Page 41 of Summertime Friends

A small part of me believes that she feels the same way.

I suspected it all night.

Even now, the frayed string between us, we are both pulling on it from opposite ends, hoping it’ll pull us together instead of finally splitting in half, unsalvageable.

I’m not ready to let go.

Not until I know. I have questions I need answers to.

But even if I get the answers—responses I’ll like or loathe—I don’t know if I’d be able to relinquish that small part of her I hold coveted. It’s not because I still love her; it’s because she was my best friend.

“Wait. Sta—” I catch myself before calling her States again. I don’t even know if I should use her name. She told me once that I was the only person to call her Emerson. Is that still true? But her name, Emerson, is sitting there. My mouth still knows precisely how it should form to say it because every part of me remembers every part of her. “Can I use your bathroom? Promise to leave then.”

Emerson nods.

We take the elevator to her apartment, floor twelve. As soon as we step off, her shoulders drop. She’s relaxed.

“Do you enjoy living in this part of the city?”

“I do. The neighborhood is nice despite the longer commute to work. Depending on the day, I bike or take the train.”

I follow behind her to her door. A chuckle escapes my mouth.

“What’s funny?” Her stare is pointed.

Is it wrong that I’ll take this irritated and perplexed version of Emerson over no version of her at all?

“I still think about how terrible you were trying to navigate the train the day we went to Lagos. You were insanely adamant that your side was in the right direction, just to be wrong and then have to sprint with your bag across the platforms.”

“Hey! It said Lagos, I swear.” Her laugh falls out, and I think my whole world stops. If it were humanly possible, I’d bottle up her laugh and open it every morning when I wake.

“Yeah, sure.” I smile at her. “At least you can navigate us home now.”

“I’m a lot better now. You know. . . the whole signs being in English really helps.” We’re both laughing now. I missed her laugh. It’s the type of laugh that takes control of your whole body. Mouthwide open, belly laughs. Terribly ugly, but I love it terribly. “Natalie is the one that’s terrible at it.”

The comment snaps us back to reality.

What even is this reality? One with her in it, so close yet further away than ever. She’s here, and I’m where? Drifting somehow parallel to Emerson, figuring my shit out with another girl? Emerson is finally in love with someone that isn’t me?

The answer should be easy. But it isn’t.

The answer should be us.But itisn’t.

We break eye contact, both looking down at the mention of Natalie’s name.

Luckily, we are at what must be her door.

I’m standing adjacent to her. Emerson digs in her bag for her keys, but I put my arm out to stop her. It lands on the door with a thud.

“Emer—”

“Why are you here?” she says breathily. Her back is to me, but I can tell she is fighting the same urge—an urge to ignore everything and fall back into us.

“Hayes Hotels now has a Chicago office. You would know that if you took the meeting earlier today.”

She spins around to face me. I take a step in front of her. My other arm comes up to cage her in from the other side.

“I meant rightnow.”

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