by Hazel Kelly
“I can remember walking along the beach in college and people would be doing the most amazing stuff in the street, and I’d always think ‘I wonder what Laney’s making right now.’”
“You thought about me? After you went away to school?”
He gave me a hard look. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”
“I think you just did,” I said, trying to cut through the seriousness of his tone.
“You know damn well I thought about you.”
I pursed my lips.
“You don’t just think about someone every day for years- love someone every day for years- and then stop thinking about them overnight.”
“I’m sorry, Con-”
“Save it,” he said. “If you were sorry, you would’ve gotten in touch a long time ago.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“But since you asked, cold turkey didn’t work for me when things ended between us. And I couldn’t exactly find a Laney patch to slap on my arm to help get you out of my system.”
The gravity in his voice was uncomfortable. It made me wish all those screaming kids at the diner would run through the kitchen making airplane noises and spurting milk to break the tension.
He clenched his jaw. “You made promises you never intended to keep-”
“That’s not true,” I said, craning my neck forward.
“It is. But I’m over it.”
I wasn’t convinced, and I felt like a bad person for not being totally disheartened by that.
He drained the rest of his lemonade.
“Do you want some more?”
He raised a flat hand off the table. “No thanks.”
“Is now a bad time to ask if you’ve met anyone special?”
He laughed. “I can see how you might think so, but you’ve asked now, haven’t you?”
“Well?”
“I haven’t done much dating since I left to be honest. It’s hard to maintain a serious relationship when you’re trying to become a vet in six years.”
“How long is it supposed to take?” I asked.
“Eight.”
“So why do it in six?”
He shrugged. “Stubbornness? I don’t know. Patience isn’t my favorite virtue.”
I remembered the silly arguments we used to have over nothing. By the time the makeup sex was through, we couldn’t even remember what we’d been fighting about.
“I did meet a lot of special animals, though.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I bet.”
“And I have a new puppy. Well, he’s not technically a puppy any more. More like a difficult teenager.”
“What kind of dog is he?”
“A golden retriever.”
I smiled. “What’s his name?”
“Sargent Pepper.”
“Cute.”
“He goes by Sarge, though,” he said. “That is, if he’s in the mood to take direction.”
“I’d love to meet him.”
“How long are you staying in town?” he asked.
“I’m not quite sure yet.”
“Helly must be happy to have you.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “She’s the best.”
“I lucked out with her as a neighbor anyway,” he said. “She brought me a pie when I moved in, and she’s brought over double chocolate brownies twice.”
“Hence the tomatoes?”
“Hence me making sure I run regularly with my dog,” he said. “What about you? Anyone special eagerly awaiting your return to New York?”
“Yeah. Sort of.” Henry didn’t even know I’d left yet.
Connor furrowed his brow.
“It’s complicated.”
I couldn’t be sure, but I swore he glanced at my finger. It was the kind of thing I never would’ve noticed if I hadn’t been so aware of that exact digit all morning.
“Well,” he said, pushing his chair back. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I stood up, hating myself for selfishly wishing he wouldn’t go. “Thanks for stopping by. I’ll be sure to drop a hint that brownies would be very welcome payback for the tomatoes.”
“Sarge and I are happy with pies, too,” he said, heading for the door.
“Connor,” I said when he pulled the door open.
He stopped and turned towards me.
“It was good to see you.”
“You too,” he said, stepping outside.
“And I’m sorry,” I blurted.
“About what?”
“About before. About-”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
I felt hollow.
His mouth twitched. “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”
But I wasn’t. Couldn’t he see that I wasn’t? I hadn’t been happy since-
“But if you insist on making it up to me-”
I craned my neck back, positive I’d suggested no such thing.
“Have dinner with me.”
I tilted an ear towards him. “What?”
“Dinner,” he said. “Have dinner with me.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Come on, Laney. It’s just dinner.”
My lips fell apart.
“It’s not like I proposed.”
Chapter 6: Connor
I tried to say it with good humor, but she flinched so hard I regretted it instantly.
And I was glad I hadn’t verbalized the thought I had after the proposal comment, which was that I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
It would only hurt her feelings.
Plus, it was a complete lie.
I didn’t think proposing to her was a mistake at all.
I meant every word I said to her that day in the park, and I still meant it for months after she said no.
God those were the longest months of my life. Not only was she on the other side of the country, but she was gone from my life. Overnight.
I remember thinking it was some kind of cruel joke how jovial and sun kissed and smiley every surface of California seemed to be. Like the whole world was laughing at my broken heart.
It never even crossed my mind that she would say no.
But even now I was glad I asked. At least I didn’t have any regrets about making sure she knew what she meant to me before I went, regrets I’d often wondered if she had.
