What Are Friends For?: A Friends to Lovers Romance

by Sarah Sutton

  When we got to the car, Dad pulled his cell out of his pocket and began to type out a text. I tried to read his screen. “Is that Mom?”

  “And Elijah. We made a group text.”

  Elijah had a group chat with my parents? I tried to not let that idea weird me out. “What are you telling them?”

  “What the doctor said.”

  “Is Mom freaking out?”

  Dad sent the message and turned to me. “Just about as much as I did when you asked to go to the hospital.” He started the car, kicking the heat into full gear. His hand wavered on the shifter, though, and he didn’t immediately put it into gear. “Your mom called me the other day. She said that you two were fighting.”

  I closed my eyes and groaned. “This is between us, Dad. You don’t need to get involved.”

  “Normally, I’d agree, but she said you told her that you wished you weren’t the only person in her life. We didn’t raise you to talk to people like that, did we?”

  Ugh, I had said that. From him, it sounded horrible. “I’ve just got so much going on, Dad. You have no idea. I—I was just stressed. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Just because you’re stressed doesn’t mean you can lash out at people and get away with it. And just because I’m not at that house anymore doesn’t mean I can’t discipline you for what goes on there.” Dad’s expression was as cross as I’d ever seen on him, voice stern. “Fighting and not getting to the bottom of things is like throwing a rock at a window. It may not break the first time, but eventually it will.”

  “How long did it take for you to come up with that?”

  His lips twitched. “Listen to me. I’m wise. What are you stressed about, anyway? I thought your teenage life was supposed to be exciting and totally amazing?”

  “Ew, don’t ever say it like that again. And it’s a bunch of things.” For a moment I wanted to lie to him, or just not say anything, but I couldn’t. “Elijah and I have been…at odds.”

  “What does that mean? I thought you loved Elijah.”

  “I don’t love him!” I nearly shouted, causing Dad to jump. Way to not draw suspicion, idiot. I forced myself to lower my voice. “We had a fight a few days ago, and I guess I’m still a little on edge from it.”

  I knew from looking at Dad’s face that he was no longer my father; Mr. Lawyer looked at me now, examining every piece of evidence given to him. “What did you two fight about?”

  Now that I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t tell him that Elijah had accused me of being a bad influence, that we’d fought about Terry. I couldn’t tell him that I’d kissed Elijah and that had complicated things. A lot. I couldn’t tell him that I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since. That all my efforts to stop those stupid butterflies and dumb thoughts hadn’t worked. Not even in the slightest.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I asked instead.

  “I’m not going to say the ‘you just did’ dad line, even though I really want to. Of course you can ask me a question, Remikins. I’ll even let you ask me two.”

  “When you and Mom got divorced...” I paused and took a breath, trying to muster up the courage to look at his face, but my eyes kept gravitating toward the dashboard instead. “How did you know you made the right decision? I mean, I know you two always said it was because you fell out of love, but how did you know that you really loved Clarabelle after that?”

  Dad didn’t answer right away. “Where is this coming from?”

  Where? Oh, I’m just wondering if falling out of love is possible, or if I’m going to be stuck feeling this way about Elijah for the rest of my life. “I—I’m just curious.”

  Dad leaned back in his seat and let out a breath, letting the steady hum of the pumping heat fill the void of silence around us. “Remi,” he said softly. “You know it wasn’t because of you.”

  “I know that,” I said honestly. “I just…how do you love Clarabelle differently than Mom? Not that I don’t love Clara, I do,” I rushed to add. “She makes you happy and she’s amazing. I’m just curious. We’ve never really talked about it.”

  He glanced down at where his hands rested on the edge of the steering wheel, trying to find the right words. “Being with Clarabelle…it’s different than being with your mother. The love felt different. It felt warmer, steadier—like I was free to take a deep breath again. Does that make sense? Not that I’m bashing your mother by any means—but it didn’t feel like this. We were at odds a lot. Personalities clashed. She was more outgoing than me, lived life louder.” Dad’s lips twitched into a smile as a wistful expression washed over his features. “At first, Clarabelle didn’t like me very much. We met at work, like you know, but it wasn’t love at first sight. At least, not for her.”

