Gray and Avery are on the couch watching TV. Well, Gray is watching TV—Avery is out like a light. She’s curled up underneath his arm, her head resting against his chest and her legs bent so that her feet are between his legs and her toes are hidden beneath his thigh. Seeing them like that ignites a pang of loss that reverberates all the way through to the center of my core.
Addie snuggles with me like that.
The twins get cold toes. I can’t even count how many times I have sat around with Addie in my arms and her toes under one side of my thigh and Avery stretched out beside us, her toes tucked under me from the opposite direction. I used to think it was weird, but that was a long time ago. Now it’s a familiar act that I somehow feel belongs to me. Suddenly, I miss it.
I push all thoughts of Addie and her toes to the back of my mind, wanting to adopt the attitude I held before I walked into the apartment. I’m too mentally exhausted to manage memories like that. Instead, I look at my best friend and see beyond the smoke screen that is my heartache. He looks content—happy in a way that I’ve never seen before. It’s not something that is expressed in a cheesy smile, or anything like that, it’s just in the way he holds her. Like it’s his job—not his job. His privilege.
“Hey, man—are you coming in or what?”
It isn’t until he speaks that I remember I’m still standing in the doorway. “Sorry.”
“No big. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I answer, discarding my keys and wallet on the coffee table. “What are you watching?”
“Sports Center. You in?”
I gawk at him for a minute as I allow the reality of his current situation to really sink in. “It’s Friday night, you’ve got your girlfriend wrapped around you, and you’re watching ESPN? Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”
He smirks at me before looking down at Avery. He kisses the top of her head and then glances back up at me. “Yeah. I think I have a pretty good idea.”
“You’re disgusting,” I chuckle as I throw myself into the big chair beside the couch. “I would sort of hate you if I wasn’t too busy laughing at the fact that you let her fall asleep.”
“She’s not that bad,” he says with an eye roll. “Besides, she got three hours of sleep last night, there was no stopping this.”
“Three hours? Yeah—I’d say you’ve got two options, O’Conner. Either you’re sleeping on the couch just like that or you’re going to have to pick her up and take her home at the end of the night. I guarantee you she is not waking up.”
“You’re probably right,” he says with a grin. “That just means we can talk about birthday plans while she’s sleeping. It’s next week, remember?” I lift my eyebrows at him, showcasing how ridiculous his question is. “Of course you remember. How silly of me. Why else would a gigantic box be delivered to our apartment today?” he says sarcastically, nodding toward the box that sits beside the front door.
I hadn’t noticed it before and I groan now as I stare at it. “Why must I plan everything out so meticulously all the time?” I complain as I cup my hands around my face.
“So it is a birthday present?”
“Yup,” I say as I look back at him.
“Well I don’t know why you’re acting all weird about it. You’re still going to give it to her, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I reply with a shrug. “Do you think that’s such a good idea?”
His eyes grow wide as his jaw drops. “Dude—I could care less about birthdays. I know you know this. I also know you know that the girls are the exact opposite. In fact, I’ve never met anybody who makes such a big deal about birthdays. Considering the huge bash they threw for your twenty-first, I’d say if you don’t give her that gift, you can kiss your chances of ever getting back together goodbye. I mean, seriously, are you in denial?”
“Okay, okay—you’re right. I know, I know!” I tilt my head back and rest it against the back of the cushion as I stare at the ceiling. “I just don’t want it to make her sad.”
“How do you know it’ll make her sad? How do you know it won’t remind her that you love her?”
“I’m actually thinking it’ll do both.” I put a lot of thought into her gift, this year. Not that I don’t take my time in selecting something for her every year, but I knew that this milestone birthday needed a great gift. I hunted until I found exactly what I was looking for. Actually, I hunted until I found better than what I was looking for. She’s going to love it and I know it. But will that be all? Will she be able to love it and not think about the state of our relationship as it stands right now? Will she be able to look at it without crying?
