Our Year of Maybe - Page 98
Oh. Hey. You’re there. I wasn’t expecting that.
10:40 p.m.
What can I say? I’m full of surprises.
10:44 p.m.
You don’t owe me an answer to this, either, but . . . did you mean what you said? About . . . not liking who you are when you’re around me?
11:19 p.m.
I still need some time to figure it out.
11:25 p.m.
Okay.
CHAPTER 35
SOPHIE
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS AFTER you break up with your best friend, the person you loved more than anyone in the world. You stop giving them rides to school. You avoid them in the halls. Your parents, who were also best friends, drift away from each other again. At doctor’s appointments, you don’t learn anything you didn’t already know. Sometimes you hurt, and sometimes you ache, but the worst pain is one you can’t put a name to and can’t swallow a pill to fix.
The weekend after that weekend, Tabby drags me to the Early Bird for free waffles and a mountain of French fries.
“You’ve been mopey,” she says, pointing her fork at me. “You needed this.”
“Mopey. Yeah.” I dip a chunk of waffle into syrup. Dipping is a much more satisfying—though less economical—use of syrup. Regarding my mopiness, I’m not even sure where to begin. “Everything with Peter is a complete mess.”
“That can’t be true. I can’t imagine anything could happen between you two to cause that.”
“Well . . . we slept together.” It’s a relief to tell her.
“Holy shit. What?”
“Last weekend. And . . . I thought we were finally together, but we’re not, and when we tried to talk about it, we just exploded at each other. What you said, about being friends with him knowing we can never be together? I couldn’t do it. Too much of my life has revolved around him. It needs to fucking stop.” My voice hitches, and Tabby reaches across the table to squeeze my hand.
“Soph,” she says quietly, but I shake my head to indicate I’m not done.
“Whatever happens, it’s going to be impossible for me to ever forget him because of this.” I gesture toward the scar beneath my shirt. “All I want to do is stop loving him, but he’s been part of my life for so long that I don’t know how.”
“What do you love about him?” she asks, grabbing a handful of fries.
The question throws me. “I—” I start, another piece of waffle halfway to my mouth. No one’s ever really asked me that. Because he’s Peter. Because those are the feelings I have for Peter. “He’s smart, and sweet, and funny, and . . .” I trail off, realizing those are totally vague traits that could apply to just about anyone. But Peter is not a vague person. I shake that away. Loving Peter has become as natural as my own heartbeat. “His music, that’s a big one. We h
ave this deep respect for each other as artists, and I’ve always loved that. Like we understand each other on a completely different level from people who don’t get music. And he just knows me. Better than anyone.”
Tabby nods. “Okay. I can see that. I was always sort of jealous of you two growing up. You bonded so immediately. You had each other and I . . . didn’t have you. My older sister.”
“Tab,” I say, her words a blow to my heart. “You and I aren’t that far apart from each other, are we?”
“No, but we’ve never been best friends or anything. And now with Luna . . .”
“That doesn’t mean you and I can’t be close.”
“I guess it doesn’t.”
We chew in silence for a couple minutes, until I realize this entire conversation has been focused on my problems. “How—how are you and Josh?” Lately, they’ve seemed okay, and Josh is back to spending most of his time at our house. I’m not sure why I ever resented that. These days, I like that there’s always someone around.
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