Page 9 of When We Meet Again

“I could never forget Roman, Wave. Not even if I wanted to. He held your hair when you were throwing up while yourboyfriendwas out back driving golf balls into the lake. Women don’t forget that kind of stuff.”

“Yes. That boyfriend was my brother.” They know. I know. But I notice how Victoria’s face shifts from disdain to pity. Waverly gently grabs my arm, and it feels like a million kisses on my skin. Our heads snap to each other and she let’s go.

The color returns to her cheeks, and they turn a pretty shade of pink. I’m not sure if she’s more embarrassed by her friend’s forwardness about that night or her touching me.

That night lives rent-free in my head. Patrick told me he wanted to throw a surprise party but asked me to do all of the planning. He never took full credit, but also never gave credit where credit was due. I decorated the entire basement of my parents’ lake house, hired a DJ to only play Waverly’s requests. I even handmade a sign that read, “If you aren’t the birthday girl, don’t bother requesting songs.” I ordered the white cake with a strawberry filling and balloons, and my favorite—I had everyone write one wish and tie it to a balloon at the end of the night. Waverly took her time with her wish, but when she sent it up to the sky, she laughed. A laugh of happiness. Ofhope.

Fortunately, Victoria changes the subject and issues now-familiar condolences for Patrick’s death.

She looks at me and nods a few times like it’s a silent thank you for taking care of her friend. “Good to see you again, Roman.” And she looks back at Waverly. “Let’s hang out soon, okay?” Her hand slides down Waverly’s arm and both of them nod.

“Okay.”

The mood shifts and I watch the two women hug before Victoria walks away.

An awkward silence falls over us for a few moments once she’s gone. But the silence is broken when she asks, “She has a steel trap memory, huh?” Waverly laughs, pulling her sleeves over her balled hands.

“Most women do.”

CHAPTER 5

WAVERLY

Fortunate:I found an old photo of me and Patrick the night we met. We were so young. Happy.

Unfortunate: I spilled a can of ginger ale on the photo and now our faces are distorted.

As much funit was to finally get out of my apartment, being back home, I feel my shoulders relax.

I’ve been a terrible friend to Victoria. She’s tried to get me out of the house, but I refused. For the first six months, she would come by and knock, but I never let her in. I either pretended like I wasn’t home, or asleep. She knew better, because eventually, she stopped coming around.

The knawing pain in my stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten the two most important part of the food groups in a long time—fruits and veggies. That, or maybe I’ve socialized enough for one day and my body is screaming for rest. Except when I finally walk into the living room, a foul smell punches me in the face. Glancing behind me, I hope Roman didn’t follow me in, but it’s too late. His face is distorted. There’s nothing I can do but moan in embarrassment, slapping my hands to my cheeks.

“I can’t believe I let it get this bad. I let myself spiral.” I place my hand over my chest. “I don’t spiral! I have my shit together usually. I need to clean this up.” Roman grabs my shoulders and shushes me. Respectfully.

“You dealt with everything the best way you knew how. I mean, you’re still dealing with it, but you’ve reached the next stage of grief. It’s usually anger, though. So if you could kindly avoid taking it out on me, I’d appreciate it,” he jokes, winking at me. “I’m going to help you clean.”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not. I did this and it smells like a men’s locker room in here. So gross.”

“You’re in luck. I’m very familiar with the pungent aroma of men’s locker rooms.” Roman smirks with shining eyes. “The high school soccer team,” he confirms. “I’m here to stay until everything is tidy.” He starts toward the small closet that harbors all of our—my—cleaning supplies. It’s not much. Just a vacuum and a Swiffer sweeper.

I’ve never really had help cleaning the apartment. Patrick was always away, and when he was home, he was catching up with family, or relaxing on the couch, or catching up with football. Not really one to clean. I can’t complain too much. He was pretty tidy—for the most part.

Roman pulls out the vacuum and holds it up like it’s Simba in the Lion King. “Is this a Dyson V11 Cordless Stick Vacuum, size large in nickel and blue?”

I laugh. Hard. A sound that’s foreign to me. “That’s oddly specific. How do you know that?”

He gently places it on the floor. “I’ll have you know that once you own one of these, you’ve won at adulthood. I’ve been wanting one, but just haven’t gotten around to buying it.”

Still laughing, I start gathering the blankets on the couch for the laundry. “That was Patrick’s Christmas present for me.” Hislaugh faded into a grin, and he turned it on, drowning out any more talking we could have done.

Always a mood killer, Waverly.

Dearest Waverly,

It delights me that you are finding consolation in Roman. He seems like someone you need to have next to you at this juncture of your life. Pay no mind to him being the brother of your lost one. We seek comfort in those whom our soul seeks, not in our brain.

It’s important to not fight the ebbs and flows of life but to move with them. I know it may be hard considering how Patrick passed away, but think of yourself as water. Tao and water are synonymous. We take this magical energy for granted. Like water, if we stay still, we become stagnant; if we allow ourselves to flow, we stay pure. Water makes no plans to become rain, to freeze, to be used for hydration, but instead, it benefits by being what it is and doing what it does.

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