Remember Us

by Lindsay Blake

  Last week I pushed my cocktail hour to four instead of five, today I made it three. We were only there for one more day, and Mama was living La Vida Loca. I used to be such a teetotaler, but it was tiring.

  So here am I to live a little. C’est la vie—I’ll have no regrets.

  Reese

  I barged into the room sometime after midnight and sat on the massive pile of blankets.

  “What, what? Stop. Zombies, I kill you.” Ben thrashed his arms as I turned on the lamp.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I kill you dead.”

  “The zombie apocalypse happened while you were asleep. I saved you, and you’re welcome. So now it’s time for a wee tête-à-tête.”

  “Did you use a bazooka?”

  “A hand knife. We need to chat.”

  “Really, there’s no other moment we can have this conversation?” He rubbed his eyes.

  “No.” I slipped my feet under his covers. “Ben, it was too much, too soon.”

  “And by it, you mean…?” He tucked another pillow under his head.

  “Okay, here’s the thing. Dream Proposal Scenario 1: My best friend wakes up and realizes he’s madly in love with me and proposes out of nowhere in the middle of the street, in the middle of a laugh, in the middle of doing what we do best—simply enjoying each other. I cry and hug him and can’t stop saying ‘yes.’”

  “That is beautiful indeed. Should I be taking notes?”

  “Maybe. Okay, or Dream Proposal Scenario 2: My best friend wakes up, realizes he’s madly in love with me and plans a surprise midnight picnic at the top of a mountain, or at the beach, or in Central Park and tells me I am the best part of his life and he never wants to be apart from me again in this lifetime. He loves me, he wants me, will I walk with him forever? I cry and hug him and can’t stop saying ‘yes.’”

  “Right. Do all girls think about it this much? I’m starting to feel worried. Or maybe it was the curry I ate for dinner.”

  “Here’s the kicker. Dream Proposal Never: After barely talking to me for months, my best friend surprises me by showing up to support me after my Dad was sick (yay!) and proposes in front of thousands of screaming strangers. My instinctive response is tears and immediate flight.”

  “It would have been awkward, except I barely noticed since I had the Cubs distracting me.”

  “I didn’t want his proposal. I wasn’t scared or angry or happy or sad. I wanted to run away.”

  “You did run away.”

  “So, what should I do?”

  “Reese, I can’t tell you that.”

  “Oh, but you can.”

  “Well, first of all, you could start where most people start—dating.”

  “Don’t be coy, little man. We are light years past dating.”

  Ben grinned. “I figured I should at least give it a shot.”

  “So, where do we go from here?” Impatience percolated from each syllable.

  “I mean, sure, if it were me, I’d be ecstatic to wake up next to Charlie’s golden face every morning for the rest of my life. But that’s me. You need to ask yourself if Charlie is it.”

  “How do I know?”

  “Well, all Oprah and I are saying is this—if you can see yourself with Charlie forever, then marry him. If you think you won’t run out of things to talk about fifty years from now, then marry him. If you can get into a fight with Charlie and come out on the other side stronger, then marry him.”

  “When did you become so wise?”

  “Sugar, I was born this way,” he said with a Southern drawl. He changed his tone and added, “And if you can look past Blake and where that might have gone.”

  I willed my expression to remain noncommittal, even if my heart skipped the smallest beat with the mention of his name.

  “Keep it simple, Reese. Go find a quiet place and ask yourself the hard questions. For once in your life, don’t make this dramatic.”

  “Ouch.”

  “The truth hurts, baby. Also, don’t ever wake me up at this hour again.” He folded back into his covers. “Oh, and sis?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you. You’ll make the right decision.”

  So I said yes.

  Charlie had given me the key to his room, and I galloped inside around 2 a.m., expecting to have a long conversation. He was dead to the world, so I poked him repeatedly and said, “yes” in as many languages as I could remember, which only consisted of “yes,” “si,” and “oui,” but I figured it would be good for our later retellings.

