Page 47 of My (Not So) Perfect Plan

“I wanted to make it look like the couple was standing in a gondola. Like, an actual gondola. But the prop department at school said they wouldn’t be able to make it considering all the other stuff they are doing.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you taking anyone?” he asks, but the words are low and slowly spoken like he’s asking but doesn’t really want to know the answer.

I shrug. “I’m the coordinator, so I have to be there regardless. Raven will be there.”

I’m about to ask him who he is taking when he cuts me off.

“It sounds like you should plan on pursuing event coordination as a career. Heck, if you’re this good at it in high school.”

I laugh and my cheeks grow warm at the compliment. “Yeah, I don’t know that I’m that good at it and I had a lot of help. But I do love it.”

It never occurred to me before that I could make a career out of this. I think back to the mountain of work I’ve done to make this event come together. While it was the highlight of my day to do it, I could see how someone would prefer to hire someone else to do it.

“Do you really think I could become an event coordinator?”

He bites his lip as he looks up at me, some hidden emotion seeking to get out through his eyes. “I think you could do anything you want, if you wanted to, Claire.”

Something clutches at my gut. A memory of me telling him that he didn’t fit in my plan, and the hurt and pain in his eyes when I said that to him. I feel like that me of only a few weeks ago was a stupid little girl that didn’t know what she wanted. I still don’t know what I want, but I have all these feelings and they confuse and scare me.

The waitress comes with our food and we start eating. It’s really good, but eating becomes so much more than just eating when Evan is sitting across from me. Every now and then we catch each other sneaking surreptitious glances at the other and then pretend that we are aimlessly looking around the restaurant. Or maybe that’s just me and it’s pure coincidence and he actually is aimlessly looking around the restaurant.

“How’s your recovery going?” I ask between bites. I know we aren’t friends, but we are stuck here together and need something talk about.

“Good. Thanks for asking.”

“I’m impressed by how quickly you got off those crutches.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right. I don’t think three weeks is quickly at all.”

“Well, your limp isn’t bad.”

“I might keep it just for fun. Everyone can call me Captain Stumpy and I’ll walk around saying, ‘Aaargh, mateys.”

I can’t help laughing.

“Can I plunder your treasure?” he leers at me and I have to cover my mouth so he doesn’t see down my throat from laughing.

“Gross!” I throw my napkin at him when I catch my breath. His eyes crinkle up on the sides and I realize how much I’ve been missing this. Evan put joy in my heart where no one else did. In some ways, I wish I had handled things differently, that I hadn’t been so focused on the plan that I was willing to ruin a perfectly good friendship. Maybe we couldn’t be anything more than friends, but I had handled it so badly.

His eyes are lit with a wistful, hungry look. I look away, unable to take the intensity, but I know I owe him an apology. I just don’t know that I’m brave enough to say it. Or brave enough to say it and ask for his friendship again. Can I take his rejection a second time?

He picks up his hand and hesitantly stretches it out across the table to where my hand lies on the table. He rests itthere and I’m confused. Doesn’t he have a date to the gala? What about Tamara?

I remember all the reasons why we can’t be together. I knew them already. I just needed to be reminded. And that’s okay, because I don’t want anything more than friendship from him. This gives me the courage to ask.

“Evan,” I say, pulling my hand away and dropping it into my lap. A flash of disappointment crosses his features before he recovers. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for how I handled, um, for dumping that on you right after your surgery. That was a really, uh, messed up thing to do. And it was selfish and inconsiderate of me.”

I look away, not finished, but I’m just overwhelmed with how bad I feel. Tears well up in my eyes and I dab at them with my napkin. Thankfully, he can tell there is still more that I want to say and waits for me to finish.

“I knew you weren’t in a good place and I just, uh, panicked, I guess you would call it. My plan has always been so important to me and I thought…. Well, I guess I thought I was enjoying myself too much with you and there’s risk because of…“ I can feel my cheeks going red again, but I push on anyway, “possible attraction, would complicate things. So I thought I would uncomplicate it. But, um…” I raise my eyes to his. They watch me, accepting, not judging, patient and dark and intense. “I was serious about wanting to stay friends. I want you in my life and I guess I’m just crazy enough to hope that you want me too.” My voice cracks at the end and I look down in my lap with a half-chuckle—sob thing that has me really embarrassed.

I just threw it all on the line for friendship with him, not for a hook up with him. But what guy wants that? I’m asking for him to be my friend, but to stay firmly in the friend zone. I cringe, waiting for his rejection. When he doesn’t respond I raisemy eyes to his. They still watch me, but I can’t see what he’s thinking.

“Thanks, Claire, I appreciate that,” he says. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m in a much better place now, because like you said, recovery is going so well.” He clears his throat. “I’d like it if we can be friends again too.”

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