I don’t want to think about that right now. It doesn’t matter. Gray is right—I have to give it to her, regardless. Aside from the gift, we have a party we have to think about. There are two birthdays to celebrate, after all. “Enough about the gift—I know that they wanted to end up at the pub at some point.”
“Hey, y'all talking plans for next weekend?” Jackson asks, his phone still pressed to one ear in one hand and a plate with two sandwiches in the other.
“Yeah,” Grayson and I answer in unison.
Jack smiles before he speaks into his phone. “Hold on, baby, they’re talking about the girls’ birthday.” Ah. Claire, it is. “Claire’s coming back to celebrate. I’m going to fly her out. It’s a surprise, so don’t say anything. Is it Friday or Saturday?”
“Their actual birthday is on Friday,” I answer. “So I’m thinking we should do a group thing that night.”
“What?” Jack asks, now talking to Claire. He’s pulled away from our conversation only long enough from him to receive instruction from her to hand his phone to me. I take it without question and say hello.
“Hey, Beck. What’s the plan?”
“We’re still deciding. Let me put you on speaker.” I do and, twenty minutes later, we’ve got a dinner destination, a drinking destination, a guest list, and Claire is in the process of creating a private Facebook event by which to invite everyone. “That was easy,” I say, handing Jackson his phone.
“Thanks, Claire,” calls out Gray before Jack disappears into his room. “I’m, obviously, up for being a DD. Are you planning on drinking?”
Grayson, while he was the first in our group to turn twenty-one, doesn’t drink. Ever. Considering what I know about his past and his alcoholic father, I don’t blame him. Those of us who are of drinking age like to go out every once and a while, but we never get too crazy. Even still, we always play it safe and line up our designated drivers before we go out. “I won’t be drinking,” I assure him. “I can be a driver as well.”
“Are you sure?”
“I need to have all my faculties.” For a moment, I imagine what might happen if I’m a little tipsy and Addison is a little tipsy—which I’m sure she will be, considering it’s her birthday and putting any alcohol in her pint-sized body will amount to a lack of self-control. “I don’t think we could stop ourselves from crossing new boundary lines while under the influence.”
“Well, I’m glad this’ll at least put you in the same room as one another. It’s weird how she’s not around as much. I know it’s only been a week, but I’ve been your roommate for three years and the distance between you has definitely not gone unnoticed. I’m not just talking about your mood, either.”
“Gray, we just—”
“I get it. I know why. I’m just saying, if you guys are going to be friends during this separation, or whatever you want to call it, you actually have to hang out. I think this will be good for you guys. Maybe good for all of us.” He shrugs and looks down at Avery. “I know this is something you need to do. I know that you guys are both going through a lot right now—but as your friends, we feel your pain. We want whatever is best for you, but you should know that you aren’t alone.” He looks back up at me and shrugs again, unconsciously expressing his self-consciousness. “We’re here for you guys. Even if that means giving you two an excuse to be in the s
ame room.”
His words mean a lot. I’m actually surprised with how much better I feel having heard them. I didn’t really consider how my friends would play into this, but he’s right—whether Addison and I are a couple or not, we’re still a part of an amazing group of people. Our breakup doesn’t have to break up our circle of friends. Furthermore, we should both be able to invest in our friendships like we always have. “Thanks, Gray. I needed to hear that.”
“You got it. And now that I have you all buttered up, can I ask you for a favor?”
“What’s up?”
“Could I borrow your car Saturday? I need it for my date with Ave.”
“Sure. Where are you going? Off roading? She’s not really into that kind of thing,” I tease.
He shakes his head at me before he begins to explain his plan. As I listen to him talk, I watch as he absentmindedly plays with the strands of Avery’s long hair. Just as I’ve never seen him this happy, I’ve also never seen him this comfortable with another girl before. He hasn’t really dated all that much since I’ve known him. From what he’s told me, there were a few girls in high school, but when he got to college and came to know the Lord, he changed. What he had been looking for in a woman before isn’t exactly what he needs now. I also know that what he was used to giving was also something that he chose to adjust with his new found faith. He’s got a good heart, I think he always has, and I think he was timid about dating because he knew that he needed to do it differently than he had in the past and he didn’t want to screw it up.