  “Were you a lovesick idiot?”

  Dad laughed. “Yep. I told myself that if I won her affections, I’d love her forever.”

  It felt a little strange talking about this with him, but not in a bad way. Just different. “And if you didn’t win her over?”

  “Then I’d love her forever anyway. I’d just have to try and not be creepy about it. You know, no following her home, no memorizing her commute times.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I’d love her, but I’d let her go and live her life.”

  “And you weren’t willing to love Mom forever?”

  That question sobered the conversation a bit. I could practically feel the humor bleed from the car, my harsh-sounding statement hanging in the air. “It’s not that I wasn’t willing, Remi. Your mom and I grew apart for a while,” Dad said after a moment, voice quieter. “She started her new career, and I got more and more cases at the firm. We just grew into different people. People change, Rem. Evolve. And that’s not a bad thing.”

  I knew that part of the story. Both of them working more and more, losing enough time for each other. Falling out of love.

  “Remi, whatever’s going on, I think you know, deep down, how you’re feeling. Don’t think I don’t know why you’re asking me questions about love. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I know how to read people.”

  There was no objecting to it, so I relented. “What do I do?” I shook my head. “I think I know how I feel, but he doesn’t feel the same.”

  Dad reached out again and pulled me close to him, an awkward hug in his small car. “You’re young, and this is just a season in time.”

  My mind was at war as I settled into his arms. I didn’t want this to be just a season in time—I didn’t like the idea of Elijah and me eventually growing apart—but I also didn’t want to feel this way forever. Like I couldn’t ever take a deep breath. “What if he’s my Clarabelle?”

  I felt Dad’s lips find the crown of my head. “Then I’ll buy you military-grade binoculars so you can watch from afar. Or at least from across the street.”

  I smiled at that before the full realization of what he said hit me. Stiffening in his embrace, I pulled my head back just enough to look into his eyes. “How—”

  Dad reached out with his other hand and tapped my nose. “I know how to read people,” he said again. “And I know my daughter.”

  I settled back into his hug, clinging close, eyes aching. A wave of guilt crashed over me as I realized that this was exactly what Mom tried to do. Coddling was her way of comforting me. I truly was the worst daughter in the world, refusing her embrace but allowing Dad’s.

  Maybe it was because Dad’s hugs weren’t as frequent as hers were, since I lived with her for the majority of the time. Dad’s hugs were a novelty; Mom’s were customary. But no excuses. As I sat there, I tried to think of ways I could be better, make it up to her. She deserved better. Hopefully she’d forgive me for lashing out like I had.

  “Uh, Remi?” Dad asked after a moment.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you ready to go home now?”

  “Yeah,” I laughed and pulled back, wiping my fingers underneath my eyes. I hadn’t even realized the pressure behind my eyes was tears. “I’m ready.”

/>   Dad and Clarabelle both offered to help me with the snowflakes, which I graciously accepted. To heck with Mrs. Keller’s no-cheating rule. By Sunday afternoon, I had a total of sixty-one snowflakes completely finished, and all of us had glitter in our lungs. Dad gave me a zip-up bag to carry them home in, so the inside of his car wouldn’t be Snowflake Dance-themed for the rest of its life.

  My knees were drawn up and my feet rested on the edge of the couch, creating a nice little pocket of space for Harmony to sit cradled in my lap. She kept reaching out and running her fingers over the fringe of my bangs, her grip sticky. “Still no steps, huh?” I asked her, shaking my head. “And here I hoped you’d beat me.”

  “You weren’t walking ’til fourteen months, so I heard,” Clarabelle said from the other end of the couch, watching us with a small smile on her face. “I reckon there’s still plenty of time for her to win.”

  “Shh, we don’t need to talk about it,” I cooed, smiling at the baby in front of me. Harmony blinked her big blue eyes at my mouth before stretching her own mouth to match, her tiny stub-like teeth adorable. “All we need to talk about is her walking. I hoped I’d get to see it.”

