Page 73 of Summertime Friends

I blink a series, trying to ensure I see what I see. Liam’s name is on the screen.

That’s impossible. I didn’t give him my number. Of course, it crossed my mind, but I chickened out.

I click the message open.

Liam: I’m not ready to find out what it’s like for you to forget me.

Liam: Friends?

31

EMERSON

Now

A week has passed since that night in Natalie’s apartment when she and Chloe nursed me back to sanity. Natalie has texted and called several times, asking if I wanted to take a workout class with her, go to the farmers’ market, or pick up a new pair of sandals Gucci dropped and that she desperately needed after I bailed on our weekly margarita night.

By the time Thursday evening rolled around, I was over Brandon—mostly. That was going to end, and I think I knew it for months, so in a way, I grieved it as it was happening. I had moved on to my fixation on Liam, which meant Natalie.

I didn’t know how to face them. So I stuck to myself.

I respond to her texts, knowing she’d be more concerned and panic if I didn’t. Being ‘busy’ is officially running low in stock as an excuse.

Luckily, work has been busy, so avoiding her isn’t entirely a lie. Nelson and Moore isn’t normally busy this time of year, but in the past four months, we’ve onboarded eight new clients, including Hayes Hotels. My coworkers complain about working extra and how it’s ruining their summer, but I’ve welcomed it with open arms. It’s kept my mind off everything else for at least a week.

It was slow, the Liam recovery phase. After what happened in London three years ago, it took me a long time to get back together. Natalie and Chloe struggled to get me up off the couch for months until, one day, I decided I couldn’t be that way anymore. It was my birthday, and there’s nothing like deciding to stop wallowing in self-pity as a birthday present for yourself.

I went back to regularly scheduled girl’s nights, picked up my camera again, and even went on dates that Natalie and Chloe set me up on.

The only thing I didn’t do was tell them the full gravity of what occurred with Liam, who they nicknamed London Lover Boy.

Their help was great, and I’ll always appreciate it, until they realized it was going in one ear and shooting right out the other. As much as I fronted that I was okay and moved on behind closed doors, I wasn’t. What happened between him and I was deeper than a broken heart. It was a broken version of myself.

The tape I used to put the pieces back together is losing its stickiness, coming undone and unraveling me in the process.

My phone buzzes on my desk. Glancing over, I see a number on my screen.

+55 020 4561 8441: Don’t ignore Natalie.

In the haze of Brandon and work, I hadn’t questioned why Liam’s messages last week or today didn’t include a contact name. I knew it was him.

After saving his number, I stare at his contact page, trying to place when I deleted it. I don’t remember getting rid of it.

I’m not. I’ve been busy.

Why do you even care?

Liam: 1. You’re her best friend.

Liam: 2. She’s suspecting something.

Okay

Liam: Emerson. . .

Liam: You have to believe me that we didn’t do this on purpose.

We?

---