Page 19 of We Can't Be Friends

“Which way is Emerson from here?”

The two of us walk next to each other, Tucker in front. He’s not much of a follower, but he is a momma’s boy, stopping to smell every flower. I think it would come as a shock if people knew that my Darth Vader exterior loves flowers as much as I do.

Two buildings down from Emerson’s apartment is our favorite garden.

A bright purple walk-up, a contrast to the brick and beige buildings that line the streets in this pocket of Chicago. The elderly woman, Donna, who lives here, is a widower. She never remarried after her husband passed two years ago. He was a gardener, owned a greenhouse, and had the best flower stand at the farmers’ marketEmerson and I go to every week. Donna didn’t keep up with his business but kept his flowers out front.

Tucker pulls me up the steps, his new addition to stopping and smelling the roses.

“Earlier this spring, I traveled for almost three weeks straight. Emme watched Tucker so I wouldn’t have to board him for so long. Every evening, the two of them would stop here. More of Tucker forcing her because Donna would give him treats while she was gardening. Now she bakes them from scratch, and if she sees him, will bring us a bag to take home.”

I tug on his leash, his smiley face sad. “She’s not home this weekend and you still have cookies from the last time we saw Ms. Donna,” I remind my dog as if he understands what I’m saying.

Cal doesn’t look at me weirdly for talking to him. It annoys Seth.

“Smart boy.” He rubs behind an ear. “I’d want to stop, too.”

“Stop is more of a drag with his entire weight into it,” I joke, a laugh and smile slipping out.

“Wow,” Cal says.

I peer over my shoulder at him. “Huh?”

“Your smile.”

“What about it?”

“I thought it was missing. Didn’t know you could smile.”

“Missing?” I ask, making sure I didn’t misunderstand him.

“Yeah. Even though your scowl has a slight uptick here.” He pokes the corner of my mouth. “You haven’t smiled. Was worried for all our sakes you couldn’t.”

“I can smile.”

“I know.” He starts walking again, forcing Tucker and I to catch up. Annoyed. I’ve never chased after a man, they chase after me. “You should smile more,” Cal tells me, our arms brush as we fall into step together. “It’s beautiful.”

I snort. “Watch out, world. Callum Sullivan said I have a beautiful smile. Won’t be able to stop me now.” My tone leaks sarcasm.

“I mean it, Henry.”

I take a sip of my coffee, avoiding smiling again.

There’s a moment of silence between us before Cal asks, “Why were you crying this morning?”

“I wasn’t crying.” My defense is back up. I cross my arms in front of me.

“I’ve been around enough women to know when one was crying.”

My brows arch, my fingers curling around my coffee, pinching the plastic into itself.

“That came out wrong.”

“You think?”

“My little sister, Audrey, she used to cry a lot. And I’ve seen Emerson when she’s trying to hide something after being upset.”

Emerson does cry a lot. She’s a sensitive black cat, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We are similar but different in this regard.

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