  Clarabelle reached over and patted my leg. “You will.”

  Dad entered the living room, stuffing his wallet in his back pocket. “Ready, kiddo?”

  After giving Harmony a squeeze, I passed her to Clarabelle and stood. My insides felt calm for the first time in a long time. The conversation with Dad Friday night had opened my eyes to a lot of things, as well as the idea that peace could come from this situation. Though I felt like I still didn’t fully understand love, I understood it enough to know that I would be fine. I didn’t know what would happen, whether I would fall out of love or deal with this feeling forever, but I knew both of those meant the same thing: Elijah would stay in my life. That was the most important thing. Whatever happened, I could stick it out. It might be hard, but I could do it. As long as I didn’t lose him.

  “I had a great weekend, Dad,” I told him as we settled into the SUV. Dad turned on the heated seats, and they warmed as we drove along. I juggled my bags closer, careful not to squish my snowflakes. “Thank you for talking with me.”

  “Always, Remikins. If you have any more questions, you can call me. You know that.” Dad loosely gripped the steering wheel, his other hand resting on his knee. He looked so relaxed as he drove along, sun visor flipped down, sunglasses on. I didn’t blame him; with all the snow, the sun reflection was killer. He caught me looking. “You know what you’re going to say to your mother?”

  Right. Mom. All weekend, I’d been thinking about a way I could make everything up to her. What to say, how to say it. I almost phoned her Friday night to apologize, but I knew something like this would go over better in person.

  “She deserves a fabulous apology, based off what you said,” Dad scolded, loosening the scarf from his throat. It surprised me that he’d kept it on for so long. “I should’ve stopped and made you get flowers from the supermarket or something.”

  I thought about what Mom could be doing right now. It was Sunday, so she probably wasn’t at work, but she could’ve been in her office. Despite the fact that it was a job, Mom never treated it as such. She loved it too much, and the proof was in her homes. Especially ours. Even though she had an abundance of things—shoe racks, mirrors, empty vases—they had all been placed by a loving hand. That’s what made them just work.

  I couldn’t remember if I’d ever told her that.

  “It’ll be okay,” I said, finally answering his question. “She’s not big on flowers.”

  “How’s Kathleen doing?” Dad asked, setting our conversation on a new course. “She called the other day.”

  “Mom told me she wanted to talk to you about Terry.” I pictured Mrs. Greybeck’s face from the grocery store, pictured her slumped over her computer screen. “She asked about that, didn’t she?”

  Dad let out a little sigh, a crease forming between his brows. “She did. Everything was done by the book, though. Terry got a great deal, all things considered.”

  Yeah, being an accomplice to an armed robbery. “But?”

  “I told her that it was time to wait now. Wait until his sentencing is carried out and he’s back home. Eight months is long, but it could’ve been longer. Much longer.” Dad settled deeper into his seat, shoulders slumping a little. “Fighting and digging for more information where there is none isn’t doing anyone any good, and I told her that.”

  “Do you think you got through?”

  “I don’t know, Remikins,” he said softly. “I just don’t know.”

  Every single time Dad dropped me off at home, I always wondered whether it felt strange for him. Not because he’d have to see Mom—no, they loved seeing each other, and it was weird—but because he came to this house. His old home. This was the house he and Mom had bought together, fresh from the chapel. He helped Mom redo all the bathrooms, pulled up all the carpet to install hardwood floors, even built a shed in the backyard. He’d let Mom keep the house because—his words exactly—“she had more junk.”

  He’d lived in our house for almost a decade. Sometimes I still found stuff of his shoved between couch cushions or in small boxes. Even if it wasn’t something he ever thought about, I always did.

  Dad’s brakes squealed as he pulled up to the snowy curb in front of the house. Though he put the car in park, he didn’t reach for his seatbelt.

  “You’re not coming in?” I asked, looping my arms through my backpack straps.

