by Mika Jolie
Lucas nods. “Sex gets in the way.”
I roll the beer bottle between my fingers, listening. When it comes to this burning topic, everybody’s got an opinion and an anecdote to share.
“Cori and Dean are friends.” Cam tips his chin in my direction. “What do you guys think?”
My gaze zones in on Cori, giving her an opportunity to speak first. She remains as quiet and expressionless as a nun’s face.
“Friendship between men and women is not impossible,” I say, one of the few times I’ve spoken tonight.
“As long as there are caveats,” Cori adds.
A hush falls over the table, everyone on standby. You’d think When Harry Met Sally would have already settled this question a quarter century ago, but you’d be wrong. The debate continues to come up again and again.
“Caveats?” I ask quietly, almost to myself.
“Yes.” Cori leans forward, elbows on the table. “Don’t cross the friend zone.” Staring straight at me, she adds, “Ever.”
My mind whirls as emotions thrash through me. Regret. Guilt. An indisputable sense of sadness, because a once-strong friendship has disintegrated. After taking a long sip of courage from my beer, I say, “I disagree.”
Cori tucks a handful of hair behind her ear. Lucas taps his fingers on the table.
“If two people are attracted to each other,” I continue, “there’s nothing wrong with exploring it.”
Cam lifts a brow. On my left, Meredith takes a sip of her wine. Kate slides me a pained look. As if she senses that Cori and I have crossed the line, and shit hit the fan, she sits a little straighter. Lucas gives my sister’s shoulder a light squeeze.
Cori shakes her head. “The friendship will never recover. It’s not worth it.”
My heart sinks. “If the foundation of the friendship is solid, it won’t crumble, even if two friends choose to step out of the friend zone.”
Our friends’ gazes ping-pong between Cori and I.
“Only if both sides are honest going into the FF zone,” Meredith adds.
“FF?” Kate asks quietly.
“Fuck friends,” Lucas says with a smile.
“Then both will know that it’s solely about sex,” Cori says.
For the record, sex with Cori was never only about satisfying a physical need.
Cam rubs his chin. “So, you’re saying the two parties involved should be sure they are on the same page if they choose to step out of the friend zone?”
“Absolutely,” Cori answers. “I’m not saying they need to have a contract, but they should at least have a loose discussion about what it is they’re doing, and what they’re committed to going forward.”
The night when she came over, she attempted to initiate a conversation. But I had been so eager to be with her, I never gave her a chance to voice her thoughts. Was that what she was trying to do? Establish boundaries, expectations?
“Then neither party can accuse the other of using each other,” Cori adds in a low voice.
Is that what she thinks? That I used her to satisfy some sick fantasy of two friends getting it on? The thick silence continues, chilling me.
“Otherwise.” Cori tilts her chin up, meeting my eyes. “There will be emotional fallout, and then the friendship is doomed.”
Regret washes over me in long, slow waves. Each one is icy cold and sends shivers down my spine. “Is that how you feel?”
“Absolutely,” she answers without a beat.
Her words hang in the air like an eagle floating on the wind. Our gazes meet and hold for two to three seconds. An odd feeling cranks over my chest. Exasperation, I decide, and look down at my beer bottle.
No one speaks, everyone’s waiting for my rebuttal. But I stay quiet. This isn’t the time or place for me to convince Cori how her presence in my life—even as only a friend—is a fundamental piece of who I am.
After a long, awkward moment, I down my drink, throw a couple of bills on the table, push my chair back, and rise to my feet. “See you guys back at the house.”
The worst feeling I’ll ever know is sitting next to the person who means the world to me, and I can’t touch her. Trying to spend time with Cori is like playing scratch off. We’re under the same roof, at times in the same proximity, but never close enough, never alone. All day today, Cori and I have managed to co-exist in the house. She speaks to me when necessary. For the most part, she’s managed to avoid being alone with me, giving us zero opportunity to speak about the big elephant in the room.
Us.
