I’m exhausted. Breathing seems like a chore. I just want to stop. Stop running. Obsessing. Blaming.
He clasps his hands on the table. “I didn’t know how.”
“But it was me, Caleb. Me. We grew up together. You were my best friend. Wasn’t I yours?”
It’s such a petty, childish thing to ask. Wasn’t I your best friend when you were mine? Still, I feel it’s the most important thing I can ask him, more important and vital than Don’t you love me? I realize now that I might crumble if he answers in the negative; his friendship means far more to me than his reciprocation of love.
He lets out a watery laugh. “How can you ask me that, Lay? When I’ve spent every second of the last two years missing you like hell. I…” He thrusts his hand through his hair. “I’ve felt so…guilty. So lonely. So unlike myself. But I didn’t know how to face you after…what I did. The way I took advantage of your love. The way I left you.”
It’s hard to look at him, to look at the naked regret on his face. My heart curls up in my chest and rocks back and forth, hurting. He’s blamed himself the same way I have blamed myself. I don’t want him to do that. I don’t want to think about what happened; it’s too fucking depressing. It’s time to share the blame and then move on.
“I forgive you,” I tell him. “I do. For whatever happened. Do you forgive me?”
He takes my hand in his own and squeezes. “Yes. Although there’s nothing to forgive, Lay.”
I smile through my tears. It’s over. It’s done with. I feel light, both floaty and grounded.
We spend the next hour catching up. He tells me how hard it was for him throughout high school, how he thought he was weird. He was afraid his dad wouldn’t ever accept that part of him. I tell him he was being stupid because hello, this is the twenty-first century. Who cares if you’re gay? Then, I tell him about how bad things got after he left, how my mom wanted me to go to the youth center but I got out of it by coming here. I tell him about Kara. I tell him about my tower, about Emma.
The only thing I don’t tell him about is Thomas Abrams. What is there to say about him anyway? He is my professor. He taught me that reading can be cool, that words are the most important thing in the world, and I used to sleep with him and now it’s over. I let him vandalize my body, my heart, my dreams. I became a slut for him, but that’s okay. He never asked. In fact, he warned me about him, his cruelty. I gave up my morals voluntarily.
I gave him everything, but he wanted nothing from me.
“I miss the city,” I say to Caleb, out of the blue.
“Then come back.” His expression is hopeful, the green of his eyes shining. “Yeah, come back. They’ll easily take you in at Columbia. Your credits will transfer and you can live with me. You don’t even have to go back to your mom’s.”