“I had no idea.” I’m a little stunned. Or maybe a whole lot stunned.
“We agreed that it would be me who told you, and only when I was ready.”
“Does that mean you two are talking again?” I don’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, I know how hard that loss was. But I’m not sure I can handle Sam on more than a business associate basis.
“We’re civil, and I think that’s good. I was angry for a long time, and I needed to let that go. Anyway, my therapist suggested I reach out, and the crossword puzzle was my lame but apparently effective attempt.”
“Not a lame attempt at all. I’m glad you did, reach out, I mean, and I would really love it if we could work on mending our friendship.” It’s been grief on more than one level. I lost my boyfriend, my best friend, and my home all at once, and all the familiarity that came with it.
“Okay. Good. That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. My therapist said it would be a bad idea for me to see you, not because he thinks you’re bad for me, but because I’m most likely to defer to sex, which sort of defeats the purpose of fixing the friendship I broke in the first place. Not that you’d want to have sex with me at this point, but you know, fuck, I should probably shut up.”
“I get what you mean, or what your therapist means, anyway, and I agree that it’s probably best if we avoid the opportunity for such activities since they tend to complicate things. And getting upset and jealous doesn’t mean you broke us, Declan.”
“I’ve never been jealous before, or really understood what it felt like to have something so important to me threatened by someone else. It brought back a lot of bad memories. I didn’t know how to deal with that, and my response was to accuse and cut and run, which I realize has a lot to do with how things went down in my house as a kid. It’s not an excuse for how I behaved, but I wanted you to know that it wasn’t about you.”
“I knew it wasn’t about me, but I appreciate that you wanted to explain, and I’m glad you’re working on you. I realize that seeing that message from Sam would’ve been hard on a good day, let alone that day.”
“It was, but it still doesn’t excuse how I treated you. I never want to do that to you ever again. Anyway, um, I have to get ready to leave for work, but maybe if it works for you, we can talk later in the week?”
“I’d love that.”
“Great. Me too.”
“Have a good day.”
“You too. And Ave?”
“Yeah?”
“Thirty-six across is fiscal, not fucked, since I know that was the first thing you thought of.”
I end the call with a smile and a beautiful seed of hope that if nothing else, we’ll be able to save our friendship.
* * *
Winter sets in, blanketing the world in white, and what started as a few weeks of separation soon becomes a couple of months. I message Declan nearly every day, just to say hi or send him a funny meme. Easy conversation meant to open the door should he want to walk through it. Little steps meant to help mend the fractures in our friendship, and hopefully little steps back to each other.
We talk on the phone regularly, often the day after he’s been to therapy and had time to digest everything. I want to be there for him emotionally, even if he’s not ready for me to be there in any other capacity.
We host our first week of Spark House Beaver Woods Adventure team-building event and it turns out to be an extraordinary success. We manage to get the attention of a few local news stations as well as some prominent social media influencers who are camping enthusiasts, which gives us an influx of new opportunities.
On top of that, I finally managed to finish setting up London’s Etsy store. She cried when I showed her, and then proceeded to sell more than three thousand dollars in one-of-a-kind items in the first month. It’s definitely her happy place.
I fill my time with work, physical therapy, the guys, and my sisters. And through it all, Declan and I manage to rebuild and repair our friendship, one crossword puzzle and phone conversation at a time.
We work on them over video chat and although the distance is sometimes hard to deal with, we’re finding a new balance. Our chats often span over several hours. What starts as a crossword puzzle challenge often turns into movie night on separate couches. Or in my case—a separate bed, since I tend to watch them in my room, so Harley and London aren’t witness to our awkward date nights. At least that’s what I’m calling them in my head.
“What are we watching tonight?” Declan sets the phone on the counter and opens the fridge, his head disappearing as he grabs what I assume is going to be a beer.
“You can pick tonight.”
His head reappears and he cocks a brow. “You don’t mean that.”
“Maybe I’m in the mood for action, gratuitous violence, car chases, and short skirts.” I fluff the pillows behind me, find a good angle for the phone, and grab my glass of wine.
Declan snorts. “I highly doubt that.”
“It happens on occasion.”
He caps the beer. “No, it doesn’t. Your version of gratuitous violence is Thor swinging his hammer.”
“I love Thor’s hammer.”
“You love my hammer more.” He cringes. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, it just came out.”
“I sort of walked right into that.” Also, he’s not wrong. Which is part of the reason I’m in my bedroom and he’s in what was once our shared living room, sitting on the couch we’ve had sex on.
And that’s another reason why I’d rather watch an action movie over a romantic comedy. We’re working so hard on rebuilding our relationship, starting at the friend level while he’s learning what it means to put your trust in someone who makes you feel vulnerable. I don’t want to make this harder on either of us, but it’s nights like this that I miss him the most, when he’s close, but still so far away.
