If Only

by A. J. Pine

  I grin. He had every right to do whatever he wanted this past month, and he still may have. But I don’t ask him any more questions. I’ll take video games.

  “Jordan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Anything worth the wait is also worth the fight. Whatever you want, fight for it.”

  My teeth grab my upper lip.

  “See you later, Griffin.”

  “See you later, Jordan.”

  When I get back to my flat, I join the melee of Elaina and Duncan trying to clean our tiny kitchen. Physically and emotionally spent, I collapse into bed immediately after, but not before checking my journal. I thumb through the blank pages to find it, just a word and a date: Amsterdam, March 23. I yelp with laughter, having expected something epically romantic like Paris. But epic romance never really was his thing. Seeing Griffin again after the semester is a possibility, nothing more than that. Whether or not it happens doesn’t matter because a possibility means not having to really say good-bye.

  Chapter Twelve

  It’s the Monday before the winter holiday. I’m running late for class, which is why I forget my umbrella. So I throw my hood over my head, hoping it’s enough to combat the cold, December drizzle on my walk through the park. It’s so not.

  Huddled over my bag to protect my laptop, I swear to myself for turning off my alarm and trusting morning me with a promise of only five more minutes. I’m so immersed in my inner monologue that it takes a few seconds to notice the rain has stopped. Correction: it’s still raining, but an umbrella hovers over my head.

  “Are you new?”

  “Huh?” I ask, allowing my shoulders to un-hunch so I’m face-to-face with Noah.

  He smiles, shaking a damp, dark wave of hair from his eyes. “You’ve lived in Scotland for how many months, and you don’t have an umbrella at the ready?”

  I yank my hood forward. As much as I’d love to walk the rest of the way under an umbrella, I choose bone-chilling rain to walking the rest of the way with Noah.

  “I have a waterproof coat. Serves the same purpose. Thanks, though.”

  Picking up my pace, I duck out from under the umbrella. The rain comes down harder now, each drop taunting me as it pelts my head, back, and cheeks. My coat may be waterproof, but my bag isn’t, which means I could be out a laptop before the year is half over.

  I stop, my fists clenched around the strap of my bag.

  One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. No Noah.

  When I turn around, he’s a few feet behind me, his golf umbrella a wide canopy to shield his stupid, self-satisfied self, wearing an even stupider self-satisfied grin.

  “If you’re done with your dramatic exit,” he calls over the rain’s growing volume, “I’ve still got room.”

  I groan loudly, not caring if he hears, and trudge the few steps to Noah’s side.

  “Just so we’re clear, I’m only doing this for my laptop,” I say.

  “That’s good,” he says. “Because I’m only doing it for your laptop, too.”

  We start walking, both of us silent for a few beats until I can’t hold back a giggle. Once Noah hears me, he joins in.

  “Maybe I’m just in a rush. I am running late, you know. And since you are here with me, that means you are running late, too.” The truth is, I have to pick up my pace now to keep up with his stride, to stay under the umbrella. “Plus, you have a knack for inspiring dramatic exits.”

  He shrugs. “Why are you late?”

  “I was out late,” I say. “The Blue Lantern.”

  If we were two normal people, I’d keep the banter going, ask him why he was running late, too. But Noah and I can’t do normal, so I don’t try to pretend.

  Since my silence is less contagious than I’d like it to be, Noah speaks, his tone a mixture of mocking and something else I can’t identify. “Well, Jordan, since you asked, I was out late, too.”

  I turn away from him, keeping my eyes on the path. This is not what I want to hear, how he was out late with Hailey, and blah, blah, blah. Mondays suck.

  After a pause he adds, “I was at the Lantern, too, with a couple of guys from my floor. I wanted to say hi. All night I tried to think of an excuse to do it, but you were hanging out behind the bar with your flat-mate and what’s-his-name.” He looks down after he says this.

  Uh-uh. No. He is not jealous. He just doesn’t know Daniel’s name—Daniel, the bartender who works most nights at the pub pretty much everyone I know hangs out in, including Noah.

