Green: a friends to lovers romantic comedy

by Kayley Loring

  I had never been so sad to set foot on Southern California ground. I loved Chloe and Ethan and was actually looking forward to talking to Chloe about everything, but I wanted Theo. I wanted my friend, and I didn’t know if that person even existed anymore. I truly believed that the only way we could find our way back to what we had when we first met was to totally wipe the slate clean. For real.

  I knew it didn’t seem like it to him, and it didn’t feel good for me, but I was doing it for Theo. Being with me in that way just wasn’t good for him. I didn’t understand why he had gotten so jealous any more than he understood it, but it was exhausting him and it was distracting him from his work. That wasn’t who he wanted to be. It wasn’t what I wanted for him. And I was a mess. I didn’t want him to want me like this.

  That’s when I saw him. Standing there, stiff and firmly planted in the middle of the small waiting area. He wasn’t on the phone, he wasn’t grinning or smirking or smiling in any way. He looked so tired and serious, but still so handsome that I felt myself crumbling inside. He was wearing the olive green bomber jacket, the one that I loved. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to win me over or piss me off by wearing it, but as so often was the case in the past year, he was doing both.

  I stopped a few feet from him and stared at the large envelope in his hands.

  “I filled out the dissolution of marriage forms. Uncontested. I’ll let you file the petition. There’s a six-month waiting period before it’s finalized once it’s filed with the courts.”

  He held the envelope up. I couldn’t look at him. I just kept staring at it. Inside that envelope were the papers that I had once thought would set me free.

  “I know I messed this up. I’m sorry. I don’t regret punching Andrew. I just wish it hadn’t happened in the way that it did. I don’t want to be the guy who messes things up. I want to be the guy who gives you everything you deserve. I need you to understand that this is the last thing that I want, but if it’s what you think you deserve—if what you need is space, away from me, then I want you to have that. Have experiences. Have sex with other guys. I mean, I really don’t want you to do that, but if you feel you have to…”

  I took the envelope from him and stared down at it. “I can’t believe you didn’t send me a baby animal video first.”

  “I only do that for bad news. I figured this would be good news for you.” His voice, his eyes, were cold. I shivered.

  “Here.” I started to remove the ring from my finger, but he grabbed both of my hands to stop me, lowered his head. I let out a little cry.

  “That’s yours. All three of them are yours. Do what you want with them,” he said.

  Hot tears fell from my eyes. I dropped my hands and leaned into his chest. This chest. I could stay here forever if I let myself. Why can’t I let myself?

  I pulled away and started to walk towards the exit, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

  “You’re leaving?” His voice went cold again.

  “I have to,” I croaked.

  “That’s it? Seriously, Gemma?”

  “Sorry I don’t have an elegant speech prepared, I guess I should know by now to expect you to show up when I don’t expect you to.”

  He stopped following me. I looked back and saw him standing there, jaw tense, hands on hips, shaking his head.

  “What? I’m tired. I’m gonna get a cab to Chloe’s.” He used to tease me about taking cabs instead of Ubers or Lyfts. It was one of the reasons he called me Grandma. I paused, waiting for some kind of joke, some sign that this wouldn’t be the end of everything.

  He gestured for me to be on my way, said: “Don’t let me keep you,” then turned away from me.

  It was happening. The thing I was most afraid of. I was losing my best friend. As always, he was giving me what I thought I wanted and I was the bad guy. I tried to summon my reliable old pals, irrational anger and unjustified resentment, but I was too tired for that. I was too sad, even for cheese and donuts.

  I returned to Chloe and Ethan’s by cab, stood at their door for five minutes fumbling around my bag looking for my keys, before Ethan opened the door and asked: “Where’s Theo?”

  I sobbed on their sofa for an hour before going to their guest room and sobbing in there until I finally fell asleep.

  The envelope from Theo remained, unopened, in the side pocket of my suitcase.

  I stayed in bed all day the next day. The day after that, I had meetings with the crew of the short film I would be working on. I took the week-long low-paying gig as set designer for the short film shooting up at Big Bear. I really liked the young director’s student films that I saw online, my friend Julia was working on it too, it was a set designer film credit (which was a bigger job than set decorator), it was a great script, and the director-producer already had an agent and manager, so the finished product would surely do the film festival circuit, which would mean good exposure for my work, and most importantly—it meant I would have an out-of-town job to throw myself into. I can’t imagine how I would have gotten through that week without it.

  When it was time to return to the city, on the way back to Chloe’s, I stopped by Winsome to get a take-out order. I told myself it was because I was craving the fried egg sandwich, but really I was craving Theo. I couldn’t call or text him, and if I’d actually seen him, I didn’t know what I’d say. But I was hoping to run into him there, because at least I’d know that he had chosen to be in a place where there was the possibility of running into me, and it would be an opening of some sort. But I didn’t see him.

  Then I had back-to-back house staging gigs for a realtor that Ethan had introduced me to. The houses were all mid-century modern, beautiful with clean lines, and it should have made me so happy to be de-cluttering and boxing up all those personal items and arranging art and books and furniture. But I was always on the verge of tears.