But what he has with Avery is almost like destiny. Freshman year, I’m not sure I would have ever put them together. I knew that Avery had a crush on him, but they are different in a lot of ways. Over time, though, the two of them just started to make perfect sense. Both of them mean so much to me and I want nothing but happiness for them. Looking at them now, I see that they’ve found that. I’d bet anything that Gray’s already falling in love. I doubt he knows it, but listening to this date he’s got planned—a birthday date, from a guy who could care less for such occasions—I don’t think his feelings should be labeled as anything less.
I approve of his plan and assure him that my car is his Saturday night. After that is settled, we both fall silent and get lost in sports. It’s not video games, but it does distract me enough that I can escape all the thoughts and worries and decisions that I’ve got whirling around in my head, for which I am grateful. It’s eleven o’clock when Gray scoops Avery into his arms and stands to carry her home. I open the door for him, shaking my head.
That girl can sleep through anything.
I haven’t seen Beckham since Sunday and I hate it. Hate. It. It’s miserable. I know he feels it, too—I could see it in his eyes. This isn’t us. Not talking every day is like a foreign concept to me. It’s like I’m going through culture shock—except for I don’t want to adapt. Sarah and Avery keep trying to convince me that we’ll get used to it and that it won’t always be this hard. The logical side of me knows they are right. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to help me. By distancing himself from me, he’s trying to make this less confusing. He doesn’t want to send mixed messages. I know him. I love him and he loves me and that’s how I know that he’s trying to play his cards right. He’s always been like that—just aware and mindful, especially of me.
But the logical part of me isn’t very strong—not in comparison to the emotional side of me. My heart doesn’t want to be treated like this; my heart doesn’t care if I’m confused or if being in the same room as him, but not being able to touch him, kills me. It doesn’t care—I don’t care how much it hurts to keep from him the thoughts and the tears that I’ve been pouring out into my new journal, and how that pain is only intensified when we’re together, and the broken emotional intimacy of our relationship is obviously felt in the physical space between us—I. Don’t. Care. I want to be around him anyway. I feel like I need it.
I’m an addict. Beckham is my drug of choice. I know that sounds cliché, and I would never have phrased it like that before, but I’ve never been without him before. Now, I don’t know how else to describe it. I want him. Anyway I can get him, I want him. Unfortunately, he won’t budge. At least, not right now he won’t.
Sometimes, I stop and remind myself that he might need the space, too. He probably doesn’t want to be confused any more than he wants me to be confused. He might have initiated this breakup, but I refuse to believe this is easier for him than it is for me. If I admit that, if I let my mind go there, then doubt creeps in—doubts about the depths of his love for me. I can’t doubt that. I won’t. Our future. He said he was doing this for our future and I’m holding onto that. So, sometimes, I force myself to stop being selfish for one second—long enough to remember that he’s going through this, too. I wanted him to be in the driver’s seat, right? And he is. So I guess for now, that means more days without him than with him.
I hate it.
I still haven’t been able to make it through a single yoga session without crying. I’m not really embarrassed about it anymore. At this point I’ve just come to accept it. I’m not sure what it is about the exercise that puts my mind in such a vulnerable state, but I’ve come to appreciate my crying-yoga practice as a therapeutic experience. I am also thankful that Roman simply encourages me to stay and then leaves me be. He doesn’t ask me how I’m feeling when the class is over; he doesn’t ask me to explain the status of my heart when we’re at work—he doesn’t have to. He knows. Or, at least, he knows enough to assume. I appreciate his tact and how he’s always making me laugh.