  “Yeah. It was a slow night, so they were showing me how to mix drinks.” We walk a few more paces before I add, “His name’s Daniel.”

  “Right.” His jaw tightens just a bit, but it’s enough for me to notice. “Daniel.” Noah chuckles, but when I look at him, he only wears a half smile. “It’s just been a while. We haven’t really talked since Duncan’s party, and you were pretty—”

  “Drunk?” I ask. Because that I was, drunk and stupid.

  He shakes his head. “I was going to say angry. At me.”

  “Yeah, that, too,” I say, but it’s been hard to hold on to that anger. I’d be a hypocrite to still be mad at Noah when Griffin forgave me for being no better.

  We walk for a few minutes without saying anything else, that something that’s always hung between us still lingering like a fog.

  When we reach the end of the park, emerging onto High Street, the rain is nothing more than a mist. Noah lowers the umbrella. On the way here, I could use walking as an excuse to keep my eyes trained on the path ahead, but now I have to face him, something I’ve been so good at avoiding.

  “I’m sorry, Jordan. In so many ways I wish things were different.”

  My hands fidget with the strap of my bag, and I try to ignore the hint of longing in his voice, try to erase any evidence of it from mine. Just as Griffin and I never would have lasted as long as we did if it wasn’t for Aberdeen, Noah and I never would have crossed paths, either. We live in different states, have our own lives that we left back home, or in Noah’s case, brought here with him. It never could have been different, and maybe I shouldn’t blame him for that.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I say. “It wasn’t fair of me. You had a life before you came here, and I can’t judge you for wanting to make that life work.”

  He sighs, running a hand through his mist-dampened hair.

  “Do you think,” he asks, “if the train didn’t happen, that we would have met once we got here and become friends?”

  My face fills with heat, and tears unexpectedly prick at my eyes. What is it about Noah that makes all of my honesty spill out? “I thought you didn’t regret what happened. Now you make it sound like you wish it never did.” I’ve never once wished that, not for real. Because despite the aftermath of the train, I wouldn’t trade our moment for never having experienced it at all.

  “No! Shit, no. That’s not what I meant. Why does everything I say to you come out wrong? I just, I like talking to you. When we’re not arguing—like the train, the scavenger hunt—we’re kind of good. I can’t talk to other people easily, but with you it’s different. We’re different. Aren’t we?”

  I start walking again, but he doesn’t miss a beat, and he’s right beside me. I have nothing to lose anymore, not Griffin or my pride. I’ve pretty much given up on that when it comes to Noah.

  “That’s the problem,” I tell him. “When we’re kind of good, it makes me feel things I shouldn’t, makes me want things I shouldn’t. Because I can’t want you, Noah. I can’t want someone who’s taken, and I can’t want someone who doesn’t want me.”

  His eyes widen before he regains composure. “What about this year not being real?”

  I sigh. It’s what I wanted to believe, what I hoped would make this year what I wanted it to be. Fun. Safe. But I can’t protect myself with words I don’t believe. Those words did nothing to insulate me from my feelings for Noah. Why keep up the facade?

  “Everything’s real,” I say, knowing this is somehow an admis
sion. “This year may have an expiration date, but no matter how much I fight it, it’s all real.”

  And it’s like my words open something in him that he can’t mask. But I ignore it. I have to.

  This time when I walk away, he doesn’t follow.

  “Brooks, wait,” he calls after me, but I don’t turn back, don’t dwell on why he uses my last name.

  I make it to class only a few minutes ahead of him, trading my usual front-row seat for a place to hide in the back. Just a few more days. I can last a few more days until the semester ends and we don’t have to play this game anymore.

  Everyone seems to be leaving for their winter holiday early on Saturday, so we have a small going away party for Griffin at the Lantern on Thursday, Noah and Hailey conspicuously absent. Elaina and Duncan make Griffin promise to stop by Saturday morning for a Turkish coffee before he leaves, so we still have one more good-bye to go.

