A breath comes and goes. It’s not easy, but it’s easier than it was. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Brianna’s going to have a hold on me for the rest of my life. No matter what happens. If she’s asking me to be friends, then I’m more than happy to start there.
Asher: Yeah, Bri.
I almost add that I love her. That I’ve loved her for forever. From the first time I heard her laugh. But I don’t. I settle back onto my pillow and type out another text.
Asher: Can I see you tomorrow? Or is that too much?
Bri: Yeah. I’d really like to see you. I wish you hadn’t left earlier.
I hesitate to respond and her next text comes before I can.
Bri: I’m working, but then maybe we can get takeout and catch up?
One simple question, and it brings back so many memories of sitting on the couch together. We were too broke for restaurants, but to-go bags and a bench did just fine.
That was our thing. We’d get food from this place or that place, find a spot to sit side by side, and talk. Those were our best dates. I almost ask her if she remembers them too. I almost ask her if they make her chest all warm in the middle when she thinks about them. Those times with Brianna are where my mind wanders when I have a bad day. I just picture myself sitting on a bench somewhere, takeout in our laps, laughing.
There are a million things I could say, but I don’t want to push her too far. I’ve done that enough tonight. It was proof that I fucked up worse than I thought. I knew the breakup had hurt her. I just didn’t think she’d chalk it up to a mistake.
Craziest part is, now that she’s texting me, I’m hopeful. We were friends once. If Brianna wants to start as friends again, then there’s a chance.
“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself,” I say out loud. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. It’s not fair to her after what I did, and after what I’m still not telling her.
My fingers hover over the screen of my phone. I have the urge to spill my secrets now. Tell her everything. Big blocks of text on the screen. All the justifications I made to myself, and how scared I was, and how I wanted to call her and ask her to come home. How I needed her but at the same time, I couldn’t. She was living her dream and I wanted to be there, but I was barely holding on.
I just couldn’t. I couldn’t let her see what was happening to my dad. I couldn’t let her see what was happening to me. I think if she knew, she wouldn’t think last night was a mistake. She’d know us breaking up was.
I don’t want her to think I’m telling her as a way to get close, though. I desperately want to be close to her, but not like this.
It’s fine and she doesn’t need to know, I remind myself. Dad’s not drinking. He took the garbage out and came back. He didn’t go walking down the road in the middle of the night to get drunk. It’s all okay. All is right for the moment.
Bri’s waiting for an answer.
Asher: Of course we can. You pick a place. Wherever you want. I’ll be waiting for you when you get out of work.
Brianna
There have been very few changes to my parents’ real estate office since I was a child. There are new chairs. A new coat of paint on the walls, but it’s the same soothing shade of pale mauve. There’s a new plaque on the wall behind my mother’s desk, though. It’s an award for being one of the top realtors in the region. Staring at it makes me smile, knowing my name is carved under her desk where I used to hide makes me smirk.
Maybe it makes me a little sappy, but I’m proud of my parents every time I walk in here. I’m not sure if it’s where I’ll stay and what I want my career to be, but it’s comforting that I have this job and I get to work with them while I find my way. It’s a good job to boot, even if it mostly has to do with paperwork.
Between this job and the salon, I have my old life back but times ten in a way.
Growing up, I was in the office all the time. My dad stayed home with me when I was very young, and more often than not, he was the one dropping me off and picking me up from school. He was a realtor, too, but my mom was the one who was always out and about.
Technically, it’s my father’s business. But in reality, she’s the one who’s one of the top realtors in the region for selling vacation homes.
Dropping the stack of printouts on my mom’s desk in her empty office, I leave it behind to return to my desk, which is plain and waiting for a cute mug full of colorful pens, frames I bought last week that still need to be filled with pictures from back in college, and other personal touches. Right now the only pop of color is a stack of yellow Post-It notes and the only way anyone knows it’s mine is from the paper sign that says “Brianna Holloway.” Settling into my chair, everything that I still have to do piles up in my mental to-do list, but it’s swept away quickly, just like everything else has all morning.
Because I can’t stop thinking about Asher.
Last night took me back to the way things used to be between us. It was a flash of a moment and the escape was everything I could have dreamed of. Heck, I have dreamed of that moment. The two of us forgetting about everything that’s happened and just loving on each other. I seek refuge in my cup of coffee, blowing on top of it only to take a sip and realize it’s room temperature now. My head falls back and I try to snap myself out of it for the tenth time today.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
An escape is one thing. A moment of passion. Real life is another.
My gaze shifts to my phone and my sister’s text about lunch. There are none from him waiting for me to read and I haven’t sent him any either. It’s not like this is a conversation we can have over text, or even standing around in the kitchen. It’s probably a talk that will take a decent amount of time. So I can trust him again. A lump forms in my throat and the lukewarm coffee is barely enough to get rid of it.