by Cassie Mae
“I really hope you get him,” I tell her.
“I hope you get her, Alex with a c.”
I cringe a little at the nickname, finally feeling able to express how I really feel about it, and let out a sigh. “Me too.”
THREE WEEKS, ONE DAY AGO
Theresa has sent you an instant message.
FRIDAY 8:31 A.M.
You left.
8:33 A.M.
I had to.
8:33 A.M.
Early shift?
8:34 A.M.
Among other reasons.
8:34 A.M.
Was I that bad at it?
8:34 A.M.
You know you weren’t.
8:49 A.M.
Did I hurt you?
8:52 A.M.
No.
8:52 A.M.
Do we need a redo?
9:10 A.M.
You there?
9:10 A.M.
No redo. I’m good. Promise.
9:12 A.M.
Okay.
9:13 A.M.
For the record, you weren’t bad either. In case you needed to know ; )
9:13 A.M.
I did. : )
Chapter 12
PRESENT DAY
I plop my ass on a bench in the train station and pull out my phone, flicking through the old messages as if they weren’t conversations I had just days ago. Landon’s left me so many texts I’m tempted to call him, but it’s late and I’m not in the mood to summarize the last five years, which essentially killed the night before it even started.
Do we need a redo?
I drag my thumb over the words, highlighting them in the message bubble. I’d like to redo a lot of things. Hell, if I go back far enough I could redo the decision to move to New York. I could’ve met that someone who will make the feelings I have for Theresa seem like child’s play.
On second thought, New York was a good move. There are auditions and opportunity here I couldn’t find anywhere else. My friends are here—or were here. Romance aside, that decision led to great things. So no redo there.
Maybe I’d just redo everything involving Theresa. Every time I sang with her, or for her, I’d keep my mouth shut instead. When everyone left us alone, I’d take it as my cue to head home too. Every time she sat behind a piano, I’d plug my ears. I’d avoid all touch, refuse to meet her gaze, stay aloof and unattached, and put in only a minimal effort, so she wouldn’t want to be around me. So I wouldn’t inevitably fall for her intoxicating personality and beauty. We’d hardly know each other today, what with the rest of our group moving on, creating families. I might get an invitation to her wedding or friend her on Facebook, but our lives wouldn’t be so reliant on each other. I wouldn’t be so aware of the void in my heart of having her but not having her. I’d redo it for the sweet oblivion of never knowing what it’s like to be so in love and not be able to do a damn thing about it.
A bell rings out through the station, and I look up at the schedule. I have five more minutes of wallowing before I can head home and forget about this night and how screwed I am.
My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me out of my reverie. I gaze down at the already opened message thread, ignoring the newest message from Landon and tapping on the keypad under Theresa’s name. I type Redo into the message, delete it, and type it again. I envision her face, her eyes done up nicely for the auction, her dress hugging her curves, and her wide smile. I recall the hitches in her breathing, the goose bumps rising on her skin, her closeness not being close enough, and I realize that I do want a redo, but not for sweet oblivion. I want to fight harder, say how I feel over and over again, tell her that I think she loves me too. I want to go back to our last night together and erase the words I said and replace them with I love you and promises of forever.
I don’t care how crazy it is that I’m here again—in the train station where I first fell for her laugh and smile and joy—three years later and I’m still just as in love today as I was then. And I’m going to tell her.
My thumb taps the send button and the bubble appears in my message box. If she’s up, she’ll see that I called a redo. She’ll know what it means.
I blow out a sigh. Then I hear the sound of a phone notification ringing through the station. It’s a short, high-pitched, robotic voice saying, “Wahoo! Text message!”
I know it well.
I’ve heard it many, many times before, and not because it’s my message tone.
It’s Theresa’s.
And she’s sitting on a bench at the other end of the station.
Part Two
Theresa
5 YEARS AGO: 7:27 P.M.
“I’m not sure I love you anymore.”
The words echo out from the speaker of my phone, fuzzing my ears and disappearing into the dark of the parking lot I’m standing in. I stare into the face of the guy who’s been my boyfriend for four years, my high school sweetheart, my best friend in the entire universe, wishing his somewhat pixilated face would smile and he’d tell me he was messing with me. April Fool and all that. Only it’s February.
“Did you really just say that?” I ask him, looking up from the Facetime app and around the nearly empty lot. Through the glass front doors of the apartment complex, I see Liz’s new boyfriend, Landon, smack the elevator up button and then pull Liz in for a sweet kiss on the nose.
I taste stomach acid on the back of my tongue.
“…it’s college, you know?” Eli’s voice finally breaks through the ear fuzz, and I look back at my phone, hoping to God I don’t cry.
“It’s been one semester,” I say, cursing the crack in my voice. “You’re already ready to give up?”
He shakes his head hard, his long dark hair moving with it. “I’m not saying give up.”
“You just don’t love me.”
“I don’t think I love you enough.”
I scoff, but manage not to chuck my phone across the asphalt. “I’m sorry four years wasn’t long enough for you to fall in love.”
