by Sierra Hill
Before I can think twice, I lean down and place a chaste kiss on her forehead. I may linger a bit, taking in her tropical scent. Just then, the cashier calls us to the front to take our order. I place my hand on the small of her back and gently press her forward.
After we’ve both ordered, we move to the end of the counter to await our orders. Kylah stands next to me, but turns her head, moving the hair out of her face as she smiles up at me, her eyes bright and beaming.
“Thanks, Van.”
“For what?” I ask.
“For understanding me. For being my friend.”
5
Kylah
Four Weeks Later
Returning to school after my week long break was a difficult transition – maybe even more so than my first week of school. I felt a longing – and a loss – that I’d never felt before. Homesickness, sure. But this emotion was different. And it was all due to Van.
I’d made a decision on my travel back to California. Even though it would likely kill me, I’ve decided that it is better to have Van as my friend than not to have him in my life at all. So friend-zoned it is. At least if I had to suffer with this achy longing I felt every moment of every day, I’d still have him in my corner.
Just not my arms. Or my bed.
Over the last four weeks since I’ve been back at school, he’s proven to be an awesome friend. It’s amazing how close we’ve grown through our texts, emails, phone calls and various other exchanges we’ve had. We’ve talked about everything. I’ve shared more personal details with him than any of my other friends – even my roommate Sienna. Well, with the exception of that tiny fact that I’m still a virgin. Whether intentional or not, we’ve steered clear of the sex topic altogether and avoided anything of a sexual nature. Probably a wise thing because I think I’d die of embarrassment if we got to talking about him and his girlfriend.
For example, when he returned last weekend from his visit to New Mexico to see Lyndsay, Van was specifically vague about details related to the time they spent together. Apparently I’m a masochist though, because I wanted to know everything they did together. Is that creepy? Yeah, probably.
Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately for me – Van was tight lipped about his weekend of love, offering very few details and only yes or no answers when I tried to pry deeper. Maybe that’s a typical guy thing, I don’t know. With my sister, she’s always been loose lipped about spilling the beans about her torrid affairs. I guess it makes me respect Van even more that he’s not willing to share all the intimate details of his love life with his girlfriend. That says a lot about his character.
Yet, the jealousy dwelling inside me, not knowing what they did together, is eating me up. There’s absolutely no reason I should be envious or feel betrayed over his relationship with Lyndsay. It’s illogical and stupid of me, really. He’s been dating her for years and has only known me a little over a month. But that doesn’t stop the hurt whenever he says her name – which is fairly often in conversation. It just proves that he’s consumed with thoughts of her, and I’m simply consumed by him. Every single waking hour and in my dreams at night, Van is with me. I’m so pathetic.
In fact, it may be nearing the point of obsessive. I think I’ve become a bit of a stalker, following him on Instagram, where really rarely posts anything other than basketball-related updates. And Lyndsay’s account is private, so I can’t see what she posts on her page. We’ve also added each other on Facebook, but again, Van isn’t great with social media. Just a few quotes here and there and lots of shared videos – some of which I find rather humorous that we talk about when we chat on the phone.
The first time he called me was one night three weeks ago. We’d been texting throughout the day and the conversation had veered into some deep territory about feeling anxiety over life and school and family. That is something we share in common. Although, he seems to have a better grip on it than I do. My shortcomings are very visible, where his are tightly guarded and well-hidden from the general public.
Anyway, I’d asked him via text what weighed on him the most. And his response was:
Not measuring up.
Whoa. I had just started to type out a response back when the phone rang in my hands. It surprised the heck out of me and I just stared at it incredulously for several seconds in disbelief. Like it was some prank. Because honestly, it wasn’t often that I received phone calls. My two best friends from high school were now in different schools and leading their own new lives in college. And my sister had already called me earlier in the day, so I knew it wasn’t her. My mom was off doing something with her new boyfriend, John. And Cade…well, suffice it to say, he never called me.