  “You need to do this on your own,” he said, giving me a stern, parental glare. “You’ve been putting it off all weekend, and you don’t need me to be another distraction.”

  He knew me so well. “I love you, Dad.”

  “Go, go, save your mushy-gushiness for your mother.”

  The snow had turned into slush near the road, and my shoes squelched in it as I hopped out. I made the trek to the house, heart pounding in anticipation. Words I should’ve said immediately sat on the tip of my tongue, ready to fly out the moment I saw her. She deserved more than I’d given.

  I remembered to go around to the back door, leaving my boots outside on the welcome mat. “Mom?” I called, not seeing her figure in the kitchen or the open living room. “Mom, I’m home.”

  “In here,” came her soft reply, and my backpacks thudded as I dropped them. Almost as an afterthought, I hoped that my snowflakes survived the fall.

  I stopped in the doorway of Mom’s office, coming to a standstill. She had her hair wound up into a low bun with several strands escaping, giving it a crazed look. She was in sweats and didn’t have any makeup on, but she looked beautiful.

  Her dark eyes found mine. “How was your dad’s?”

  “I was a brat,” I said immediately, the words coming out in a rush, mixing together. “No, worse than a brat. A jerk. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, Mom.”

  Her eyebrows rose in surprise, lips parting. “Remi—”

  “No, let me finish.” I walked farther into the room until I stood on the other side of her desk, my puffy coat making scratching noises the entire way. “I’m grateful to have a mom like you. A mom who cares about me, who stops what she’s doing to see if I need anything, who always puts me first.” A burning sensation came alive behind my eyes, surprising me. “Even when I’m forty, I’ll always need you to coddle me, Mom. No matter what I say, I don’t want you to stop. And you know, if it’s just you and me for the rest of our lives, then it’s you and me against the world.”

  Mom’s eyes were shining by the time I finished my speech, about to spill over. She stood and rounded the desk. “Well, good, because I intend to coddle you even longer than that.”

  For the first time in a long time, I reached out to her first, wrapping around her frame and holding her tight. My guilt was still there, but the fact that she so quickly forgave me made me realize how truly lucky I was to have her in my life.

  Her chin nudged around m
y hair as she tried to get her mouth free. “Your cell phone is in your bedroom. It’s been going off since you left.”

  “It can wait,” I said, refusing to let go. “I love Elijah.”

  Okay, that hadn’t been in the speech I’d been preparing all weekend, but as soon as the words slipped from my mouth, I realized they were true. I did love him. And maybe it was a love mostly fueled by our friendship—I’d loved him long before we kissed in that closet, just differently—but I knew now that I loved him on a deeper level. I didn’t love him like a brother, but I loved him the way a woman might love her husband after sixty years. Steady, sturdy, unending. And confessing that to Mom was putting everything in the open, exposing the truth inside me. No more secrets. I didn’t hold onto them anymore.

  Mom tried to pull back to look into my eyes, but I held fast. “You love him?”

  “I kissed him,” I said. “We were at a party and blindfolded, so he doesn’t know that it was me, but I kissed him. And I realized that even if he loves Savannah for the rest of his life, it’ll be okay.” I loosened my grip, allowing space to form between us, my stomach starting to ease. “You can still love them even if they’re with someone else. As long as they’re happy.”

  Her office filled with silence as Mom watched me, and I had a feeling that she saw this moment for what it was, too. The thought of confessing such a thing to her before would’ve sent me into a panic, hyperventilating as my honesty came out. Saying those kinds of things out loud to her would’ve seemed corny and cheesy, but now they felt right.

  Her smile seemed a little sad. “That’s a hard thing, though, to love someone who loves someone else.”

  “Good thing I’ve got a great mom to support me when I need it. One who knows how to piece me back together.”

  “You do,” she agreed, pulling me back into a hug. “Yes, you do.”

  We stood there for a while longer, just listening to each other breathe, stuck in a hug that I never wanted to end. In the same weekend, I’d gotten the same strong hug from both my parents. If this was coddling, I would take it. Always.