“Right? And it never tastes the same when I try to make it at home.”
“You cook?” I ask.
“I try. But Evie is determined to make a master chef out of me, she keeps showing me easy do it yourself recipes.”
At the mention of Evie, I take it as an opening to ask some questions. While Elliot gave me answers from his perspective, I think asking Courtney what my chances are is more beneficial. “So, you like Elliot do you?” I blurt out.
“Ahh, like is a strong word. He’s definitely nice to look at.”
“Yeah, I catch myself looking at him all the time,” I say with a chuckle.
“Shut up.” She begins to play with her ice cream instead of eating it. “But his head is so far up Evie’s ass it would be a waste of my time.” Her comment catches me off guard. It’s not like I haven’t thought it but I thought maybe my focus on Evie clouded my judgment.
“You think he’s got a thing for Evie?”
“I told her he was in love with her.” The thought of her being in love with him didn’t cross my mind, but after eighteen months together, something would’ve happened between them if she was interested. Or so I’ll keep telling myself.
“Maybe he’s just protective of her,” I suggest. Each word coming out of my mouth is another attempt at convincing myself I don’t have to fight with my best friend over a girl.
“It could be that, it makes sense, and even if I can’t pinpoint it exactly; he feels something for her.”
“I’ve asked him numerous times, in more ways than one if he’s into her.”
“You have?” The inflection of her voice showing her interest.
“Well, in case you didn’t realize, I’m into her.”
“Really?” She covers her mouth in surprise, but her eyes give away her sarcasm. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Am I coming on too strong? I don’t want to scare her.”
“The thing I’ve realized with Evie is if you don’t bombard her with your presence, your moment will just slip away. I bought her that cell phone, and I go to their apartment when she’s not at work and I just hang around her like a bad smell.”
“Why? I mean, why now? This seems fairly recent. Haven’t you two worked together for a while?”
The conversation takes on a serious tone, she sits up straight and looks me in the eyes. My attention at an all time high. “Because the day you walked into the shop was the one time I saw her actually want to talk to someone else, she just didn’t know how.”
My chest tightens in both anxiety and anticipation. The thought of her being so hurt, she would want to close herself off like that cuts me. But to get some clarification that she noticed something between us too gives me hope. So much fucking hope.
“Can I have her cell number?” I ask Courtney.
“Sure, she can argue with me about it next time I see her. Pass your phone.” I hand her my cell and she taps away at the screen furiously before giving it back to me. Seeing Evie’s name on my screen has me feeling like a teenage boy with a crush. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
“God, you’re being so adorably cheesy right now.” She stands up and I assume she’s ready to call it a night. “Don’t make me regret giving you her number.”
I stand up so we’re both at eye level, and that she can see the honesty in my eyes. “I promise you I won’t.”
We both leave the restaurant together and head off separate ways. I know there’s no chance I’ll be able to hold off on texting Evie, so I play around with different things to say. At the end I settle on something simple and straight to the point.
Me: Hey Evie, It’s Lior.
9
Evie
Leaving the restaurant annoyed me more than I thought it would. For the first time in a long time, my anger wasn’t directed at the death of James and Bella, but rather at my mom and Elliot, and how patronizing it felt to have her call him about me. I know I set this up. I’ve somehow weaved myself into a web of unintended co-dependency, where Elliot is my shadow and anybody else in my life runs everything about me through him. Yes, he’s been great at dealing with my mother and it isn’t unusual for her to call him, but in front of Lior and Courtney, I just felt embarrassed. I should’ve given her my number, but I’m not ready for the incessant calling. Once we get to the apartment, I’m going to have to tell her I have a cell phone and boundaries need to be set in place. Elliot doesn’t say anything the whole way home. The frustration radiating off my body is evident that conversation is off limits.
As soon as we get to the apartment, I expect to find my mom waiting at the elevator doors for us to arrive, however she’s nowhere to be found.
“I thought you said she was here,” I say.
“She’s probably waiting upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“Yeah, she would’ve used her key and waited inside instead of by the elevator.”
“When did she get a key?” I shake my head in annoyance. “You know what, never mind,” I huff.
The elevator doors open and we walk in, both leaning on opposite sides of the space. We look anywhere but each other. I know it isn’t his fault, if anything, the blame lies solely on me, but I’m not ready to admit to that or untangle the complicated nature of our relationship. When we reach our level, I let him exit the elevator first. Maybe the sight of Elliot first will lessen the argument I can feel coming on. He opens the door and I step in behind him. There’s my mom sitting on the couch with the remote aimed at the TV, flicking through the channels. She glances up and just like I predicted, her face lights up when she sees Elliot. He moves out of the way, and her eyes settle on me; a mixture of worry and relief.
Getting up off the couch, she walks towards me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would be out,” she says.
“That’s ok, it was just a last minute decision,” Elliot clarifies.
“Just you two?” she asks. Her eyes flicking between us, her nosiness having no bounds. Elliot looks at me and leans his head slightly in my mom’s direction; urging me to be the one to talk to her.