So I answered the phone with a circumspect tone in my voice.
“Hello?”
I was already aware it was Van because his name popped up on the display.
“Hey. It’s me.” He stated for the record.
“Hi,” I responded, a big cheesy grin plastered across my face. I’m such a sucker for this guy. My insides turn all gooey at the sound of his voice, like the way a marshmallow melts over the heat of a campfire. “What’s going on?”
I can hear his keys jingling in the background, and then the electronic dinging noise generated from his keys in the ignition. He’s obviously going somewhere or coming from.
“I just got done with practice,” he explains, as if he could read my thoughts. “And I didn’t want to leave you hanging. I feel the need to clarify my last text.”
The sound of his deep breaths had me vividly imagining what he looks like at practice. How he pushes his tall, muscular body up and down the court; running, sprinting, jumping. The sweat pouring down his chest. Crap. I needed to stop this train of thought otherwise I was liable to self-combust.
“Okay…so tell me. Who do you think you’re not measuring up to?”
Someone meeting Van for the first time would never believe that he suffered from any insecurities. He just exuded coolness. Like nothing ever fazed him or ruffled his feathers. Never once had I heard any of Cade’s friends or teammates say a bad word about Donavan Gerard. He was a class act in every way, both on and off the court. Van was always thoughtful, hard-working and considerate of his teammates.
Van heaved a deep sigh, seeped in frustration. “I don’t know…everyone, I guess. My parents are at the top of the list. I feel this incredible pressure to do well for them, to make them proud, you know? They’ve been dealt a shitty hand with my brother – the financial problems, the physical demands – all of it. I don’t ever want them to worry about me or be a burden to them. They have enough to deal with.”
I slouch down on my bed, the pillows bunched behind my head as I burrow in and get comfortable. Hearing him open up to me sends a thrill down my body, even though we’re talking about some pretty heavy stuff. It feels good to know he considers me a trustful ally to share these personal thoughts with.
I’m genuinely outraged by his confession. “How could you not make them proud, Van? I mean, you’re an All-Star basketball player on a Pac-12 team. You’re intelligent and have a brilliant future ahead of you. And to top that off, you’re a genuinely kind person. What parents could ask for more than that?”
I’m not sure if I pushed him too far or said something wrong, because there was a really long pause. In fact, it went on so long I had to jump in to make sure he was still on the line.
“Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Thanks for that, Ky. But that’s not all…it’s…well…”
“What is it?” I prompt.
“Shit,” he cussed, causing me to jerk my shoulders back into the pillows behind me. It’s rare that he swears out loud. At least, I haven’t heard him curse much. “The thing is…God, this is hard to admit. But I’m not sure Lyndsay is…I don’t think she’s interested in being with me anymore.”
This drew a loud gasp from my throat. Holy crap. Van had no idea what those words did to me. I felt an overwhelming sor
row for his obvious heart ache over this. That was my first reaction. The second is difficult for me to admit even to myself. The jealousy lessened its tight rein over me, opening up like the wings of a butterfly that’s been swaddled in the confines of its cocoon.
“We got into a huge argument last weekend. I left without even staying the night. I confronted her about something I’d been holding back on for a while and she just blew up. Told me to leave. So I left her apartment, drove around for a little while and then went back because I couldn’t drive all the way back to Tempe without finding out what was going on with her. When I got back to her apartment, she wouldn’t even let me back inside. She just said she couldn’t deal with it then and told me to go home. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do? Make a scene? Tear down the door?”
“Oh, Van. Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. That had to have been awful for her to treat you that way, especially after all this time together.” Even as I choked out the words, I knew they sounded lame. Who was I to make commentary on long-term relationships? Or lover’s quarrels? I’ve never even had a boyfriend. I literally had no clue what it felt like for him. But it didn’t stop me from adding, out of morbid curiosity.
“Have you spoken with her since?”