Hence, the reason why, when Cam asks Red to go on a few runs with him, I leave the slope early and return to the cabin. This morning, Cori volunteered to babysit Emma after her ski lesson ended. Which means, we’re alone. For the most part.
A chill runs up my spine. Not from the cold outside, but the truth that waits for me inside. I exhale a heavy breath, then open the door.
My eyes are on Cori. She’s lying on her stomach on the floor, her dark hair is loose and spills over her shoulders, legs crisscrossed in the air, deep in a conversation with Emma. Whatever the little girl said made her laugh. The sound of her laughter enthralls me.
A vision of Cori as a mother unfolds before me.
My heart rate kicks up a notch at the thought of Cori holding a baby, soothing her with lullabies, while stroking her tiny back and soft hair.
Our baby.
And that’s when everything hits me, the full reality of my feelings for Cori. When she gives birth, I want it to be my baby, no one else’s.
Holy shit! She’s the one.
My soulmate.
My forever.
My heart stops, then pounds excitedly against my rib cage.
I stand, mesmerized, in a trance, until Emma says, “Auntie Cori, Uncle Dean is back.”
I notice when Cori’s shoulders go rigid. After a long stretch, she rolls to her side, tilts her head toward the door. “You’re back early.”
Her voice is filled with discomfort. She doesn’t want to be alone with me. This truth makes my stomach roll.
“Yeah.” Removing my wet gloves, I set them on the table by the window, then close the door behind me.
“Emma and I were in the middle of an intense game of Candyland.”
We look at each other for a beat, then our gazes slide rapidly away from each other. Hers falls on the board game on the rust colored rug.
I snap my ski boots open, kick them off, and leave them next to the pile of shoes. Then I pad across the floor to where Cori and Emma are sitting. “Hey, Em, I need to speak to Auntie Cori.”
“We’re in the middle—” Cori starts, but Emma is already on her feet. I fucking love that little girl.
“Sure.” She looks us over with all the innocence of a five-year-old. “Are you two fighting like mommy and daddy used to do?”
For a split second, Cori’s eyes widen, then she takes Emma’s tiny hands in hers. “Dean and I aren’t fighting, sweetheart.”
“Okay. I don’t want you to stop loving each other.” Emma smiles, all trace of concern no longer evident. “I’ll be in my room.” She starts to leave then stops. “Oh.” Her green eyes rest on the board game on the floor. “Should I clean up now?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Cori answers, “I’ll clean up.”
“Okay.”
Once Emma’s footsteps disappear, I take off my black puffer jacket and hang it on the hook by the door, then I face Cori. This is our first time alone since . . . our night together. I want to touch her. Kiss her. Bury myself inside her.
“I better clean up,” she says in a low voice.
Drawing on my fine command of the English language, I say nothing. We stand in the heavy silence, staring at each other, awkward as strangers. We always have something to talk about—city or state politics, a novel we’ve read, a movie we’ve seen. Conversations between Cori and I have always been easy, never forced. Even the quiet moments are always comfortable, never strained.
I stand, ro
oted to the spot, heart in my mouth.
Nothing is happening.
Everything is happening.
Our unsettled eyes glance unceremoniously around and try to avoid catching each other.
Tension coils deep inside my gut.
I shift my weight from foot to foot, hoping the blaring quiet will come to an end.
“You went on a date with Brandon?” My voice slices through the silence.
She blows out a breath. “I met with Brandon to let him know we weren’t going to work.”
Hope flutters in my stomach. “Why?”
“There was no chemistry.”
Another lapse of silence sweeps the space. My gaze follows as Cori rearranges the pillows on the sofa. The lack of any audible sound continues to echo in the room. When she starts folding the plaid comforter, I say, “You can leave that there.”
She stops, looks at it, then back at me.
“I slept there last night, and I will tonight,” I say, because it’s important for her to know there’s nothing going on between Meredith and me.
Her gaze roams over my large frame then back to the sofa. “Aren’t you uncomfortable?”