The phone jostles while he carries me, a bag of chips, and his beer over to the couch. “I hope you don’t mind, but we have company for the movie.”
“Company?”
My heart feels like it’s made my way into my throat and then drops into my stomach. He flops down on the couch and I spot an arm beside him. He leans over and holds the phone up so he can get whomever he’s sitting inappropriately close to into the small screen.
For a few seconds I’m super confused because the shirt I’m looking at is very familiar, although it’s stretched across a chest much larger than mine.
“Avery, meet Pseudo Avery.”
“Oh my God! Is that a blow-up doll?”
“One of the guys from Jerome’s work had a bachelor party, and this was a prize. He brought it over yesterday so I wouldn’t be so lonely.” He pouts and rests his cheek on Fake Avery’s boob. “I found one of the shirts you must have left behind and put her in your spot on the couch. So far I’ve tried to get her to talk to me half a dozen times since Jerome brought her here. She’s rather quiet, but it almost feels like you’re here.”
“The quiet part is probably welcome.”
“Not even a little. I miss that sassy mouth of yours, but I’ll be honest, I’ll probably bring her to bed with me again tonight.”
“Again? You’re not serious.”
“I might be, you never know.” His smile turns serious. “I have this thing I want to try with you.”
I’m taken aback by the abrupt change of topic, so I stumble over my response.
“It’s okay if the answer is no. I’ll understand if you’re not ready,” he says quickly. “Let’s just forget it. Why don’t you pick a movie?”
“Hold on a second, you went from sleeping with a blow-up doll to asking me if I want to do a thing with you, with zero transition. What kind of thing are you talking about?” I tip my head.
“I thought maybe it would be cool if we did something together. Like we both visited a familiar place at the same time. Actually, in truth, my therapist said it would be a good idea, and I agreed since we’ve done a lot of cool things
together.”
“We really have, haven’t we? Where should we go?”
“They’ve put up the holiday decorations at that park where we used to play soccer with the guys. We could go there.”
“Sure. That sounds great.”
“Tomorrow morning work okay for you? Eightish?”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Okay, great.” He turns on the TV and pulls up the shared Netflix app. We settle on an action flick, because we agree that any movie with making out is probably off the list for the time being.
The next morning I get up early, throw on a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, sweater, add all my winter gear, and drive over to the park. I spot Declan’s SUV. The snow is fresh from last night, so I send him a message and follow the footprints he’s left leading to one of the paths where we’d sometimes go for jogs to warm up before a game.
I fire off a message, asking where he is since I still can’t seem to see him.
Declan: Head for the bench with the best view.
I’m tempted to ask which one, because there are several benches with the best view around here and we always used to debate which one we loved the most. There are several that are popular and then a few benches that are hidden gems. I head for one of those.
When I get there, I’m disappointed to find it vacant, apart from someone’s discarded travel mug. I hit the video call button and Declan’s face pops up on the screen.
He’s wearing a beanie I gave him for Christmas years ago and a scarf that I knitted for him when I briefly took up the hobby for one season and made literally everyone I loved a scarf because they were simple and hard to mess up.
“Hey. You’re not here.”
He smiles and my heart stutters. “You picked the bench with the view of the valley, the one that’s perfect during sunset, right?”
“Yeah, where are you?” As soon as I ask, I already have the answer. “You’re where the sunrise is the prettiest, aren’t you?”
“Yup.” He pans out, showing me the view from where he’s standing.
“Should I head there?” It’s on the other side of the trail. At least a good fifteen minutes away.
“It’s okay. Why don’t you stay there and I’ll stay here, and we can have a coffee and talk.”
“I don’t have a coffee with me.”
“Yes, you do. It’s on the bench.”
I touch the side of the travel mug and find that it’s warm. “How long have you been here?”
“A while. Remember when we stumbled across that bench?”
I brush off the powdery snow and take a seat, thinking back to when we first started playing outdoor soccer together on the rec league in this area. “Oh my gosh, a couple was dry humping each other!”
“Yup. I had to cover your mouth and drag you out of there so we wouldn’t interrupt them.”
“I think short of a bear charging them, they wouldn’t have stopped for much.”
“Probably not,” Declan agrees.
“I wonder if they’re still together.” I run my fingers along the smooth wood, passing over letters carved by another couple.
“I wonder how many benches they dry humped on in this park.”
We sit there for a while, reminiscing on opposite sides of the park, close but still apart. It’s pretty much a metaphor for our current relationship status.
After a while I notice that Declan is on the move. “Where are you going? Are you heading this way?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. Give me a little more time, Avery.”
My heart clenches, but I understand that he needs to work through this, and I’m willing to wait, because I think we’re worth it.
Over the next two weeks we plan several more of these outings where we meet, but on opposite sides of wherever it is we are. The distance between us shrinks until I can see him standing on the other side of the skating rink in the park close to our condo. But I know better than to try to get to him at this point. He has to come to me, not the other way around, in his time, when he’s ready.