  On Friday I get ready for bed early after I finish packing for London, where I’ll meet my parents tomorrow. I finish up my last entry for the semester and toss my journal back on my desk, accidentally knocking my phone to the floor. When I grab it, I unintentionally open my photo app, and there’s the selfie of me and Noah from the haggis portion of our scavenger hunt. I always remembered the picture as us cringing at what we were eating, but I’m wrong. Both of us laugh wildly in the shot, our eyes crinkled with an unexpected moment of happiness on a day that proved otherwise. My finger hovers over the trashcan icon, ready to delete it. But I can’t. Instead I close the app and then jump as the phone vibrates with a text.

  I laugh out loud at what I must look like, emotionally high-strung ever the understatement. When I read the text, I’m flooded with relief.

  Griffin: I know this probably breaks every rule we’ve ever set in place, but I’d love to spend my last night with you…as friends, of course.

  He’s right. But I’m so done with rules, especially if it means seeing him one more time before he leaves.

  It only takes me a few seconds to respond.

  Me: I’m home.

  Griffin: I’ll be right over?

  His question mark gives me an out, but I don’t want out. I think about my conversation with Noah earlier this week. Everything is real. And what Griffin and I had, the friendship we still do, is real.

  Me: Yes. You will.

  That night I dull the loneliness in the arms of a friend. As we doze, I hear a knock on the main door of the flat.

  “Do you need to get that?” Griffin asks, his voice gravelly with sleep.

  “It’s probably Duncan. Elaina will get it.”

  He kisses me softly on the cheek. “Think about my offer, okay? Spring break. Amsterdam. No pressure, just fun.”

  I think I nod my response, but the next thing I hear is my alarm.

  The morning is a blur of Duncan, Elaina, Griffin, and me—of Turkish coffee and English tea—of hugs and good-byes.

  “Not good-bye,” Griffin reminds me while Duncan and Elaina sandwich him in a hug. He laughs. “See? This is why I don’t do serious. Makes good-byes suck.”

  When I get back to my room, a page in my journal is dog-eared, the one with Griffin’s entry. I smile at a new message he’s scribbled beneath the date.

  I’m glad I spent my last night with you.

  I’m glad too, I wish I could tell him. I hope he knows.

  Good-bye does suck, but I’m grateful we’re parting as friends. Who knows what spring may bring?

  Holiday

  (London, late December)

  “Passion should believe itself irresistible. It should forget civility and consideration and all the other curses of a refined nature. Above all, it should never ask for leave where there is a right of way.”

  E. M. Forster

  A Room with a View

  Chapter Thirteen

  On the eve before their departure from London, both of my parents stare at me across a table at an Italian restaurant, silently formulating their joint protest. We spent Chanukah with our cousins, enjoyed a week of shopping, tea, and theater. Naturally, I waited until tonight to spring my idea on them.

  My dad’s thick, dark hair shows more flecks of silver since last I saw him. His green eyes don’t shield his worry. He and my mom somehow communicate with each other while keeping their eyes trained on me. After twenty years, I know those conspiratorial looks.

  “Will you hear me out?” I ask, before any protestation becomes verbal.

  “We’re listening,” my father says, his voice gentle yet tentative.

  It was Griffin’s words, actually, that solidified the deal. He told me not to leave without fighting. That he was, in his way, giving me his blessing to follow my heart. And I am. I will. But it’s not a boy I’m fighting for. It’s me.

  I look at them both. “I feel like my experience here, what I’m supposed to get from it, is still beginning, but my year is halfway over. I’ve already done the research, and changing my plane ticket from May to August will only cost the equivalent of one-hundred-fifty American dollars.”

  My mom can’t hold back any longer. “August? What are you going to do from May until August?”

  “I’m going to travel.”

  “With whom? How are you going to pay for it? What about getting ready for your senior year?” This time it’s my dad.

  I have thought through all of the questions they would possibly ask me and made sure I was prepared.

