Page 62 of Fragments of You

“A house is not what happens inside of it. At the end of the day, it’s just a house. It’s the only good thing my father ever did, buying this place. It’s weirdly satisfying knowing he wouldn’t want me to have it, but it’s mine just the same.”

“So, in a way, you’re doing it to spite him.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it before now, but yeah, I guess I am.” He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug.

“In that case, show me which wall I’m tearing down.”

“You know you don’t have to do this,” he reminds me.

“I know. Now do you want to show me, or do you want me to just start knocking shit down?” I can’t help but smile when he smiles, the sight infectious.

“Maybe I’ll show you.” He laughs, lifting from his kneeling position.

“Smart choice,” I tell him as he passes me, my breath catching in my throat when he abruptly stops, his hand reaching out to touch my hair.

“What are you doing?” I tilt my head.

“Relax.” Another chuckle. “You have some drywall in your hair,” he tells me, pulling a small chunk from my long waves before holding it up in front of my face.

“Oh, thanks,” I say, mildly embarrassed because my mind had gone somewhere else entirely when he touched me.

“You might want to tie your hair back. Otherwise, you’re going to be taking bits of plaster and drywall home with you.”

I jump when his other hand grazes my wrist.

“Glad to see some things haven’t changed.”

It takes me longer than it should to realize what he’s saying. In fact, I don’t actually understand until he gently snaps the hair tie on my wrist.

“Oh, yeah.” I play it off like I knew what he was talking about all along. “You don’t have hair like mine and leave the house without a hair tie.” I pull my hand back, sliding the band from my wrist before making quick work of tying my long hair up into a messy bun. “There,” I announce when I’m done.

“I always did love your hair like this,” he tells me, staring at me for a long moment. My breath catches in my throat and for a brief moment, I almost think he’s going to try to kiss me, but then he abruptly turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the middle of the living room by myself. “Are you coming?” he hollers after me, snapping me from my trance.

“Yeah,” I call back, trying to shake off whatever the hell that was. If I didn’t know any better, I would say I’m almost disappointed. But that can’t be right. How could I possibly want him to kiss me when I’m engaged to his best friend? Or well, his ex-best friend. Though that’s a moot point.

I wouldn’t have let him, I reassure myself. I may be confused and in a really weird place right now, but I am no cheater. If the day comes that I let Nash kiss me, it’ll be because Felix and I are no longer together, and not a second before. Not that I think that’s actually going to happen. At this point, I have no intention of ending things with Felix. No, right now, I’m just trying to figure things out.

With my resolve firmly in place, I take off down the hall after him.

Walking into Nash’s old bedroom is harder than I thought it would be. Unlike the other rooms, this one appears untouched. From the twin bed in the corner, to the old dresser held level by a book shoved under the front leg, to the faded posters and pictures that still pepper the walls, it feels like I’ve just stepped back in time.

I move through the room slowly, looking at old pictures hung in various places with no real rhyme or reason to their placement.

Pictures of us, from a time that feels so long ago and yet, so close I could almost reach out and touch it. Group pictures from parties and gatherings where everyone seems so carefree and happy. Then again, I guess back then that’s exactly what we were. Too young to be inundated by the strains of adulthood but old enough to appreciate these moments as they happened, knowing that things wouldn’t always be so simple.

I stop at a picture of Nash and Felix. They’re on a boat, both in swim trunks with no shirts on, their skin so tan that I have no doubt the picture was taken toward the end of summer. They’re sitting at the front of the boat, Felix stretched out, his long legs hanging over the sides, face tilted back toward the person holding the camera. Nash is next to him, sitting upright, looking over his shoulder with a grin.

They seem so at ease, like they don’t have a care in the world. Only, that’s not true because I know when this was taken and it was the summer Felix’s mom was diagnosed with cancer, and given what I know now, Nash was already using at this point. So really, this picture is a lie. Only it’s not at the same time. Because back then, neither was happier than when they were able to escape life and really live in the moment, a moment much like the one in this picture.

“You two were always so close,” I finally say after several long beats of silence have stretched between us. I can feel his eyes on me, precisely where they’ve been since I entered the room.

“Yeah,” he softly agrees.

“I hate what I’ve done to your friendship,” I admit.

“You didn’t do anything to our friendship. That was Felix, and Felix alone.”

“That’s not true.” I turn to face him, my heart heavy in my chest. “After you left, I clung to him like a lifeline. He was all I had left of you. I made it impossible for him to draw a line between us. We were friends, and then suddenly, we were something more.”

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