Our question game from Friday night has become something we do every time we see each other. He, apparently, doesn’t work Saturdays or Mondays; I don’t work on Sundays, so I haven’t see him much in the last few days, but the times when we do run into each other, I’m always learning something new about him. I appreciate this new friendship and the distraction it provides. The timing of our meeting is too perfect for me to not thank God for it, so I do.
It’s Wednesday before Roman and I make it back to Morning Glory for another breakfast. This time I go without argument and with every intention of treating him. Mostly, I’m anxious to hear about Kathryn and the story behind his broken engagement. As we wait for a table, by my request, we keep the conversation light. I finally remember to ask him his last name, Holloway, and he proceeds to ask what mine is.
“It’s amazing what we know about each other at this point and yet we are just now figuring out what each other’s names are,” I laugh as we’re escorted to a booth.
“Addison Jane Grant,” he says as he’s seated. “It’s a very grown up name.”
“You think?” I ask, scrunching my face as I consider his comment. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Does everyone call you Addie?”
“Mmm, it depends. My sister calls me AJ, sometimes. My mom calls me Addie Jane. Then there’s Beckham…he likes to call me Addison.” My voice trails off as I finish my thought and then I reach for my menu, pulling my attention away from Roman and down at my food options. I know what I’m going to get, of course, but I’m hoping my body language will express my desire to change the subject.
“My sister calls me Corny.”
My head shoots up and my eyes grow wide in surprise as a laugh bubbles out of my chest. “You’re joking?” I can’t imagine anyone calling him Corny. With that face and athletic bod—Roman actually fits him far better than I bet his parents ever thought it would. Then again, his sister doesn’t care what he looks like—unlike the rest of the female population.
“Not kidding. I sort of hate it. But I love her more than I hate it so what can I do?”
I’m still laughing when our waiter—his name is Kyle—comes to take our order. Since we both know what we want, we order our meals along with our drinks and then silence settles between us when we’re left to ourselves. I have no more patience, so I just dive right in. “Okay. Kathryn. I showed you my guts, now
you show me yours.”
“That’s kind of gross,” he teases with a smirk. I raise my eyebrow at him and fold my arms across my chest as I lean back against the leather clad cushion behind me. “Alright,” he surrenders. He takes a deep breath and blows out a sigh before he begins.
“I met her my sophomore year of college. We met at a Bible study on campus and became friends right away. She was easy to talk to. Smart. Beautiful. Outgoing. I fell for her before she fell for me, but she came around. Obviously. We dated for the rest of that year and then through our junior year. The summer before our senior year, I proposed and she said yes. She was so excited. I was happy, too; I mean, I thought that was what I wanted—to get married and start a life together with someone.”
I uncross my arms and lace my fingers together as he pauses. “Thought? As in, you don’t want that anymore?”
“No, I do,” he corrects me, leaning forward as he rests his elbows on top of the table. “But I didn’t want it then.”
“So, what happened?”
“It was just too much. I don’t know—it felt forced. I mean, I loved her. A part of me will probably always love her.” He furrows his eyebrows and stares down at his hands and I keep quiet, assuming he’s searching for the right words. “I guess I just felt like I was doing what was expected of me in the timeframe in which I was expected to do it. It’s hard to explain because it felt right and wrong at the same time. Like, right girl, wrong time.”
“Why didn’t you just wait, then? Why did you break up?”
“I thought about it. We talked about it. Man—we talked about it so much," he says, shaking his head. "But for us, there was no breaking the engagement without breaking up. It would have been a huge step backwards—which is what I needed; but that’s not where she was at. Even without the ring, her heart was in the same place and mine just couldn’t match that level. Or it wasn’t prepared to take that next step; I couldn’t make myself ready for everything that came along with marriage.” He runs his fingers through his hair, obviously flustered. Kyle comes back and delivers our drinks. Picking up on Roman’s emotional state, he doesn’t stick around. I don’t blame him. I’m at a loss as to what to do myself.
The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) Page 17