Although I can’t see him, I instinctively know his head is bent forward and his eyes are closed. The sound of his breathing comes through the connection, slow and easy. I want so badly to be there for him, to wrap my arms around him and just hug him tight. It kills me that he’s feeling so down. I wish I could find the right words to say that will make it better. But I can’t. I have none to offer.
Plus, I’m not the one who has what he wants or needs right now. Lyndsay holds all the cards.
“She called me yesterday,” he said and I mentally calculate that it’s now Wednesday. She obviously took her own sweet time. “She apologized, if you can call it that. She said she’s confused and she doesn’t know what she wants. Said that things are just too crazy with school and ball. And the distance makes it even worse.”
I erupt with more indignation than I should probably feel. “But you’ve been doing the distance for years…this isn’t anything new for her.”
He huffs. “Yeah, I know. I said the exact same thing.”
A few seconds lapsed until we spoke again.
“Van.” I say his name like a prayer. Soft. With reverence. A gentle plea. A whispered touch. “Where do things stand between you two right now?”
As horrible as it sounds, the hope in my heart is building with every pass of our conversation baton. Of course I don’t want Van to suffer this type of hurt and heartbreak. As his friend, I should want him to be happy…and at one time, Lyndsay did make him happy. But right now, she’s stabbing his heart out and filling him with despair. And for that reason alone, I hate her. I hate what she’s doing to him. Van is an amazing guy and doesn’t deserve the horrible way she’s treating him.
If I were any other kind of girl – maybe one who was brave and true to herself – I might find a way to confront her and let her know just exactly how much of a bitch she is. Kady would do that. But me? Probably not. Plus, it’s not my war to meddle in.
“God, Kylah. I don’t know. I told her I’d give her time to figure things out. What else can I do? Thanksgiving is in a few weeks and we’ll both be back home in Tucson. So I’ll give her ’til then and we’ll see what happens.”
“So you’re just going to let her have all the control? All the power in this one-sided situation?” I nearly slapped my hand over my mouth, in disbelief that I actually said that with such malice.
An apology is on the tip of my tongue when he says, “I know it seems like I’m a fucking wuss. I suppose I should just tell her to go fuck herself, but I can’t. So if that makes me weak, I guess that’s what I am.”
Kill me now. If I wasn’t already laying down, I would’ve fallen to my knees from the sounds of his desperation. My heart longs to be there for him. To show him she’s not worth it and he deserves so much better. Whether that’s me, or not, it doesn’t matter. He just is too perfect to be shit on like this.
“Van,” I say, the phone to my ear as my hand crosses my chest to rub the spot at my breast bone that aches for him. “I know it’s not much of a consolation, but I’m always here if you need to talk. I may not be able to give any good advice, but I’ll listen. I’ll commiserate with you, if that’s what you need.” I would also be more than willing to learn how to make a voodoo doll and extol some harsh pain in Lyndsay’s keester.
I hear the smile he gives me across the phone connection.
“Thanks, Ky. I really appreciate it. I can’t talk to the guys about this stuff. They’d either make a joke of it and rub in that I’m just pussy whipped, or tell me to just go fuck her out of my system.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, wanting to throw up my hand to offer my services if that’s what he decided to do. I don’t know what to say to that, though. Since I’m not a guy, neither of those things would ever cross my mind as the solution.
“Wow.” Is all I say in response.
“Sorry. I know that sounds crude.”
“No. No, I understand. I think you have the bad end of the stick right now. But you’re handling it the best that you can. And I’m sure that she’ll come to her senses and realize what a great guy she has in you...” He scoffs on the other end of the line but I don’t let him get away with it.
“I’m serious, Van. I know it sounds totally cliché to say it, but if she doesn’t appreciate what she has with you, then she’s off her stupid, mother-trucking rocker. And it’s her loss.”
The loud laugh that fills the line surprised me with a deep resounding vibration that I can feel all the way down to my toes. This is the first real laugh that I received from him the entire phone call.