  Yes, I would marry Charlie.

  Yes, I would finish the story we’d started together oh-so-long ago.

  Yes, I would follow him to the ends of the earth—hadn’t I shown that already?

  Yes, I wanted this.

  Yes, I was being true to myself.

  Yes, yes, yes—this was the only answer.

  The more I said it, the more sure I grew. Yes, of course. The irony it took me half a day to sort it out was not lost on me. I had time to roll my eyes at myself between one more prod and “yes” before Charlie launched himself at me with tickles.

  “This is my vision.” I spoke quietly, since his face was inches from mine. “One day next week let’s drive up to the peak of a mountain and say ‘I do’ in front of the clouds and wind and a handful of our closest friends.”

  “You haven’t had enough time on the road of late?” He tapped my nose. We’d been engaged six hours, and I was loving every minute of it. Every hour with Charlie was another grand adventure, and he had whirled me to a quaint café first thing this morning. The other Hamiltons were running around Chicago seeing all the sights in their last vacation day, and Charlie was all mine.

  I clasped the warm latte and held Charlie’s gaze. “Okay, right, let’s wait two weeks. The Rockies? The Alps? I’m happy with either. Or the Himalayas, we’ve never been there.”

  “Does Ireland have any mountains?” he said, his voice a cool neutral.

  “I don’t know, we can ask.” If Ireland had a Mt. Rushmore… I felt my face flood carmine.

  “I thought it might be nice to have our wedding in Ireland, since it’s our place. And then it’s easier for your friend Blake to come.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I looked away.

  “Reese, is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “What, are you jealous?”

  “I mean, just because my fiancée and her family spent the last two weeks jaunting about with some guy I don’t know, just because you’ve apparently been friends with him for three years, and I’ve never before heard one word about him, just because he looks at you as if you are the light of his existence. So yes, I have my questions.”

  “Charlie, you and I weren’t together. Nothing happened. I mean,” I fiddled with the end of his shirt, “it doesn’t matter.” I took a sip of my drink to avoid his gaze.

  “Reese?”

  “Whom should we invite to our vows? Right now my whole list consists of Ben, whom I have dibs on as my person of honor, BTW.”

  “What? No way. Ben is my main man. You can’t take him from me.”

  “I have embryonic rights, dude. Step down.” I couldn’t hold my smile.

  “We’ll rock, paper, scissors it later, but for now, I’ll tell you my vision—pizazz and piles of it.” He tugged at my hair.

  “When you say ‘pizazz’ you scare me.”

  “Reese, we are only going to do this once in our lifetime, and we need it to be a showstopper.”

  “Now, when you use the word ‘showstopper,’ you mean…?”

  It turned out Charlie hoped for next year in Europe or Australia. I liked the idea of something sooner and although I couldn’t say it, I was thinking of my dad. Even though he was out of the woods, his recent scare left me skittish, with the need to live at 120 miles per hour, cramming in moments as if they were going to expire.

  “You know you are more perfect than I remembered.” His face was beautiful.

&nb
sp; “What did you remember?” I murmured, frozen.

  “I remembered you were scrappy in a way I’ll never understand, but forever admire. I always want to keep you close.”

  “Scrappy, huh?” I sank into his gaze.

  Charlie always said his first memory of Ben was the two of them fighting over a baseball. It was Charlie’s ball, but Ben wouldn’t give it back to him, wouldn’t let go. Charlie ran and jumped on him, and in response, Ben punched him right in the face. Charlie grabbed his hair, and that’s when our mothers walked in to their cries. Ben launched into his side of the story right away, and when they looked at Charlie, he couldn’t find the words to explain the injustice. That day, Charlie got a time-out and Ben got the baseball. I believe we were all six at the time, and the two of them had been best friends, brothers ever since.

  I don’t remember that day.