“Tomorrow can we go for coffee? Real coffee? Face-to-face?” he asks.
I have to shake off my surprise. “Yeah. Of course. Name the time and place and I’m there.”
“Nine? Would that work for you? At Coffee Corner? The one near the indoor soccer park?”
“That’s perfect. I can’t wait.”
“Me either. See you then.”
The next morning I’m up ridiculously early. I spend a stupid amount of time getting ready, change my outfit six times, and end up settling on a pair of jeans, a Henley, and one of my favorite hoodies that Declan bought me for Christmas a couple of years back. It gets worn at least twice a week.
I’m aware the coffee shop location of choice is purposeful. It’s far enough away from the condo to prevent us from making choices that might set us back before we’re ready to move forward again, if we’re ever ready to move forward.
I made a bad call when I went to see Sam without talking it through with Declan first. I should have put his feelings ahead of Spark House, especially since he always put me first where Sam was concerned. I would have handled it differently if I could. My biggest fear is that we won’t be able to get past this, and that I won’t be able to manage my own feelings for him and remain his friend. The hardest part of being in love with him is that I don’t know how not to be that anymore. But for now, this is where we’re at.
Despite my being fifteen minutes early, he’s already sitting at a table in the corner, coffee in hand, fresh pastries sitting in front of him and the empty seat.
He pushes his chair back and stands, a shy, somewhat uncertain smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
I cross over to him, tugging my gloves free. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
We both laugh and then look away. It’s never been awkward like this with us. But everything is new and different, and our history has changed our story.
“Macadamia nut latte for Avery!” the barista calls out.
“I went ahead and ordered for you. I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah, sure. Perfect timing, really.”
I grab my coffee and Declan stands there, waiting until I return to the table with my latte and shrug out of my coat. He hangs it on the hook and waits for me to take my seat before he takes his.
“You look fantastic. I’ve missed you like crazy.”
“I’ve missed you too. And you always look fantastic.”
We both chuckle again.
“This is harder than I thought it would be. I want everything to be the way it was, but so much has changed,” Declan says softly.
“It’s a fresh start of sorts, but we already laid a strong foundation, Declan, and we’re rebuilding slowly.”
He nods. “There have been so many times over the past few months that I’ve wanted to say fuck it and come knocking on your door, but every time I had to ask myself if doing that was going to set me back, set us back, and if there was any doubt, I knew I wasn’t ready.”
I love him so much, my heart feels like it’s breaking and sewing itself back together at the same time. “What changed?”
“Nothing? Everything? I needed to see if I can be a better version of me when I’m with you. I don’t ever want to hurt you like I did again, Avery. That kind of guilt is too hard for either of us to carry around with us.”
He reaches across the table, palm up, and lines my fingertips up with his, our hands curling together. It’s the first time I’ve touched him in months. And despite the fact that it’s very much innocent contact, it makes me hyperaware that the separation had been very necessary for both of us. We’d spent so much time together, immersed in each other’s lives, that we’d almost become an extension of each other. We need to learn how to stand on our own before we learn how to stand together again.
It’s so good to be with him, but bad at the same time, because I know now that I can never go back to being just friends. My heart can’
t handle it.
28
ONE HAUNT AT A TIME
AVERY
On Sunday evening my sisters and I arrive home after a weekend mascot event. It was three days of adults dressed in mascot costumes trying to participate in group activities. It reminded me suspiciously of furry conventions, which we’ve also hosted in the past. I would not want to shine a black light on any of the rooms, or the mascot costumes this morning when they were loading up on the bus.
London is lagging behind, likely checking her messages since Daniel, the photographer she’s been dating, is coming back from one of his trips tomorrow and they’re probably making plans. He seems nice enough, but I almost prefer it when he’s away because that means fun London comes out to play. Harley’s arms are full of tonight’s dinner, which happen to be leftovers from last night’s event.
I root around in my pockets for the key. I was holding it ten seconds ago. I finally find it and slide it in the lock, noting that there’s something taped to the door. I pull it free as I turn the knob.
“What’s that?” Harley asks as she brushes past me and drops the bags on the kitchen island.
“Dunno.” I scan the flyer. It’s for my favorite coffee shop. It’s independently owned and they have the best lattes in the history of the universe. It’s where Declan and I went for our first face-to-face coffee date since we broke up. There’s a note attached requesting that I be there tomorrow morning at eight.
I snap a quick photo and send it to Declan, asking if he has anything to do with it. Mondays are generally Spark House work-from-home days. And sleep-in days since our weekends are typically full of events and Saturday nights often consist of some kind of dinner. We rotate so we each have a weekend off a month, but Mondays happen to be our catch-up-and-wind-down days.
I kick off my shoes, drop my phone, and give Harley a hand transferring the dinner leftovers into oven-safe dishes so we can heat them up.
When Sparks Fly Page 25
