Page 121 of We Can't Be Friends

“The biggest,” Miller responds before addressing me. “If you two change your mind—”

“Enjoy the night.”

He nods. Giving Riley a tight hug and a kiss to his head, he heads to the door. Miller grabs the archway and quarter turns to face me. “He’s allergic to peanuts. Chloe knows, but till she gets back.”

At the same time I reply, Riley says, “No, I’m not.”

I know who he inherited his attitude from.

***

“My tooth is loose.” Riley shoves his face into mine. A sticky hand holds onto one of his front teeth, wiggling it. “See. See, Callum.”

No. I absolutely cannot see because his face is way too close to mine, and if I’m being completely honest, kids losing teeth sort of freaks me out. I don’t have a good reason, just does.

“Uhh.” I stare at him, practically cross-eyed, watching him wiggle the tooth looser.

“If it comes out tonight, how will the Tooth Fairy know where I am? Do I have to go home?”

“The Tooth Fairy isn’t—” I catch myself before spoiling the kid’s belief that she is real. Which would somehow snowball into the Easter Bunny or, worse, Santa.

What a solid impression I’d make on Miller. Here’s your child back. Oh, and by the way, ruined Christmas for you next week. Sorry, not sorry!

Chloe might need to get home soon.

35

CHLOE

Chicago finally feels like a winter wonderland. It snowed while I was working, a crisp sparkling layer covering the sidewalks. I step in the existing footprints, not wanting to ruin the untouched snow. Outlined in gray, the snow turning to slush around my boots which oddly reminds me of myself.

For years, I’ve allowed people (guys) to only walk (see) on the path carved out, the one permanently indented into me. Fearful that they'd run if they saw all the other parts of me, the not crisp and sparkly, but dark and dull.

I laugh at myself sometimes. All I want is to feel something, anything, again. But what do I do? Repeat the same pattern that ultimately leads to emptiness.

It’s why this thing—relationship? Friendship? Arrangement?—with Cal matters. He’s the first person who refuses to follow the footprints. Without realizing—or maybe he does—he’s veering off the path, seeing parts of me that no one has.

And I’m letting him.

I don’t want to keep up this cycle anymore. Not because I’m tired of it—which I am—but because it’s him.

It terrifies me of what will happen when he learns about what I did. It’s stopped me occasionally from getting closer to him, but he prevails, continually breaking down my walls, melting the snow, and seeing through me.

And that has me feeling something, even the smallest sparks. Finally.

My short walk home was careful but quick, needing to relieve Cal of Riley duties.

Stepping off the elevator, the hallway has a new, sweet smell. Opening the door to his apartment—your apartment, Chloe—my nose is overwhelmed with the smell of cookies.

I toss my keys on the rack by the front door. Tucker is the first to greet me. Tied around his head is a construction paper headband giving him horns. I can’t tell if I have a pet dog or pet triceratops.

“What is this, Tuck?” His tail is wagging gleefully. “Did you grow horns?”

I pet his head, careful not to mess up the headband. He leans into my touch, nudging my hand, requesting more love.

At least when this inevitable goodbye from Cal comes, I’ll have Tucker.

I can always count on him, the longest and deepest relationship I’ve ever had.

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