I walk to the couch and drop the weight of my whole body on the soft cushions. “No Mom, we were out with some friends.”
“Friends?” The beginning of a smile starts to spread across her face, this whole conversation feels similar to when I told her I no longer played on my own in the playground at school.
“Yes, a girl from work and I went to dinner, and Elliot and his friend came and joined us.”
“Like a double date?”
“No, Mom. Not a double date.” I get up and end the inquisition abruptly. “Would you like a coffee?”
“You sit down,” she fusses. “I can make it. Do either of you want one too?”
“Sure,” we both respond in unison. There’s no point arguing with her, I sit back on the couch and try and work up the courage to explain that I now have a cell phone and she can stop hassling Elliot when she needs to reach me.
“Elliot, dear,” my mother calls out to him, “would you be a sweetheart and come here and help me with these coffee mugs?”
He walks there in no time, and I catch a faint murmur travel through the room, as she attempts to talk about me to him. This isn’t uncommon, but it’s the first time it’s bothered me enough to want to say something. With mugs in hand, they both walk back into the living room. I know my mom well enough to know she’s about to drop a bomb. And apparently so does Elliot.
“I’ve got some emails to catch up on, I’m just going to head to my room and work from my laptop.”
We’re both silent as we wait for his bedroom door to close. A beeping noise comes from my bag and both of us look at it perplexed. I keep forgetting I have a cell.
“What’s that noise?”
“My cell phone”, I say nonchalantly.
“Your what?” She puts her mug down on the coffee table and twists her body ninety degrees. All her attention on me.
> “I got a cell phone.”
“When? Why? What changed your mind?” I feel guilty while she fires all her questions. Her tone of voice is more excited than accusatory.
“I don’t know. I guess it was just time.” She throws her arms around my shoulders and her body sags with relief against mine. I lift my arms and hug her back.
We both pull back, and I see the unshed tears pooling in her eyes. Choosing to be oblivious to the impact my choices had on the lives of others was easier than the ability to take responsibility for hurting the ones who have always been there for me. There’s usually so much pain and anger between us, but right now there’s so much promise it’s overwhelming. The words are lodged in the back of my throat and my tongue heavy from the weight of what needs to be said. I get up and walk toward my bag sitting on the opposite single chair, I reach in and grab my cell. “What’s your cell number? I’ll send you a text so you can have my number.”
She tells me the numbers and I send her a text.
Me: Hey Mom, it’s Evie - this is my number. :)
Her phone beeps and she runs for it like she doesn’t know who it is. I can’t help but chuckle.
“So, is there anything you need to tell me?” I ask her. I know she can visit her daughter at anytime, but the truth of the matter is I made it uncomfortable enough for her to keep tabs on me through Elliot and only visit if she had to.
“Let’s sit back down on the couch,” her hands waving me over. Sitting back down I wait for her to start talking.
“Well, Ray and I have decided to get married.” There’s a long pause before she adds, “In three months.”
I’m no stranger to Ray. He and my mom met about four years ago, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. He’s a great guy, and while I’ve only seen him a handful of times in the last two years, getting married seems like the logical step for them.
“That’s great, Mom. I’m really happy for you.”
“Well, I wanted to tell you we’re thinking of a destination wedding, and you know I want you and your sister standing up there with me,” she tells me.
“I think, that’s something I can do.”
Again, her eyes water but this time she lets the tears fall. And I do too. We both lean into one another and I bury my head in the crook of her neck. I let her arms wrap around me and hold me tight, just like I’m her little girl. Our shoulders shake in unison, each sob more cathartic than the one before.
Another beep from my phone echoes loudly into the room.
“Do you want to check that?” she asks.
“No, it's probably just Court seeing how I am. I stormed out of the restaurant pretty fast, and she's the only one that has my number.”
“Why did you storm out of the restaurant? “Was it because of me?” she asks, sounding remorseful.
“It's complicated. I would've liked it to be your fault but I'm starting to realize a lot of it is mine.”
Her eyes narrow together as she looks at me with a perplexed expression. My statement is loaded, heavy and very ambiguous, but I know my mom and she'll wait me and my thought process out if she has to.
“I'm going to head off before it gets any later,” she announces.
Holding and kissing each of my cheeks, she whispers in my ear. “I'm so proud of you.”
* * *
After Mom left, Elliot came out of hiding and asked if everything was okay. I told him about Ray and the wedding, and he was thrilled. Turns out he’s had much more contact with Ray and Mom in the past than I have. Avoiding discussion about my distressed state earlier, we went our separate ways and called it a night.
Curling up in my bed, under the blankets and with Winnie the Pooh in my arms, I’m ready to sleep. I feel my eyelids getting heavier when my cell beeps and the screen lights up my room. I groan loudly into the empty room. Courtney really has no concept of time and space. I feel around the nightstand for my phone and squint my eyes as I bring the bright light closer. Just as I expected, her name appears on my screen. I swipe the notification and it opens up to her message automatically.
