Page 44 of Summertime Friends

I never told Liam I loved him. I didn’t know how. Feeling it was one thing, saying it was another.

In hindsight, I realize I was waiting for years for him to tell me because I didn’t want to be the one to risk themselves first. He finally did tell me, but hearing it wasn’t everything it’s chopped up to be.

But now he knows. He knows that I loved him.

We stand in the hallway, holding each other’s gaze for minutes.

Liam breaks our eye contact, frustratedly pushing off the door. He keeps releasing deep, audible breaths, the type you hear in a yoga class. His feet pace back and forth in front of me before he spins toward the elevator and walks down the hallway.

He doesn’t say a word to me. Or even bothers looking at me. This is why I didn’t want to say anything.

I hear Liam grumbling over his heavy steps, talking to himself frustratedly.

“Did you want to rip your heart out again? You knew her answers.”

“You shouldn’t have pushed her.”

“I should never have gotten that close to her.”

I wish I could unhear all of it.

He’s upset, and I get it, but nothing in me feels guilty about his behavior—he asked for it. He asked for it, and here it is, a repercussion of love.

As he waits for the elevator, facing the metal doors, Liam turns to his left, back toward me.

The look on his face is piercing. That new baby deer kind of love? His face is the hunter shooting it down. The full reality of tonight settling in and pulling the trigger. His eyes are broken, no longer being able to mask the hurt he felt—then and now. Glimmering behind the hurt is love, trying to push through. I know it is. I can see it. Trying to make the situation better. Trying to demand we say everything that we still aren’t.

“Liam,” I try to call out, but nothing comes out. Nothing. Instead, I feel the words I want to say clawing to get out. They long, desperately wishing that this was an entirely different situation. I wouldn’t let him get on that elevator in any other situation. I’d run to him. Tell him how I can’t stop thinking about him. How missing him drives me crazy. How I’ve dreamed of this momentand pictured it so vividly. Then kiss him, pull him back to my apartment, and never let us go again.

But Brandon. But Natalie.

But everything that happened that summer.

The elevator chimes. Liam’s head drops, and he steps on the elevator without another look or goodbye.

Was this it? Was that my opportunity, and did I blow it? Is this how it all finally ends?

I don’t move. Physically, I can’t.

My back slumps on the door to my apartment. The solidness keeps me from completely falling apart. I keep staring at where Liam was, hoping maybe, just maybe, he’d come back.

I allow myself another moment before pulling out my keys to go inside. Halfway through the front entryway that leads to my apartment’s main living area, my chest tightens. I feel like I can’t breathe.

In and out. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

Coaching myself through something so human it’s second nature, but my stupid self has forgotten how to do it.

I can’t get Liam’s face out of my mind. Trapping me only feet away, close enough that I could make out every cord of muscle and his rapidly beating heart. The fact that he asked me if I ever loved him. Or how he said my full name. It’s as if my mind decided to hit rewind and play in slow motion the night, forcing me to relieve it as if I wasn’t an active participant.

I slip my purse off my shoulder and drop it on the counter before I head to the bedroom closet.

Brandon stops me.

“Emme?” he asks.

“This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think I was going to see you till Friday. What are you doing here?” I step toward him, rising on my toes to kiss him.

He pulls away from me, shaking his head. His arms crossed in front of his chest.

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