Page 11 of One More Weekend

It was quite the show.

But it was a side of her that she rarely showed, only in a dead bar on a weeknight after a drink or two. Something I had the pleasure of seeing once a week if I was lucky.

My chest tightened at the thought of leaving her. I knew no one else would indulge me like this, would cook me food for office lunch and leave it in a marked container in the fridge, would cancel an important shift just because I wanted to go sing while pretending like she didn’t have anything going on.

Sy waltzed across the stage toward me for the bridge, meeting my gaze with her green eyes. “So far away, but still so near. But you don’t see me, standing here. I’m in the corner, watching you kiss her.”

She bent over, giving the song her all on the last chorus. “I keep dancing on my own.”

Holding the mic to me, I moved my lips closer and sang along, “I’m right over here, why can’t you see me?”

Sy winked as she pulled the mic back to finish off her song, a bead of sweat dripping down her forehead as she belted it out.

A blush rose to my cheeks.God, she’s adorable.Part of me wished I’d never made that deal with her freshman year. Standing on the couple stone streets outside some ratty bar on the Lower East Side, Sy had turned me to face her as I swayed – far tipsier than I’d meant to be.

I’d gotten a vibe off of her all night, that maybe on this lonely walk, she just might kiss me. And when I looked into her green eyes then, I thought she was about to make her move. A gorgeous orange glow was cast on her face by the streetlights overhead. It was everything I’d hoped for.

Instead, Sy smiled and held my hand. “Do you think we could promise to just be friends? You’re the first person I’ve liked all of welcome week and I don’t want to blow it by hooking up.”

My heart had broken. There was nothing I wanted more from my college experience than to have a wild hookup my first week. A part of me assumed she’d offered the deal because she didn’t have the heart to tell me to fuck off with my little crush.

So I stuck out my hand and shook hers. “Deal,” sealing my fate.

And now, as Sy danced out the last few bars of her song, I was kinda glad we had. But I couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve been.

She’s probably right, we were too young to do it right.I shook the thought as she slipped the microphone back onto the stand and waltzed back over.

Besides, if I wasreallyleaving the city, there was no point picking that scab. I just had to make the most of the next three months.

A few days later,I found myself sprawled out on the couch on Tuesday afternoon, dawning a pair of stained sweats and a loose tank top. My laptop rested on my thighs, the heat from the old Macbook burning the skin even through the fleece.

LinkedIn was one of twenty tabs open in my browser, along with dozens of job postings.

But before I could click into another application, I heard the familiar jingle of keys just outside the apartment door.

I didn’t move an inch, not concerned with Sy’s opinion of my sad state.

Pushing open the door, Sy smiled at me as she threw down her backpack by the front door. “Hey.”

I waved at her. “How was work?”

Even from across the apartment, I could smell the coffee grounds and sweat on her clothes. She’d worked at that coffee shop as long as I could remember, taking the gig early freshman year since it was close to school.

“Ugh, I can’t tell if I’m old or if these college kids are more annoying than we were.” Sy groaned as she tossed herself down on our couch.

Stretching out my legs into her lap, I scrolled down the job listing page on my screen. “We’re definitely just fogey’s now.”

“True.” Without being asked, Sy’s hands went to my socked foot and started to rub the sore arches underneath. Even after a week without wearing heels to work, my feet ached from the years of wear I’d put on them. “How’s the job hunt?”

I tried not to moan when I parted my lips to answer, “Terrible. None of my contacts have anything in mind – whichblows. But my parents are thrilled that I may take them up on their offer.”

“I’m sure they are.” Sy rolled her eyes as she dug her slender fingers into my foot, kneading out a sore spot.

Shrugging, I sat up a little bit. Over the edge of my computer screen, I saw Sy’s exhausted face. She needed a break, a real one. This gig peddling was really hard on her, even if she liked to pretend it wasn’t.

“You don't have to rub my feet.” I raised an eyebrow.

Looking over at me, Sy winked. “I know.”

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