  One morning, I woke up at five-thirty and immediately started tidying up every room in Chloe and Ethan’s house except their bedroom and bathroom. I was rearranging the cookbooks in the kitchen when Ethan came in, saw what I was doing, and wisely chose to leave without saying a word. I was in the living room when Chloe walked in, eating a piece of toast as she was getting ready to leave for work.

  “Oh my God, stop tidying.”

  “I’m almost done.”

  “You’re never done. Did you even sleep last night? You look terrible.”

  I glanced down at my pajamas, and continued to arrange the throw blanket on the back of the sofa, so that it looked effortlessly dropped there. Chloe plopped down on the sofa and ate her toast. Watching me. Judging me.

  This is who I was without Theo Walker. A lady at home in her pajamas, fretting about stuff. He was right. I’m Grandma. I made a mental note to message my former roommate on Facebook to thank her for making those pot brownies. If I hadn’t eaten them, and I hadn’t been so completely unable to be alone in that state, I never would have opened that door when I heard Theo yelling and laughing out in the hallway, and I’d probably still be there in that apartment now, alphabetizing my spices.

  “How you doin’?” Chloe asked. “I mean, really.”

  “Great?”

  “Obviously.”

  “I’m fighting the urge to cut my hair really short. To celebrate this exciting new phase of my life.”

  “Yeah you should do that.”

  “Cut it short?”

  “No. Fight the urge. I’m confiscating the scissors. And this shitty new phase of your life. You have nothing to celebrate.”

  “Wow. You are not good at cheering me up.”

  “Why would I be? I’m not your best friend. Theo is.”

  She may as well have punched me in the gut. All of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe and everything ached and I felt empty and crappy and lost. God, I missed my best friend, surely even more than I’d miss a limb, or a third nipple. My world had gone from vibrant color to desaturated black and white, and I didn’t see the point of anything anymore.
I finally stopped tidying up and collapsed onto the sofa with her.

  “Honestly, Gem. I really wanted you guys to stay happy forever, but…I thought Theo would be the one to blow it.”

  “What do you mean? He did.”

  “With the way he was acting?”

  I couldn’t even muster up the energy to say “duh.”

  “Being jealous? He wants you. He wants all of you. It doesn’t excuse the shoving and punching or whatever, but that was just one of the many ways he was acting. He was also acting like the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. Domestic bliss isn’t Instagram-worthy all the time, you know. Not even most of the time. There’s a lot of messy feelings and spilled wine and farting.”

  “I know that. He told me he doesn’t trust me, Chloe. Because I was secretly in love with him while I was with my boyfriend. I can’t ever undo that.”

  “Did he actually say the words ‘I don’t trust you’?”

  “Yes! Wait—did he? No. He said…Shit. I guess he didn’t say it. But that’s why he was acting so jealous.”

  “Maybe. He can get over that. Eventually.”

  “I’m just so mad at him for not believing me.”

  “I know. It’s not great. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to. And honestly, we don’t know for sure that that’s true.”

  I covered my face. The only thing that was true was that I still loved him, and everything was somehow a mess because of that. I blew out a long breath. “Is he seeing anyone?”

  “Of course not. I mean. I doubt it. I don’t think so. I don’t know. I’m not even sure where he is, to be honest. He told Ethan he’s running 5Ks and 10ks on weekends.”

  “Where?”

  “Wherever. You want me to find out?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “So have you sent in the divorce papers yet?”

  “I need to look them over.”

  “Have you looked at them at all?”

  “I will. I haven’t even opened the envelope. God. I can’t even imagine how hard this would be if we’d actually married for love.”

  “Oh my God! Are you kidding me?!” She jumped to her feet and threw her arms up in the air, exasperated. “You did marry for love you dummy! You guys convinced a federal officer of this three years ago—what’s it going to take to convince you? I’m not a lawyer, but I’m pretty sure there’s no legal definition of what kind of love qualifies it as a non-fraudulent marriage.”

  I loved it when Chloe got passionate about things. Even when she was passionate about what a dummy I was. Her rage always calmed me down. “I guess we were polyamorous for a few years?”

  She smiled. “There you go. He was your sister wife. Now he’s your mister wife…At first you were married to the man, then you were married to his tongue and hands and his penis.”

  I felt everything collapse inside of me, at the thought of never having the man, the tongue, the hands, or the penis again.

  “Shit. I blew it, didn’t I? I should have just stayed at his house and kept everything the way it was and kissed him and then see what happened. It would have been perfect.”

  “It wouldn’t have been perfect. But it could have been good. And it could have ended all the same anyway. Who knows.”

  I dropped my head back. “Oh my God, Chloe. Why don’t you just stab me in the heart?”

  “I don’t know what else to say. I gotta go, I have a meeting. You gonna be home all day?”

  “Probably. Is that okay?”

  “Of course it is. You can stay here and be a sad idiot for as long as you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean to place the blame on you. It’s always both people in the relationship who mess things up. I just meant that I thought you would have figured out by now how much he loves you.”

