by Kat Pace
Oh no. Don’t tell me he thinks we’re soul mates.
“Trev, I get it. It’s been…” What? What’s it been, Em? Fate? It’s what the old me would have believed, but she’s unreliable now. Can’t exactly confess this to Trevor.
“It’s been great.” He finishes my thought for me. Great.
“It really has.”
“Look, relax,” he says. “I’m not trying to wife you up. Hate to break it to you.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I roll my eyes.
“I’m fine with whatever you want to do. I just want to be on the same page with this. Whatever this is.”
“Same page is good.” I say.
Wow, what is this? Is this what a breath of fresh air feels like to my collapsing lungs? A mature adult conversation to make sure we’re all on the same page.
GTFO.
“So what page is it?” He asks me again, waiting for me to confirm. Man, he’s pretty damn cute.
“An easy one?”
“Easy?” He repeats.
“Simple. Light. Readers aged 9-12?” I grin.
“Aged 9-12? So that’s like almost PG-13?” Trevor jokes.
“Oops.” We laugh.
“What’s the next holiday? Maybe we should plan to accidentally run into each other.” Trevor says.
“Funny you should ask. It just so happens I know that today is Earth Day,” I say, laughing.
“Earth Day? Well that’s got to count as a double holiday, right?” He asks.
“You read my mind.”
I can’t exactly pinpoint why I feel guilty. Trevor is a big boy –an adult –capable of making his own terrible decisions. Me. I’m that decision.
I mean really, he must know I’m a train wreck. But he doesn’t care. I don’t care. With Trevor around I can heal. Well, I can coerce myself into temporarily suspending my disbelief long enough to think I can heal.
That’s all.
“So, yea. Never having breakfast there again,” Trevor says. We turn onto the street, leaving the umbrella café behind. In the dust, where it belongs.
“Yea, not the best.” I laugh. I pull on my coat and bundle up. It’s a cold April day.
“Who sells vegan eggs. What are vegan eggs?”
“Exactly,” I laugh.
“They didn’t even have coffee,” Trevor groans.
“Honestly, all downhill from there.”
“Last time I let you pick the place,” Trevor says. He laces his hand through mine. It’s weird, but also one of the things we just do. It kind of reminds me other humans are still coexisting, so I allow it.
“I’ll make it up to you. How about the park?” I ask.
“The park?” He side eyes me. No one can rock a tan pea coat like Trevor.
“Yes. They’re planting trees and flowers and like, cleaning up trash. You know, Earth Day community bullshit.” I say, nudging him along down the street.
“Right. We really should help the community help the environment. You know, since we’re taking advantage of the holiday to hang out and all,” Trevor laughs, pulling my hand along.
“Yes, we wouldn’t want to take advantage. What holiday is tomorrow?” I ask.
“What holiday is next week?” He smirks.
“Next month?” I say.
“Whoa, I might be sick of you by then,” Trevor laughs, swinging me in for a hug. Citrus.
“Likewise,” I smirk.
“Actually, I don’t want to surpass the 9-12 reading age limit, but can I beg you to come to a family party next weekend?” Trevor asks, peering at me sideways through blonde hair.
“You could beg a lot. But that’s at least 13 year-old material,” I laugh. I roll my eyes. “But, I could be persuaded.”
“I have a few ideas already.” Trevor squeezes my hand. “I wouldn’t ask, but I can’t face another BBQ alone.”
“I get that,” I blurt out. Really, it’s not even that I hate going places alone; it’s just the incessant questions from people. Bringing someone stops that. “What is it? When?”
“Cousin’s engagement party BBQ thing. It’s in my parents’ backyard. Saturday night. It’s a surprise too so you can’t be late,” Trevor says.
“Yes, sir.” I laugh. It sounds fake. Partly is.
“Don’t worry,” Trevor laughs, rolling his eyes at me. “I promise I’ll introduce you to as few people as possible. I’ll hide you in a coat closet if I have to.”
“I’d feel comfortable with that.” I nod.
“I can always show you my bedroom too,” he grins.
A family party. For Trevor. I agreed. I have a lot of questions for myself right now and no idea where to start.
We get to the park and we plant a tree. Very green-thumb of us, I know. The entire time I just keep thinking about playing touch football with Brooks on Thanksgiving. I think about the dying trees and the poetry and the existentialism. The park felt like an entirely different place then. I was an entirely different person then.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take it out to see Trix calling. Trix texting. I don’t answer. Smiling, I make a mental note to call her later. She’ll want to hear all about Trevor. She’ll be thrilled for me. I’ll tell her about the flowers we planted. About the sapling we just christened Baby Tod.
It used to hurt to talk to Trix. By used to I mean like three weeks ago. Reminded me too much of all them –of him. But I’m embracing the rift. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, at least of the people I care about.
For the other ones: Out of sight, out of mind, right?