My heart squeezes at her concern. Couches don’t make the best sleeping surfaces, not for a guy with my build. This morning, I woke up with a crick in my neck, and my spine out of alignment, after spending the night on the sofa. I frown. “I’ll survive one more night.”
She nods. Not what I was hoping for, but at least she’s aware I’m not shacking up with Meredith. The discussion suddenly turned to silence, dark and heavy, reminding me of a hovering storm cloud.
“Meredith is nice,” she says quietly.
I nod, not sure where she’s going with this. But she’s right, Meredith is doing her best, considering how I selfishly threw her in a hostile environment. After the initial shock, everyone has warmed up to her, even Cori. “Yes, she is.”
“I should put this away.” She lowers herself to her knees in front of the board game.
I’m quick by her side, squatting in front of her. “I got it.”
“No,” she says a little too quickly. “It’s okay. I got it.”
We reach for the pieces of Candyland together. Our hands touch. My heart rattles. I hold on to her fingers for a second before she pulls away.
“Cori.”
“Dean,” her voice cracks on my name. She closes her eyes temporarily and inhales. Slowly she rises to her feet.
I follow. “We need to talk.”
“About what, exactly? The fact that you freaked out after we had sex, because you thought I wanted more?”
“No.” I rake a hand through my hair. Every muscle in her face is tense, and without a word, she communicates intense mistrust, anger, and hurt. “Yes,” I admit in a rough voice. “I got scared about the baby thing.”
“And you brought Meredith here.”
“I’m an asshole.”
The conversation collapses like a depressed concertina. Cori’s chin trembles, her eyes brimmed with tears threatening to spill. My heart deflates. I wish I could wipe away all the sadness etched on her face.
I know that’s a selfish want.
How can I take away her sorrow, when I’m the reason behind her grief?
She didn’t ask for my stupidity. It arrived like the gift she never wanted.
“Remember that night at Une Pression?”
With a slight nod, I acknowledge the night Cori revealed she wanted to settle down.
“I said to you, if I ever walk away from you, it’ll be because you hand me the scissors to cut the string.” Her voice is strained, empty.
My heart drops. No. Our friendship can’t end like this. “Cori, let me explain.” I take a step toward her. She steps back, standing, arms crossed, as fragile as a spider’s web.
“Do you know what hurts?”
The fire snaps and pops, flinging sparks. The air is full of unspoken words, unformulated guilt. I wait, sick of myself, sick of who I am.
“You’re the person who always used to make me feel special.”
The hurt in her voice layered with absolute steel stabs me to the heart. I drag a hand through my hair. “That’s because you are and will always be.”
“Then how can you make me feel so unwanted?” Her voice cracks again. She lowers her head for a long minute, hiding behind a curtain of rich brown hair. With a heavy breath, she lifts her lashes and meets my gaze. Her expression is dialed to an unbearable sadness that I can’t take.
Sadness because of me.
“Let me explain.”
“Please go.” Her voice is full of decision, a finality.
The temperature in the room sinks, and my heart hitches a ride. All my instincts urge me to cry out to her, I love you. Come sit with me; hold my hand. Eat chips with me. Call me friend. Look into my eyes, connect, because I’ve fallen for you.
The idea we can never be together as lovers or as friends is too much of a strain. When she turns, at last, to face me, there are no trace of tears. Her eyes are narrowed, rigid, cold, hard. In that moment, I know I’ve lost her.
We stare at each other for a long minute as her words seep into my blood, paralyzing my brain. In her eyes, I see she’s speaking her truth, the whole truth, naked, cold, and fatal as a patriot’s blade.
During our friendship, she’s cried on my shoulder countless times. I’ve been her anchor, the one who heals her.
The fact that I’ve continued to hurt her slices through me.
What am I supposed to do now?
I’ve always been the one to stop her pain; now I’m the one inflicting it.
The one who breaks her.
I nod, accepting her decision. In love or not, I can’t hurt her anymore.
