Page 129 of We Can't Be Friends

My texts to Emerson goes unanswered.

I don’t know why I expect a response. She’s six hours ahead, and it’s closing in on midnight here.

I almost didn’t send the text, but I did. It’s as if I want to punish myself, a reminder that she’s left me too.

Alone.

I push my phone into a crack in the couch and wish I could also stick all of my problems into the couch with it.

“How are things with Cal?” Miller breaks my train of thought.

“What things with Cal?” I question way too quickly.

Miller tilts his head knowingly. “Your living arrangements. Thefakedating?” he whispers the word fake. I don’t know why. There isn’t anyone else in here besides us and Riley, who is occupied putting dinosaur stickers all over Tucker.

Riveting way to spend New Year’s Eve.

I told Miller about our deal on Thanksgiving. It was part of my Share-More-With-Your-Brother Operation after we both agreed we needed to do a better job at opening up. Still haven’t found the words or confidence to tell him why he should keep me pushed away, though.

If I did, I would never get to see Riley again.

Avoiding the question momentarily, it’s my turn at the board game we’re playing. I flick the spinner, getting a two. Counting two squares, I land on a slide that carries my pawn back to the start and I can’t ignore the parallels to my life. To the question I’m ignoring.

Riley wanted to play Chutes and Ladders, but his attention span was too short for more than one game. Miller and I kept playing.

“Your turn.”

“You’re avoiding, Chlo.”

“It’s good, we’re good.”

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” I try to shake my head no, but he calls me out. “I know you better than you think. I can tell you do.” Twin telepathy, I guess.

“I don’t,” I deny him and myself. Miller takes his turn, not responding to my lie. “I do.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Hitting a ladder on the board, I climb to square twenty-six. Lifting my head, Miller’s sipping from a beer, looking over its neck at me.

Do I want to tell him?

Biting my lip, I ask, “Should I?”

I keep trying to convince myself that Cal wants me back. I chalked up his conversation with Riley in the kitchen to be an exaggeration. What was he supposed to do, tell my nephew no?

Miller’s eyes go heavy, something of regret swirling with them. What—or better, who does he regret?

He asks me a series of yes-no questions. Rapid fire, but he didn’t need to instruct that. My heart spoke faster than my brain. There was no space for fear or doubt to take over.

Every answer was yes.

I know if Emerson were here, she’d be incredulous, wanting to check me into a psych ward.

“Tell him. If he doesn’t feel that way—which I think he does—then at least you put yourself out there, Chlo. Don’t live with the regret of what if. Trust me, it’ll eat you alive.”

***

My twenty-minute walk turns into a four mile stroll around Chicago. Along the Lakeshore Trail, I give my legs a break, sitting along the concrete edge. Tilting my head to the blue sky, I close my eyes, taking in the crisp, chilly air—relishing in the satisfying burn as the air hits my lungs.

---