  “Well, for spring break I’m going to Greece with Elaina. Her family has already invited me. That’s when she is going to talk her parents into letting her come with me and her boyfriend, Duncan, for the summer.”

  “Elaina, your roommate?” my mom asks.

  “I thought Elaina was her friend from the bar,” my dad adds.

  “Who is Duncan?” they ask in unison.

  My eyes roll. “I live with Elaina and she works at the bar. Dad, I love that my extracurricular activities hold a firm spot in your memory.” My dad raises his pint in mock toast. “And Duncan is her boyfriend and my friend. They are both fourth-year students who just started dating, thanks to me, and they want to spend the summer with each other and me, too. I’ve known them both since the first day I got here. They are fine, upstanding citizens who will protect me should danger abound on our travels.”

  “Not funny, Jordan. Your dad and I love that you are having this wonderful experience, but the only thing that keeps us sane is knowing you aren’t wandering around over here. The school claims responsibility for you.”

  She doesn’t have a very solid argument. “You guys know I sometimes travel on weekends, right? And I got to London all by myself to meet you at Jane and Graham’s place.” I raise my eyebrows, indicating vindication for this round.

  They glance at each other now, more silent conspiracy. But the looks on both of their faces have softened.

  “As for the issue of money, Elaina helped get me a job at the Blue Lantern, where she works. I’m going to be a bartender. And there’s nothing I need to do to prep for senior year other than pick my classes, and I do that online anyway.”

  They are both still silent, so I take my cue to continue.

  “I’m grateful for getting to be here this year, but how many chances am I going to have to do something like this? I’m already spending my entire winter holiday in London, which is great. I’m glad you guys came, so happy I get to stay with family and experience London like a local. But then I’m going to Greece for spring holiday. I’m in Europe for almost a year. How can I leave without seeing as much of it as possible?”

  I’ve covered all the bases, answered all their questions. They know they have no logical reason to say no other than their own parental worry.

  “I won’t be alone. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  Mom’s eyes are glassy. “I’ll always worry about you, Jordan. Whether you’re twenty or forty, whether you are living in my house or living halfway across the world. It’s my job. I have to do it.” She sniffles,
though no tears escape. And she’s smiling.

  I lock eyes on my father. “Dad?”

  He shakes his head and sighs. “I guess you’ve got it all figured out.”

  Now I’m beaming. “Is that a yes?”

  They look at each other and then back at me, both nodding, slowly and reluctantly, but it’s a yes.

  I spring out of my chair and to the other side of the table, wrapping an arm around each of them.

  “Thank you! Thank you! Oh my God, thank you!” I kiss each of them on the cheek, not caring about the onlookers who stare at my outburst.

  “You’re going to text us every day,” Mom demands.

  “Of course.”

  “And Skype with us at least once a week,” Dad adds.

  “Absolutely, like I’ve been doing since September already.”

  We’re all smiling and hugging, and there may be some tears. We’re definitely embarrassing the hell out of ourselves in public, but once again, I don’t care.

  When I sit back down on my side of the table, my mother’s smile fades slightly.

  “Have you told Sam?”

  I haven’t thought about Sam yet, how to tell her I’m going to be gone another ten weeks.

  “No.” I look down, feeling slightly ashamed that I’ve made this decision without telling her about it. “I wanted to wait and make sure you guys said yes before I gave her a reason to hate me.” I promised Sam I wouldn’t forget her, and I haven’t. I miss her terribly. But I also know how much I want to do this.

  “Sweetie,” Mom starts, “how can you think that? Don’t you know how happy she is for you?”

  I shrug, feeling so far away from her. I am so far away from her. What scares me is not her reaction to my decision but the whole idea of going home after so long. What if our friendship isn’t the same? What if she changes? What if I do? Every time I write in my journal, I think about sharing the experience with Sam. I try to recapture the moment vividly enough to bring her back here with me when I get home. But what if none of it is enough? I’m scared the life I left in September won’t be there when I get back in August.