Court: I tried to do it your way and wait for you to text first. But it’s official, you’re hopeless. Did you get home okay? Everything okay with your mom?
If I don’t respond, she’ll just keep texting.
Me: All is good, Mom is getting married. I’m going to bed, talk about it later.
Court: Yay! A wedding? Can we go shopping for a dress?
Me: Night.
Court: Party Pooper
Just as I go to exit my messages, the blue dot indicating an unread message appears in my inbox. The number is unknown and it was sent hours ago. I open it. In the privacy of my room, with the curtains closed and no prying eyes, I let my heart beat a little too fiercely inside my chest. It’s Lior.
I want to put my phone back on the nightstand and ignore the little voice inside my head that is intrigued with the idea of texting him back. I continue to stare at the screen, willing it to make my decision for me and tell me what to do. Shit. The three dots appear on the bottom of the screen, and I throw the phone across my bed. Does he know I’m staring at his message?
My gut tells me Courtney had something to do with this. I want to text her and ask what the hell she was thinking, but the other part of me wants to keep this to myself. Do without Court’s infamous commentary and questions. I’ve thought of Lior at one point of almost everyday since I saw him last. He would turn heads anywhere, his complexion is perfect. His eyes are a translucent pool of warmth, paired with his light brown hair, long enough to run your fingers through and skin covered in a permanent tan; it’s as if he spends his days by the beach getting kissed by the sun. But it's not his physical appearance that leaves the impact. It's his presence. The mere sight of him slices through the cloak of heartache that surrounds me.
The message tone sounds and I countdown from five before throwing my quilt off the bed in search of the phone. Because five extra seconds obviously means I'm a little less crazy. It tumbles on to the floor with a loud thud and I bend down to pick it up fidgeting to see the message.
Lior: Is two messages in one day too much? To be fair Courtney told me be persistent.
Me: I should’ve guessed Court was behind this.
Lior: I asked her for you number
Lior: I had plans to ask you anyway
Me: You did?
Lior: I did.
Me: And now what?
Lior: And now we're friends.
10
Evie
“Seriously, does that phone of yours ever stop beeping?” Court asks.
“I believe this is all your fault, anyway. I didn’t get this phone for myself,” I retort. “And you’re acting like it’s been beeping all day. It beeped once, and maybe another time an hour ago.”
“An hour ago, huh?” She nudges me in the ribs. “Were you counting the minutes?”
I can feel my face erupt in flames at her observation. I walk around the counter and onto the main floor, finding clothes to refold. Being the center of attention isn’t my favorite, and talking about Lior, which Courtney tries to do every chance she gets, isn’t going to happen. It’s been three weeks since Lior and I exchanged our first text. After the first week, I was sure he would be sick of me. I took hours to respond, nothing I said was remotely interesting, and initiating conversation with me was like pulling teeth. Yet time and time again his sincerity and patience makes him impossible to ignore. Like clockwork, he sends three texts a day. He says good morning, asks me how my day is and tells me to have sweet dreams. Anything more is because my conversation skills decide to make an appearance. It’s rare but it happens.
Purposefully, I haven’t seen him since the last time we all went to dinner with one another. Not for his lack of trying, but I’m not ready to have my texting turn into face-to-face conversations. It’s stupid and irrational, but I feel better hiding behind the screen. I don’t have to filter my thoughts, my facial expressions are private and I d
on’t need to be obsessing over what he’s thinking any more than I already do. I can’t even bring myself to talk about him to Courtney, because right now my head and heart are hiding secrets from one another and I see no reason to let either rise to the surface.
Court’s loud voice interrupts my thoughts of Lior. “Your phone is beeping again,” she shouts across the store. I look around thankful nobody is in here. I try and ignore her, worried she’ll start pestering about the texts again.
“If you don’t come back and read it, I’ll read it out loud,” she taunts.
I spin my head around quickly, my long hair hitting me in the face in the process. While Courtney has brought so much into my life so very quickly, there’s no denying she can be annoying as hell. I walk toward her with a purpose. “How many times have I tried to explain to you the concept of boundaries?” I ask.
“Enough times for you to realize it’s never going to happen.”
I exhale loudly showing off my frustration only for her to continue talking like nothing happened.
“Do you want to go out for dinner tonight?” she asks.
“No, not tonight. I’m going to cook at home. Elliot has been weird, so I think I’ll just stay in and eat with him. You’re more than welcome to join.”
“Weird how?”
I think on how to put my thoughts into words. Elliot and I don’t talk about much, but it’s obvious something has changed. I’ve changed personally, but toward Elliot, it’s been positive; more attentive, more understanding. I feel more self-sufficient than I ever have, hoping to have lightened the burden of living with me; but some days I feel like it’s worse than before.
“I guess I assumed if I broke out of my shell a little bit, he would appreciate it.” I shrug. “But some days I feel I’m just being punished for it.”
She pulls her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger, her tell for deciding whether she should say something or not. “Say it already,” I urge.
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