“T, it’s not like that.” He blows out a breath, as if I’m the one making this so damn complicated. If I was going to break up with someone, I’d be clear-cut as hell. Not all this I love you, but not enough to really love you crap.
“Then what’s it like, Eli? Are we together still? Because if we are, let me take care of that problem right now.”
He has the balls to laugh. Laugh. Dumbass.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Wait, T. Just wait.” He leans forward. “You are the only girl I’ve loved. We’ve been together since the ninth grade. You’re the first girl I kissed, the first girl I slept with, the first everything, and I like that. It’s why you’re my best friend and why I love you.”
“Let the shoe drop, Eli,” I say impatiently. He smirks, but thank heavens he doesn’t laugh again.
“College is for new experiences, you know? Fun. We should have fun.”
“I thought we were having fun.” I seem to recall a certain sixty-nine kind of fun that happened two nights ago.
“We go to different schools, babe.”
“You live two hours away. It’s not like we’re on different planets.”
He sighs. “It’s not enough for me.”
“And that’s why you’re not sure if you love me anymore. Because you want to boink girls within a ten-foot radius?”
He shuts his bright blue eyes, laughing again like I’m some court jester here for his breakup entertainment. “Why are you making this so hard?”
In another moment I would’ve said, That’s what she said. But I just gape at him and say, “Me?”
“Yeah. You always make me laugh. I love that.”
“Stop saying love.” Love-abuser. “Just get to your damn point.”
His smile gets less obvious, but it’s still there. I equally hate it and love it. I know if I was physically in his presence, I might be somewhat smiling too. That’s what happens when you’re in love with your best friend—ever
ything is fun. Apparently even the breakup part.
I really think I’m going to vomit.
“We should be with other people,” he says, running a hand over the messed-up tiny bun on top of his head. “We should see what other people are like, experience someone different for a while. Have fun, fool around, date, and have those experiences so we know for sure that what we have is for real. How will we know if we only know each other?”
His answer would make sense to an outside party, I’m sure. People who’ve been in this kind of relationship probably feel the same way at some point. Yes, he’s the only guy I’ve kissed, slept with, loved…but unlike him, that’s exactly why I know what we have is real. So his answer guts me like a pumpkin on Halloween. The realization that for four years the realness and the love I’ve had for him were not completely reciprocated. My perception on it is miles away from his.
“What if I don’t want to be with anyone else?” I tell him, cursing the croaking in my throat yet again.
His smile’s gone now. All the way. His eyes are big and blue, and even via Facetime I can see the moisture coming up in them.
“Please, T. This’ll only work if we both do it.”
“Both do what? Break up?”
“No. I want to try an open relationship.”
“Why?” I spit out, swiping at my cheek to get rid of all evidence of the knife in my heart. “If you want some other girl, just cheat on me. Make this easy.”
“I don’t want some other girl.” There he goes, sighing again. “I want experiences. But I’m not going to commit myself to anyone except you.”
“So you want permission to sleep around and party and hook up, but still keep me in reserve for when you’re ready to settle down?” I let out a juicy yet hollow laugh, but it gets sucked away when he immediately nods.
“Yeah, that’s what I want.”
The uncontrollable sobs that I was suppressing? Um, yeah, those are all gone. Now all that’s rolling through my gutted stomach is hellfire, and everyone parked in this lot better make sure they have insurance to cover my explosion.
“You rat bastard! How in the hell can you say that to me with a straight face? If you don’t want just me, then you can go straight to hell and make sure you take the jackass who gave you this idea in the first place with you. Your nutsack is so damn lucky I’m not there to kick it so hard that it pops out of your mouth. And stop laughing at me—this is not funny, you dumbass. Oh, and you can take this useless piece of shit back. It obviously doesn’t mean anything.”
I stick my finger straight up at his dumb face, showing him the promise ring he gave me when we graduated three months ago. It’s located on the very convenient bird finger, since it was too big for the finger it was meant for.
“T, it means the same thing it did when I gave it to you.” He tries to peek around my finger through the screen. “I told you, I don’t want to do this unless you’re in it too.”
“What?”
“Open relationship. That doesn’t just mean that I go out and have fun. It means you do too.” He pauses while I take my hand out of the shot. “I want you to have fun.”
“With other guys.”
“Yeah. But…keep your heart for me. I’m letting you keep mine.”
I’m so confused and emotional that a dizzy spell hits me, and I clutch the wall of the building before sliding down to the ground. “How…how long do you want to do this for?”
“Till we’re done with college.”
“Four years?”
“Give or take a few months.”
Four years. I stare back at Eli with who knows what the bloody hell expression on my face. It seems so ludicrous that it makes me want to just end it right here and now. I feel like this offer came from left field, and I wonder what else I’ve been so blind to lately.
“What if…what if I don’t want to?”
His shoulders lift up. “I imagine we’ll continue like we have been. But I might end up hurting you. You might end up hurting me. I don’t know when it’ll happen, but I think that it will. If we do it this way, then we still trust each other. We still keep our hearts safe.”
Safe? I don’t think my heart has ever felt less safe than it does right now.