Of course, I had to assume she didn’t have any either. She never got in touch, never so much as poked me online. She didn’t even have social media. Lord knows I checked.
I only wanted to know if she was okay.
Instead, it felt like she wanted me to know nothing, which is exactly what I knew. For years. Sure, my parents might’ve given me news if I’d asked. But after a while, it was just too sad to try and casually mention her.
I had too much pride to let others know how much she’d broken my heart.
But she knew.
She must’ve.
She had to have seen it in my face that day when I had a knee full of woodchips and the purest kind of hope in my eyes a man could have.
Until I asked her.
And not only did she say no, she said it was over.
It was a complete mindfuck.
After all, she was the girl who made me want things I thought other people were crazy for wanting. Like kids. And a mortgage. And staged Christmas cards. She was the one that made simple things amazing, the one who laughed hardest at my jokes, and the one I wanted to get old with.
I almost didn’t accept my enrollment at UC Davis for her.
And she didn’t even love me back. Not enough anyway. Not enough to justify how much those years meant to me.
She told me I was all she had more times than I could count.
But her actions forced me to wonder if it was just a line, if she’d just used me because she was the pretty new girl and knew that her beauty would be all consuming for a thirteen year old boy like me.
It didn’t ruin me or anything.
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My parents were living proof that true love existed.
If it weren’t for them, though, my personal experience would be enough to give me doubts.
But seeing her again… It all came back.
All those nights she climbed the lattice work up to my bedroom window, all those nights we snuck out to go skinny dipping, all those classes we used to skip to have sex in my car.
She was my first everything. And at the time, my everything period.
But I was that for her, too.
I know I was. She told me so, and I could feel it in every bone in my body.
And I know love makes people stupid and crazy, but it felt good to be those things with her.
I would’ve bet anything then that we would’ve stayed that way forever.
But she had other plans, I guess. Plans I still didn’t understand.
When she didn’t say anything after I joked about the proposal, I told her she knew where to find me. Then I went next door and grabbed Sarge for a quick walk.
I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting still in my house knowing she was just fifty yards away.
For years, I worked my ass off, knowing I’d come home eventually and hoping deep down she’d be back, too. But the reunion wasn’t all laughs and hugs.
There were too many unanswered questions, too many unfelt feelings. Or felt in my case, but certainly not expressed.
And I’d let myself down for even letting her glimpse how much she’d hurt me. But she always had that effect on me.
She inspired me to want to become a man and yet, at the same time, her attention made me feel so safe I always ended up saying too much, feeling too much, and ultimately, wanting too much.
I had no business having nice thoughts about her, no business noticing how stunning she’d become, but it was like my mind and body weren’t playing for the same side.
Logically, she was no good for me. She’d hurt me worse than I’d ever been hurt by anyone.
But I also knew she’d been hurt so much worse, and the fact that she ever even allowed herself to feel for me in high school was a miracle after what she’d been through.
So I couldn’t hate her.
But I couldn’t want her either.
And above all, I couldn’t fall for her again when she’d so obviously moved on.
Besides, she wasn’t entirely the person I remembered.
It was bizarre that she wasn’t doing art any more. That fact alone made her sort of unrecognizable.
Still, I couldn’t help but be curious about what went wrong. Why would someone with her gifts, her creativity, her eye for color and texture and light, settle for waitressing?
And the fact that she was still in New York?
Was Central Park really enough for her?
This was a girl whose favorite thing used to be walking barefoot through fields of wildflowers, laying in the tall grass, and talking about how wonderful it would be if we were wild lions stalking prey through the African plains.
Not that talking was the only thing we did in that grass.
But I couldn’t quite put my finger on why she seemed slightly distant from herself.
The best way to describe it would be to say that she seemed a bit lost.
Right when I’d found her, ironically.
Worst of all, the stupid, stubborn, hopelessly sprung seventeen year old inside me spent the whole time I was with her jabbing me in the ribs so I would notice she wasn’t wearing a ring.
And despite my best efforts to not give a shit, for some reason, it mattered.
Chapter 7: Laney
What a mindfuck.
I decided then and there that I would never, ever get behind on my laundry again. A seemingly harmless quest for a clean pair of socks had chucked me into the weirdest morning of my life, and things were only getting weirder.
Again, I don’t think all the crystals were helping.
After Connor left, I could barely make it back into the house before my legs collapsed, and I sat on the bench next to his tomatoes for who knows how long.
What were the chances of him being here? Today of all days?
And why did he have to look so good?
Why couldn’t he have grown up to be a pimply hunchback whose teeth had gone to shit?
Why was his hair thicker than ever, his eyes an even darker blue? And was he taller? I mean, he was always tall, but I felt dwarfed by him in that worn grey sweatshirt.
