Page 2 of Summertime Friends

She found a place in the Loop. I had to hang up on her quickly, my brain tuning out everything she said about the place and area. I had never been, but I knew the area. I asked her to email over the details, and I’d get back to her.

The next hour was a blur. I slumped in the chair behind the desk I’d been working from.

I wondered if she still lived there—in the Loop, not Chicago. I knew she still lived in Chicago. At least, that’s what her social media showed the last time I checked before I unfollowed her. Seeing her in my feed hurt. I’d fixate on her smile and remember that, at one point, I was the reason she smiled—and the one that caused her to stop. She looked happy, which made me happy, but also jealous that she was no longer smiling because of me.

I sat there, letting myself stew in the memories, trying to decide whether I should contact her to tell her I’d be there. Ultimately, I decided against it, instead working up the energy to go and meet the boys. I might have let her down, but I wouldn’t let them down.

George and Callum don’t ask about her anymore. I think she lives in the past for all of us as a faint summer memory. But she isn’t only in the past for me.

And I know they pick up on that tonight.

“Negroni with an extra shot of gin, man,” I order from the waiter when he circles back to take orders. “Thanks.”

I’m hopeful that this will help turn my night around.

It doesn’t.

Two more rounds of drinks don’t help either.

I sat there like a scene out of a movie. Everyone around me moving fast while I’m frozen in slow motion.

George leans over the table and claps his hands.

“Alright, ladies. It’s been beautiful, but it’s time to go. Put your drinks on his tab.” George points at me. “And have a lovely evening.”

Their amusement drops, cross about the end of whatever they assumed the night would go. With a few huffs and sighs, they exitthe booth. George and Callum don’t move as the women climb around them, but I slide out of the booth to let them exit.

“Now tell us. What’s wrong?” Callum asks.

“Is this about Chicago?” George asks, narrowing Callum’s broad question.

They both stare at me, already knowing the answer.

I nod.

“Do you still love her?” they ask in unison.

“I think I always will.”

1

EMERSON

Now

“Honey, come check out these windows,” Brandon’s mom, Laura, calls him over. “You could put florals in the window or have the curtains pulled together, but I don’t think they should be open to the public.”

Brandon walks over to her. Leaving me and Josie, the event coordinator, who has been giving us a tour for the past two hours.

When scheduling the tour today, they confirmed it would last an hour. We aren’t even halfway through, and we’ve doubled the time. Brandon’s mom stops every four steps to study the placement of an outlet or ask irrelevant questions.

I don’t say anything because she’s paying for the wedding. That, and I learned my lesson the first time I tried to make a decision.

“Did you have a date in mind?” Josie whispers to me.

“No,” I reply.

“Our first available Saturday is in December, but—”

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