Things are better.
In fact, I was feeling so good earlier I did a thing. I liked a post. Yes, a picture post. Yes, of Brooks and his girl. They weren’t kissing, but they may as well have been. They were on a beach. Under the sun. She got to taste the sun on his skin. I hope she knows how lucky she is –her and her stupid striped influencer one-piece.
WHO WEARS HEELS ON THE BEACH?
The craziest thing is I wanted him to see that I liked it. I want –need –him to believe I don’t care. A digital like is basically moral support. It’s a pseudo declaration of approval. It was a baby step, sure, but it felt like a leap.
There’s always that thought lurking in the dark shadows of your mind –you know, the place the sun doesn’t touch –where thoughts dwell in the night. If I like this, or comment, or view it –then he will see that I did. And maybe then he’ll think of me. Even if just for a second, I’ll be on his mind. And then I’ll be winning. And his post will be second to that. The pseudo declaration of approval won’t hurt so much. In fact, it’ll be the least I could do.
Somehow this gives me back some power on the playing field. I know it sounds like a ludicrous and millennial thing to say, but you know. You know it.
It’s OK. My social media response was to post Trevor and me to my story. Planting flowers on earth day. Together. #official
I was big today.
Amazingly, still so motherfuckin’ small.
May 21st
Go Zen is closed for the afternoon. We had classes all morning –extra classes even. Now Zoë and I are doing a deep clean. A cleanse, if you will. Redecorating. Burning sage. Keeping the vibe fresh. The little wind-chime next to the door sings. I look over and see Trevor holding up iced coffees.
“YAS!” Zoë praises him, taking her vanilla cold brew. “You’re a savior.”
“And for you, Emmy,” he says, holding out the tallest of the iced coffees.
“Thanks, babe.” I stress the last word.
“No prob, babe.” He kisses my nose.
This is our thing. Well, another one of our things.
We really have a lot of things.
The last month with Trevor has been great. In fact, it’s been more than great. He’s the first person I text in the morning and usually the last person I talk to at night. He’s always there, but also always not. It is the most serious non-committed relationship I’ve ever been in.
“Hey, if you
stay you help,” Zoë says, sipping through her straw.
“You heard her,” I say, shrugging at Trevor. He gets up from the wooden bench and waves his arms.
“Ok. Give me a job to do.”
“I was just about to disinfect all the extra mats. You want dibs?” Zoë asks.
“Would love them,” Trevor laughs.
“You have to spray them in the back. That cleaner fluid reeks,” I say, scrunching up my nose.
“Yes, queen.” Trevor pretends to bow.
He picks up a stack of the old mats and carries them to the back, out of the main studio.
“You’ve trained him well,” Zoë grins, biting her straw. “Brings coffee and he’s helping.”
“Yea, he’s too sweet sometimes.” I say, sipping my own cold brew. It’s true.
“Sure know how to pick them.” Zoë sets her cup down and goes back to wiping down the marble cabinets.
Do I know how to pick them, Zoë?
Didn’t know how to pick at least one of them.
A buzz, a ding, and a weird noise I think is a calendar alert.
I pull my bag from my phone and cross my proverbial fingers. Messages from Trix blow up my phone. It’s about the bonfire, I know it is. The 10-year fire. #TENFIRE as it’s trending. Man I hate Gen Y.
Come ON girl.
It’s TEN YEARS!
Bring Trevor if U want!!
Emmeline Lou, I INSIST :)
Maybe it won’t be so bad, I think. It’s been weeks –months. Maybe we will be able to cross paths and it won’t hurt. Maybe one day all of this will feel like a distant memory shared between two friends.
Maybe I’ll believe myself if I keep saying it.
Doubtful.
I’m already halfway through my coffee when I make the decision I knew I ultimately would. I am going home. Maybe he won’t even be there. Probably won’t.
Trevor is back with the mats, standing them like dominos so they can air out. Zoë is out of earshot, somewhere hanging the bands we got for the new aerial yoga class.
“So, guess what babe?” I look over at Trevor.
“What babe?”
He’s still standing the mats one by one. His back is to me, his shoulders look hella nice in his tight T-shirt.
“I’m thinking about going home for a week,” I blurt out for changing my mind.
“Oh yea? Don’t you… sort of hate home?” Trevor asks, looking over his shoulder at me now.
“Hate is a strong word,” I say and move closer to him. “I’m more fond of other things, sure.”
“But not un-fond of home?” He raises his eyebrow.
“Exactly. It’s sort of a reunion thing for high school. Ten years.” I shrug, frowning.
“Ten years?” He whistles through his lops. “I forgot you’re basically an old lady.”
“Am NOT! You are approximately seven months younger!” I smirk, nudging him in the ribs. His little tight lip smile is so darn cute.
“Yes, but one whole entire grade.”