For a few minutes, it was hard to understand what the hell I’d been thinking all those years ago. I remembered it like it was yesterday… the way he dropped to his knee in front of the swing I was swaying on, the hopeful sincerity in his eyes when he revealed the ring he’d pawned his golf clubs to buy.
Neither of us were ready for that kind of thing, but I know why he did it. He wanted me to know that just because he was going to pursue his dream in California didn’t mean he didn’t still want all those things we used to talk about.
And there was nothing he wouldn’t have given me. He got me a duckling for my sixteenth birthday for crying out loud. Waddles. She used to follow me everywhere. She was as protective of me as a German Shepherd.
Until the day she flew away.
And I was no less interested in holding her back than I was in holding him, though pretending I wanted him to forget me was much harder to do.
But he was from a good family and had so much potential. Whereas I was a wannabe artist whose favorite mediums at the time were paper mâché and macaroni noodles.
And as much as he’d tried to put me back together, I was always going to have physical and emotional scars that would keep me from being the perfect girl he deserved.
I could tell by his face that he was shocked I’d said no.
When he finally stood up, there were woodchips hanging out of his knee.
That’s when I realized I had no choice but to be even more firm. I knew he’d never believe me unless I was hurtful, nasty, and unapologetic.
So I was.
But seeing him again- even just remembering what it was like to be so physically near him- made me question everything I’d done.
Of course, it was too late.
And admitting to myself or anyone else that I wished I could go back and do things differently- like in the Choose Your Own Adventure Books I used to always make him read aloud to me- would make me look crazier than I already did in this house full of crystals and incense and tapestries that made me feel like I was backstage at Woodstock.
Ugh.
Besides, he wasn’t the man I was supposed to be thinking about right now, the man whose feelings I was supposed to be considering.
But one thing- besides his ill-timed joke about how much easier it should be to accept a dinner invitation than a proposal – was niggling at me.
And that was the face he made when he realized I wasn’t an artist any more.
The flash of sadness that swept across his eyes pissed me off. I mean, who the fuck was he to be disappointed in me?! If I didn’t want to paint any more, why should he care?
Except maybe he knew what I often felt, which was that I kind of did want to paint… Every time I saw a chocolate chip pancake, every time I noticed a patch of graffiti, and every time I managed to hear a pigeon coo in downtown New York City.
Only I was sure I’d forgotten how.
Creativity for me was like a tap in the winter time. If you didn’t turn it on regularly, it froze up.
And I hadn’t turned the tap on since I left school and realized I had neither the personal funds nor the optimistic investors to justify my making art all day.
After all, I loved art, but I loved not starving to death even more.
I didn’t even bring my paints when I moved into Henry’s place. Looking at them drying in their bent tubes was doing nothing but making me sad.
But fuck Connor for noticing.
What I did or didn’t do with my days wasn’t his goddamn business, even if he was the first
person who was ever genuinely interested in me and my wellbeing.
I was turning a tomato over in my hand- admiring how massive and smooth and shiny and red it was- when my phone started buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out and swallowed.
“Hi,” I said, with a tone of forced joviality that was neither comfortable nor appropriate.
“Hey- where are you?” Henry asked.
“I needed some fresh air,” I said. “How was your day?”
“Fine. Landed a corporate gig that made me the hero of the office for a whole ten minutes.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “Congratulations.”
“I thought we might go out and celebrate. Maybe dinner at Cezanne’s or something.”
I never much cared for Cezanne. The artist, that is. The restaurant itself was fab, even though I hated the pretense of all that unnecessary cutlery. “Maybe we could raincheck that. I’m not really up for it tonight.”
“We’ll get whatever you want then. When will you be home?”
“I’m not coming home tonight, actually,” I said. “I’m in Glastonbury.”
“What?”
“I made the trip up this morning to visit my grandma.”
“I’m sorry, babe. I must’ve forgotten you were planning to-”
“I wasn’t. I just needed some fresh air.”
“Is everything alright?” he asked. “You don’t sound like yourself.”
I took a deep breath and leaned back against the bench. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”
“When are you coming back?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“What about work?”
“They were understanding,” I lied.
“That’s surprising.”
“Mmm.”
“Can you maybe narrow it down for me?” he asked. “So I know how many nights I’ll be dining alone this week?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. “I can’t yet.”
“Do you want me to drive up there? You know I will if you want me-”
My eyes popped open. “No. Don’t do that.”
“Is your grandma okay?”
I nodded. “She’s fine. Thanks for asking. I’ll tell her you said hi.”
“Sure you don’t want me to come tell her myself?”
“I’m sure, honey. Don’t be silly. You should get some sleep so you can be the office hero again tomorrow.”