  I finally pulled the manila envelope out of my suitcase, and the divorce papers out of the envelope. He was giving me half of all of the assets he’d earned since we married—half of everything in our joint accounts, half of what was currently in his personal accounts, the car he bought me. I would pay off my student loan and keep for myself the money currently in my own personal account, which is where he always insisted I deposit my income. The mortgage would be his sole responsibility and the house was all his. Looking at the wording, thinking about what it would mean to actually legally separate ourselves from each other, I guessed this was what people meant when they say “Shit just got real.” It felt real. It felt like shit. It was terrible. It felt so final.

  In trying to redesign our relationship, I had stripped away more than I had meant to. I stripped away Theo. And I didn’t like how anything looked or felt without him in it. Winsome on Sunset. Los Angeles. My life.

  The truth was, I didn’t really know who I was before I met Theo, I was afraid of who I was when I was in love with him, and I didn’t really want to know who I’d be without him.

  When I wandered back into the living room, Chloe was gone, but she had hooked up Ethan’s video camera to the TV, and the image paused on the screen was of two beautiful happy faces—mine and Theo’s.

  It was the video of our wedding ceremony.

  23

  Theo

  I was running.

  I was back to running my company in Palo Alto, sometimes I’d go there for a few days, before returning to L.A. I had hoped to run into Gemma when I stopped into Winsome for lunch, but she wasn’t there, and I was determined not to contact her. If I couldn’t be her best friend, I refused to be her friend. If I couldn’t be her husband for real, I didn’t want to be the guy she was secretly married to and had once tried dating for a few weeks. I wasn’t going to make any promises to her about waiting for her to come around, but I’d made a promise to myself.

  The only thing I knew for certain was that I loved her, in every way that I could. I had no idea how to stop being jealous or how to always trust that everything she felt for me was real and for me alone. I didn’t know how to prove to her that I had gotten over that, or if I ever would, but I could stop being possessive. Letting her go was the most obvious way I could think of to show her that. I would let her do what she needed to do, to figure out that I was hers, even if she needed to be away from me to do it. Even if I fucking hated every fucking minute of it. Even if a part of me was afraid that I was doing the wrong thing.

  I was running three to five miles a day every morning, and I was running myself ragged because I didn’t want to slow down enough to realize that there was a chance I might never have her in my life again, in any way. On weekends I signed up for any 5 or 10K race I could find, to keep myself busy around other people—people who cared more about running than talking to me about my business or personal life. Before bed, I’d work out with free weights and do push-ups and sit-ups until every one of my muscles screamed in pain as loud as my stupid heart.

  It was one thing to feel like crap before we’d actually tried, but now I was experiencing my first big failure, and for a few days it had affected my outlook on absolutely everything. What was I even doing with my life? Why had I ever left Canada? Why had I chosen to create high tech sports technology when I could have invented a nanotech suit for flying and fighting criminals, or learning to use technology to cure cancer or eliminate poverty and hunger and war? Nothing made sense anymore.

  All I could do was put one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward and hope that one day I’d find myself in a place that didn’t feel totally desolate without Gemma in it.

  Apparently, the women of Southern California have a thing for guys who are blatantly crying on the inside. For the first time ever, I had felt invisible to the women of Palo Alto, who know it’s best to ignore a techpreneur when he’s on a downswing. But at the Gelson’s in Silver Lake, when I was buying almond milk and the sad bachelor special tuna salad at the deli, women were practically rubbing up against me and offering to take me home so they could make me soup. I didn’t wa
nt their soup. I wanted Gemma to make me soup. And then I wanted to eat it naked on my sofa while we watched The Departed and then fuck the sadness away.

  But that wasn’t going to happen, and I managed to avoid alcohol as much as possible so that I didn’t accidentally let it happen with someone other than Gemma. The one time I met up with Ethan at a lounge in Pasadena, I managed to act very tough and optimistic for about twenty minutes, saying things like: “Hey, we gave it a shot but it didn’t work out. We’ll be friends again, eventually.” After my second scotch, I was morose, and after the fourth the last thing I said was: “Fuck. I should have fought harder for her. I fucked up.” And then I’m told I fell asleep in the booth and Ethan drove me home and put me to bed.

  The next morning, while I was rehydrating and killing time before having a Lyft take me to my car in Pasadena, I called my Mom.

  “Theo?” she answered, on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” You’d think I never called her. Well, mostly she called me, but it’s not like I was some negligent son.

  “Is it my birthday? Is it Mother’s Day?”

  “Alright, alright.”

  “Honey. What’s wrong?”

  I was quiet for a moment. “You’ve been okay, right? Since the divorce?”

  “Since the divorce? It’s been years…Oh, honey. Is it you and Gemma?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. We tried to make things work, you know, for real. But I guess it didn’t feel right for her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to come home for a visit?”

  I laughed. “I can’t, I’m busy with work.”

  “Well you don’t have to laugh. I might not be a tech genius, but I think I read somewhere that people can do all kinds of work from their laptops and phones nowadays. We do have WiFi in Canada, you know. And I just bought a box of Cadbury chocolate bars and there’s a sale on Old Dutch potato chips at Loblaws. Okay okay, I’m not going to beg.”