“Can I…I mean…Eli, I still love—”
“You can think about it.” He smiles, and it’s the smile he uses when he’s being caring and unselfish. I know that smile, because I’ve seen it so many times before. But now I’m thinking that maybe it’s not so selfless after all.
“Hey!” I hear from one of the above windows. I turn up and see Liz sticking her head out, her long blond hair dangling in front of her face. “Call him later, please! We’re waiting on you!”
I wave up at her. Then a hairy arm snags her around the middle and her high-pitched giggle bounces off all the cars in the lot, pelting me with waves of first-time dating happiness. Something I feel every moment I’m with Eli. Minus this one.
So even though I’m mad, I don’t want to lose him either.
“I’ll think about it.”
“ ’Kay. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you.”
I can’t say it back. Not tonight. “Bye.”
He swipes the end button first, and I stare at the screen till it goes black. Then I stare a little more.
When I finally get past the What just happened? mental state, I push up off the ground and climb the stairs to the fifth floor, where Liz and Landon are so not missing my company. They aren’t kissing, but they are resting against the wall in the hallway, arms touching, fingers intertwined. She takes off his baseball cap and puts it on her head, and he whispers something funny in her ear. I notice him squeezing her hand more than once, and I feel sadness and loss mix with jealousy, creating the unbelievably hard-to-take longing sensation I am now forced to deal with. I can’t find it in me to smile, to laugh, to be the outgoing friend that everyone expects me to be because that’s always who I am. Can I be the party pooper for one night? I’d really like to be that person.
Landon swings the hat around on Liz’s head, leans in, and gives her a kiss to her lips. I clear my throat after twenty seconds. They both look at me with dazed smiles on their faces.
“Done with the phone sex finally?” Liz teases, and I find the fake happiness I keep in store for occasions like this. Haven’t had to use it in a while.
“He’s got great stamina for a guy in his sexual prime,” I joke. Liz laughs while Landon shakes his head, then he turns the doorknob to his apartment. I don’t have to wonder why they were waiting out in the hallway for long, because a lovely—if slightly off-key—voice fills up the hall the second the door opens.
“She Was There” from The Scarlet Pimpernel. It’s the one I’ve been practicing for the school’s next production. They gave me the sheet music with my acceptance letter, and nothing eases my mind more than sitting behind a piano. It’s exactly what I need now.
Landon knocks softly on the wall, and the door unexpectedly hits me in the hip on its way shut. The owner of the gorgeous voice stops midnote and turns to look at all of us in the doorway. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a guy genuinely blush that I can’t help but grin and adore it a little. Even though I’m feeling so empty right now.
“Wow,” Liz says, her small mouth agape. “Keep singing.”
The guy lets out a tiny laugh and looks at Landon. “Sorry, didn’t expect company.” He sets his sheet music down and readies himself for actual conversation. Liz plops down on the fragile-looking coffee table that I’m surprised doesn’t buckle underneath her enthusiastic ass.
“But you sounded so good.”
The guy looks at each of us in turn, and when he gets to me, he totally stops there. I must not be hiding the effects of the not-breakup talk as well as I thought if a stranger can see it. I hold his eyes, determined to not let it ruin any first impression I might make on him. Instinct tells me Liz wanted me to come here tonight so I can get to know Landon’s friends because he’s going to be aroun
d for a while. Third wheel always sucks.
“I…um…,” he says, finally dropping his gaze back to Liz. When he does, I notice a keyboard in the corner of the room.
Perfect. So, so perfect.
“I don’t quite know the notes yet, so it’s just…a work in progress.”
I plop my butt on the stool behind the keyboard and settle my hands on the keys.
“The Scarlet Pimpernel, right?” I ask, and then start playing the song. He shakes his head, but not to tell me no, more like to clear it of whatever thoughts he had up there. Probably Who is this crazy girl?
His voice is seriously gorgeous, and for three minutes and seven seconds, the song, his voice, and the notes are the only things that go through my head.
Chapter 13
PRESENT DAY
My best friend is full of some godawful advice. This is for sure the last time I’m listening to her. Though I might’ve told myself that about the last serving of advice she dished up.
“My skin looks green,” I say to my sickly reflection. I look like I’ve been dropped in a vat of acid while wearing a bright yellow prom dress. Liz pokes her head over my shoulder, her blond hair and pale skin looking way better next to the yellow dress she said was the “perfect thing for tonight!” Yellow is happy, confident, perky, and sweet.
Since when did cowardly yellow mean confident? I should’ve backed out right there.
My nose wrinkles and I stare at Liz’s reflection with utter distaste and hopelessness.
“It’s not so much green as it is…” She tilts her head, like she’s not sure what color to describe the shade my skin has taken on. When she doesn’t come up with a suitable adjective, she bunches my newly cut hair and pushes it on top of my head. “Maybe if you do it up?”
“I’d have a better chance if I was naked.”
“Well, I suggested that first.” She grins and walks back to my messhole of a closet, while I frown at myself in the mirror. Actually, being naked didn’t work either. I thought that signal was about as subtle as a billboard, but apparently it was not a big enough sign to tell him that I’m ready.