  He said his first memory of me was probably two years later—the year I loved wearing dresses. I do remember that day. Bernice was taking me out for the morning, and I’d dolled myself up in an offensive purple ensemble. I sat on the porch steps, waiting, and the boys taunted me as they rode their bikes up and down the driveway.

  “Stupid boys.” I moved to stand on the bottom step.

  “You’re not supposed to say stupid.” Ben looked hurt.

  “You are. You’re mean and stupid.” I moved to the edge of the driveway.

  “You’re only mad because we’re starting a club, and you can’t be in it.” Charlie stuck his tongue out at me.

  “We are?” Ben biked to Charlie’s side, and I heard him whisper, “We should let her in. She’s cool.”

  “No, we can’t. Only boys are allowed.” Charlie offered me his best look of superiority.

  I was in the middle of the driveway by then, hands on hips. “Girls are better than boys.”

  Charlie zipped over to where I stood, and stopped an inch from me. “Says who?”

  “Says everyone, ever.” I jabbed his bike with one hand, and his shoulder with the other. He was caught unawares, and we both fell over in a heap.

  “Reese Mae Hamilton, get your tiny bum over here right now.” Mom glowered from the porch. “And you boys, go bug Leah. I don’t have time for this. Go now.” My dress ripped as I extricated myself from our pile. I kicked his bike with my shiny black shoes before walking away.

  We fought off and on for the next few years and enlisted Ben as our moderator. It was only when we found photography that we found our friendship too.

  “Uh huh, our mothers called us Trouble 1, Trouble 2, and Trouble 3.” Charlie’s voice brought me back to the coffee shop. “But I knew the truth. I was the charming one. Ben was the smart, funny one.” He pressed his head next to mine, filling my breaths with hints of coffee. “And you, Reese, you are the wonderful one.”

  I’d memorized the pattern of the streaks through his eyes ages ago—since when did I feel shy meeting his gaze?

  “Reese, you are the strongest person I know.” He reached for my hand.

  I cleared my throat. “So we’ll come back to the date question sometime next week.”

  “You know I’ll do anything in the world for you, Reese?”

  “So I’ll meet you in Calgary on Saturday.” I grinned.

  “I only want bells and whistles and a little bling because you are the kind of girl who deserves the whole world. You know that, right?” He kissed the side of my head.

  “And I only want one little mountain, which I’d say is pretty low-maintenance of me, all things considered.” I cupped his face, and he laughed.

  “Reese, I never imagined a girl as out of my league as you would ever see me, let alone date me, let alone love me, let alone marry me. You’ve made me,” he paused and kissed my right cheekbone, “the luckiest man,” kiss on my forehead, “on the entire planet,” kiss on my neck. He pulled back, and I couldn’t meet his look, but my heart pounded in time to the music playing above us. “And, I want to catch you up to speed on the shooting schedule. I have to fly back to London tomorrow and we should figure out if you can get on the same flight.”

  “I need to fly out of Omaha.” I offered him a rueful smile.

  “Reese, what are you talking about? It’s logistically easier on every level.” He tapped the table with his thumb, a telltale sign he was on the verge of annoyance.

  “Some of my stuff is still at Dad’s. It wouldn’t fit for the trip.” I bit my lower lip.

  “Fine, we’ll ask your parents to ship it. I’ll buy you anything you don’t have.” His grin squeezed the parameters of my heart. “Reese, I need you there. I’ve missed working with you.”

  I was distracted by the atramentous places in his eyes, flecks more familiar to me than my own face.

  Charlie stroked my cheek. “I should have told you a long time ago how much I loved you, and I’m sorry I never did. I should have told you every day. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what else, even after all these years, lay unspoken between us.

  Blake called the hotel a couple of times, but I never called him back. I couldn’t. I’d hurt him, and I didn’t know how to fix it, how to fix any of it. But the next morning when we were set to leave, he showed up at the hotel with a fancy bottle of champagne.

  “To celebrate you two.” He handed the bottle to Charlie and avoided my gaze.