And this is our time keeper with a passion for repercussion, because we acted on our emotions and blurred the lines. For over two decades, we’ve been inseparable, stuck together like glue. And poof, just like that, Cori and I are no more.
This is our end.
Cold air washes over the room. Everyone is back from today’s ski adventure. “Everything’s good?” Lucas ask from the door.
“Yeah.” I shove a hand through my hair and nod. “Meredith and I are leaving first thing in the morning.”
“My guy best friends know my feelings.”
TECHNICALLY, LAST WEEK WAS the start of Cori’s absence. But today, my first day back from our disastrous ski trip, is the first full day without her in my life.
The desire to talk to her is on high.
Whatever I do, she’s on my mind. In fact, I find pieces of her in everything I do.
10:00 AM
I stop at our favorite coffee shop and order our usual bulletproof coffee. I should click a selfie with her favorite beverage and send it to her.
Oops! You are not with me right now. I Miss U.
12:00 PM
I have just finished pizza with our favorite topping—anchovies. This topping is the real original topping that came out of Naples. Salty, delicious, perhaps a controversial choice for some, but always a winner for Cori and I.
As I get up to leave, I stop and wait for you.
Oops! You are not with me right now. I Miss U.
2:10 PM
Since I can’t focus on work, I’m reading an article on Simple Things about inding hygge. I find it very interesting and decide to take a pic of the important points. I take a screen shot and scroll to your name. After a long pause, I set the phone back on my desk.
Shit. We’re no longer on speaking terms. What the fuck!
2:20 PM
Rarely do I lose my cool, but today, I almost shouted at Cam when he plopped on my couch with a bag of chips, chewing loudly as fuck.
Fuck! You are not with me right now. My mood is off. I miss U again.
4:00 PM
I am struggling to remember one of my friends’ cell numbers. I realize that I remember about six phone numbers from my long contact list. Yours is one of them.
Why are
n’t we talking again? I Miss U.
4:40 PM
My Google search history of today is recipes with coriander. Countless tabs are open. I want to discuss all the one hundred and twenty recipes that came up on my search.
I shouldn’t have freaked out about getting you pregnant. I shouldn’t have brought Meredith to New Hampshire. Let me love you. I Miss U.
CAM PASSES THE BALL INBOUNDS to me. I make a fast break down the court and pass the ball to Lucas for a wide-open layup.
We take a two point lead.
“Hit the gym, your game is weak,” Lucas says over my shoulder, already in defensive mode.
This is day two sans Coriander. We’re at the local Y in downtown Princeton, engaged in an intense three-on-three basketball game with the Serrano brothers. Cam became buddies with them after he worked with the older brother, Rafa, on the financial part of a pipeline effort to bring clean water to Haiti.
We’re playing the third game of best of three. Each team has taken one game. The losing team picks up the tab at Winberries afterward. My adrenaline is pumped. Cori is not on my mind. This is just what I needed, a physical challenge to release my pent-up energy.
That’s a lie. Cori is right there, front and center in my mind, my heart. She owns me. I wish she was here, sitting on the bleachers, cheering me on, just like Zander’s fiancée, Colbie is cheering her man on.
Cam steals the ball from Max, the younger of the Serrano brothers. He passes the ball to me. I give myself a mental shake, and release a fade away shot. The ball turns repeatedly around the edge of the basket, until it veers away from the net. The sound of rubber hits the polished, wooden floor.
The Serrano brothers have the ball. As they run their offense, we play tough defense and give up nothing. Well, Cam and Lucas are playing tough defense. My body has no spring, no vibrancy. I wipe the sweat sliding down my forehead. My legs are heavy and weak. I’m guarding Zander, the former Navy Seal, who got his leg blown off in Iraq. He’s in a wheelchair, so I have to respect the imaginary cylinder that marks his available space.
Don’t let the wheelchair fool you. The guy is a beast and takes no prisoners. He wheels the chair and bounces the ball simultaneously as he makes a fast break down the court and scores. His two brothers give the usual congratulatory high-five.