“A whole–entire–grade, oh my god,” I stress each word, rolling my eyes. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you. Imagine the embarrassment if we’re seen.”
“My embarrassment, you mean?” He asks, his eyebrows raised.
“Ha-ha,” I fake laugh. “Anyway, as I was saying… It’s for our ten years of freedom. There’s this whole big bonfire thing. Trix is begging me to go.”
“Sounds fun. Do you want any company?” Trevor asks. He’s inviting himself to my hometown? To my home? My parents? My friends?
“We’ve only been casually hanging out for what? Two months-ish. Bit early to start inviting yourself home to my parents, don’t you think?” I tease.
“Ish… And it was only an offer,” he says, squeezing my waist.
“Trying to backpedal, huh?” I play with the straw between my teeth.
“Course not. But if you don’t want the offer then…” Trevor trails off, looking up.
I push my face back from his so I can see him. Take him in. He’s got a lot of freckles in this light. The idea is tempting. It would be nice to not be alone –to not show up alone. But something stops me from saying yes. It feels like I need to do this solo. I need to go back solo.
Solo.
YOLO.
“Look at you, being sweet.” I smile. “I think I’ll survive.”
“Fine, have it your way.” Trevor reaches his arm across my chest and tucks it in the elastic (yes, I’m 95) waistband on my shitty cleaning-day shorts. “Just don’t forget about me.”
“Forget about you?” I say, smirking. “Please, it’s Jersey.”
“Exactly. It’s Jersey,” he says.
“Plus, it’ll be kinda fun. Knowing I have you waiting for me when I get back.”
I kiss him.
Memorial Day Weekend
I almost puke when I step off the plane. I step off into the same terminal –same gate even as the last time I flew into the Atlantic City Airport.
I’m going to kill Trix.
I cannot believe she talked me into coming home. I cannot believe I let her talk me into it. I’m to blame. I haven’t been home for Memorial Day weekend since high school.
#MDW for all you millennials out there.
I go straight to the bar. Somehow I know if I go back to my parents’ I will not leave the house. The thought of going there alone is daunting though. Why didn’t I bring Trevor? I’m an idiot.
Two and a half months, one hundred sad songs (x’s infinite repeats), a shit ton of ice cream, and Trevor later, I’m appreciating the irony. I had him. Where I wanted him, both metaphorically and literally. He was lying in my bed telling me he loved me. Not like bitch, I care about you or even hey let’s be exclusive. No. It was I LOVE YOU.
All this time I was afraid of getting hurt again, of him leaving, of all the bullshit. I ended up ruining it myself. Too many of those sad sappy emo manic-depressive song lyrics work for this mood right now.
Just… pick a song, any song.
I park a block away and walk through the misty, pre-summer night. The cool air is helping me keep my calm. The Sandbar is just as I left it: overcrowded with a country-rock hybrid vibe. Trix greets me out front. May have called her when I got there. May not have wanted to go in alone, unsure of what I’d find. May be a pussy.
“He’s here! Inside!” Trix almost shouts in my face, barely breathing, and clutching at her side.
“Right,” I nod. I try to act like this information is not important to me, like I hardly care. Bless Trix for not missing a beat.
“He’s alone. Well, he’s sitting with the rest of the guys, but he’s alone.” Trix smiles, bulging her eyes.
“Alone. Got it. Thanks,” I say again. I nod. I let her drag me into the bar, her thin graceful arm looped through mine.
“Hey! Look who’s back!” Meg says, hopping down from the barstool to hug me. She’s grown her hair out the last couple of months.
“Third visit in less than a year,” Nate says. “Can hardly believe it.”
Me either, Nate.
“Yea, yea. Going for the trifecta!” My voice sounds like someone else’s. Stop trying too hard, idiot.
“Third time’s a charm,” Travis says, hugging me too, drowning me in weird minty cigarette smoke.
“Hi, Em.”
The eyes, THEY BURN. I feel 100 eyeballs on me right now. I try to avoid them all.
“Hey,” I squeak. SQUEAK. Like some timid ambiguous furry woodland mouse creature.
I cannot keep my eyes from his. I turn my head to see him leaning back against the wall in the seat next to Nate, hand holding a beer. He’s looking at me, barely listening to what Nate is saying.
Brooks hugs me. The audacity. I hug him back. The AUDACITY. I hold my breath around him, refusing to breathe in his skin –the salt and sun on him. DIE EMMY. I focus on Travis, who I hug next, and the sweet mint smell rolling from his breath. I focus on watching Trix’s long hair fall over her shoulders. I got this.
“Take a seat, love.” Trix comes up next to me and pulls me by my cardi (cardigan). I climb onto the open stool between her and Meg.
“Em, it’s good you’re here. Just in time. We just decided on tomorrow morning’s brunch and then for Tenfire I was thinking…” Meg drones on.