  “Let’s find you a girl here in the States so we can go on double dates.” Charlie slapped him on the back, and my insides cringed.

  I pasted a smile across the lower region of my face as he hugged Bernice and shook Charlie’s hand, then Dad’s. Ben pulled him into a hug and pounded him on the back.

  And then there was only me. I saw him through a tunnel, and as he went in for a sideways hug, I became increasingly aware of our curious audience. I shook my head. “I’ll walk you out.”

  We ambled down the street in a quietude he broke first. “I considered dramatics with a nice midnight picnic, a tale of love where I got on my knees, proclaimed you were the best part of my life, and begged you to give me a chance. I didn’t mind the embarrassment of it, but I now fully see Charlie has your heart. I didn’t believe it before.” He stopped and looked at me, daring me to disagree.

  “Blake.”

  “But I’ll do the midnight picnic thing if it will make a difference.”

  “Blake.”

  “Reese, you could go on a date with me. One because you promised. I know he has your heart, but maybe—”

  “Blake, stop.” I forced the words out of my mouth.

  “Reese, please.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Please.”

  “I can’t.” The whisper scraped my throat. “I’m sorry.”

  “Then goodbye, Reese.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t forget all the things we talked about, about how great you are, all on your own.”

  “Blake.” I looked down. “We can still write?”

  “No, we can’t.” He shoved his hands inside his pockets. “Not right now. That’s not how this works. Right now I can’t be ‘just friends’ with you.”

  “That’s dumb.” Tears pricked my eyes though I knew he was right. “I care about you, I do.”

  “Then give me a chance? Reese.” He leaned and whispered in my ear. “Reese, you know we’d be great.”

  “I can’t.” The words came from somewhere else, someone else who was demolishing this moment. “I promise I care about you. But I can’t be with you.”

  “Right.” He stepped away. “You’re engaged to Charlie.”

  Despite myself, I pulled him close, covering my grief with a hug. I shouldn’t feel so sad, couldn’t acknowledge what it might mean. So I held him, in that strange place, with the mad swirl around us. For a minute, two, I lingered in the what ifs between us. He smelled like laundry detergent, felt like the only goodness I’d ever known.

  “Reese, I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay, bye.” My voice sounded callous, but the ache i
n my throat went deep. We watched each other for a moment longer and smoothed our expressions into something impartial. “I can’t wait to read your bestseller.”

  He kissed the side of my head and walked away.

  Choosing to pretend was the only answer I saw, the only way any of it made sense. I could feign I hadn’t liked him, not even a little. Pretend we weren’t on the cusp of some wild and unexplored universe the day Charlie arrived. Act as if I hadn’t found scribblings from him in the back of my notebook, which I’d fallen asleep reading and re-reading the night before.

  It started with nothing really, unless you count an unintentional brush on the back of the hand followed by a sideways, rather ungraceful tumble toward her lap. I’d grabbed the bus on Synge Street, with the Lantern Centre opposite, and I was very, terribly late.

  She had eyes that flashed, a sea of fire and storm, and I couldn’t catch much else because after my murmured apology, she looked away. I know I didn’t mean to choose a seat with her sublime profile in view, but I did and I have often wondered if that made all the difference.

  From my vantage point, on the aisle seat and three rows back, I could see the impatient way she brushed her fringe aside and the straight line of her shoulders. She had a curious air about her—the way she looked out the window, inspecting each passing street as if it were her first time in the city.

  I closed my eyes and forced myself to think about the lecture I’d recently attended on Modern British Literature. Wordsworth, now there was a fellow worth noting. I’d almost brought myself to the field of daffodils when I heard the insistent rustling of papers, zippers, and more zippers. She fished out a city map.

  “Where is it you’d like to go? I can help you.” I kept my voice neutral, friendly. In all my retellings of this story, I would keep it glib, make myself sound noble.

  She met my gaze with a bold, quiet stare.

  When it came, her voice surprised me.