“Mother trucking? Did you really just use a kiddie version of profanity, Kylah? You are just too damn sweet for your own good.”
Oh great. Here we go with the sweet girl comments again.
“Would you prefer I cuss? And say mofo?”
More laughter and I can picture him doubling over, slapping his knee in a fit of hysteria.
Finally, he seems to catch his breath. “Holy shit, Ky. You crack me up. Do I need to give you lessons on how to curse properly? Here, repeat after me…Fucker, fucker, fucker, fuck, fuck, fuck…”
My snicker turns into full-fledged giggles until I snort out in laughter, tears running down my face. I thrash around my bed, grabbing the pillow and shoving it over my face trying to muffle my sounds. My suitemates are right next door on the other side of the wall and are very studious. They don’t like noise after ten o’clock. Party poopers.
Once our laughter died down, I stretched out on the bed, sighing a contented sigh. Although Van is dealing with a tough situation, it felt so good to laugh with him again and joke around. He makes me feel so…carefree.
“Woo-hoo! Earth to Kylah…come in, Kylah Grace Griffin.”
My eyes snap open to find my roommate, Sienna, staring at me from the foot of my bed wearing a robe, a turban-towel wrapped around head, and a toothbrush dangling from her mouth. She has one hand on the toothbrush handle and the other on her hip, which juts out in her always-sassy stance.
I liked Sienna the moment I met her – the day we became roommates. She’s a small-town girl from Northern Cali who lives a big-city life. In fact, sometimes, she is larger than life. Honestly, she reminds me of Kady, maybe that’s why we get along so well. We’ve definitely found our own groups to hang out with in school, but she’s become an important fixture in my life and a great friend. She’s definitely helped ease my homesickness on more than one occasion.
Sienna knows almost everything about my newfound friendship with Van and hasn’t hassled me about the situation. She’s not stupid – she knows I have the hots for him, even though I haven’t come right out and admitted it to her. Sometimes it scares me even admit it to myself. It gives me a guilt trip to like him so much. Like h
is issues with Lyndsay are somehow my fault because of my attraction to him. Stupid, I know. But that’s how I think.
“Are you coming out with us tonight?”
I give her a blank stare and she huffs out her reply.
“Matt Keene’s party. How could you forget already? We just talked about this yesterday.”
Uh, maybe because I put it out of my mind as soon as we did. Parties hold no interest for me. Where my sister, along with Sienna, love to socialize and go to every party they can, I don’t find the appeal. I’m a wallflower by nature. I don’t drink to get drunk and I find it incredibly boring to be around a bunch of intoxicated nut jobs.
Sienna sits down next to me on my bed, slurping at the remnants of her toothpaste. Gross.
I give her an eye roll to demonstrate my displeasure over her manners before grabbing my pillow and cradling it within my arms in front of my chest. She caught me mid-daydream over Van. A place I would love to return to right about now.
She flashes a stern glare. “I hate to state the obvious, here. But how the hell are you ever going to lose your virginity if you don’t get out and embrace the college lifestyle? Let your hair down and party like a rock star?”
One of the characteristics that I find enduring about Sienna is that she is very supportive and non-judgmental. Maybe that’s because she recently came out as bisexual, I don’t know. But when I told her about my lack of sexual experience, she didn’t make fun of me or exclude me in conversations about her newfound sexual proclivities. Instead, she gently prodded and coaxed me into opening up and sharing about my past and what I wanted in the future related to dating and sex.
What I’ve shared with her is that while I don’t need a boyfriend or commitment, or anything serious, I definitely don’t want to just hand over my V-card to just any one-night stand. Perhaps I’m sentimental, or old-fashioned, but I feel it should be given up to some guy who a) knows what he’s doing, and b) has some stake in the game related to my heart. And now that I know Van, and the way he makes me feel, he’s the expectation the guy has to live up to.
