Page 132 of Fun Together
“Have you talked to Eli?” she asks our reflections.
Just hearing his name hurts, like shards of glass piercing through all of my vital organs. I’ve picked up my phone to call him every single night since the party, but haven’t been able to follow through. Something else has been nagging me too, as I’ve replayed that fight I overheard between Eli and Andrew.
I wasn’t dragging my feet. . .
I was trying to be who she wanted . . . I loved her.
“I think I need to talk to Andrew first.” If I had resolved things with Andrew and really told him all my fears and feelings, so much of this would have never happened. Talking to him feels like the first step in getting the closure we never had. Then, I can move forward with making things right with Eli.
She looks at me, green eyes approving. “I think you’re right.”
“Although, who knows if he’d want to see me. You should have seen his face that night. He was . . . distraught.”
“I think you should try.”
I take a deep breath as I pull up our text thread. The last time we texted was about the suitcase. That feels like ages ago—so much has transpired since then.
I type out the text before I have time to second guess or overanalyze it.
Faye: Would you like to go for a walk with me?
We used to go on walks together all the time, at local trails or parks. Plus, if we’re outside and moving, maybe it’ll give our conversation some room to breathe. “There,” I say, putting my phone in my back pocket.
He texts back almost immediately, though.
Andrew: I would like that.
Some of the tightness in my chest loosens. We decide to meet later this afternoon at Dix Park. “He said he’ll meet me.”
“I’m sure he wants to talk to you, too.” Rett steers me out of the bathroom. “Now that your bangs aren’t looking like Weird Barbie anymore, let’s finish painting your key lime pie living room.”
“I’m kind ofsurprised you agreed to see me.”
My voice cracks on the last few words, and I really don’t want to cry in front of him right now. He shouldn’t have to be the one to comfort me. I thought I was done crying but seeing him has brought on the waterworks again.
“I’m glad you texted me,” he says, silently passing me a tissue without drawing attention to it. He has bad allergies and never goes without a pocket full of Kleenex this time of year. “I wanted to talk to you, too.”
“I’m so sorry. For everything,” I say.
He puts his hands in his pockets and pays close attention to our steps as we walk. “I’m sorry for anything you might have heard the other night. I was having a rough day.”
“Please, you don’t have to apologize to me for that. I didn’t mean for anything to happen how it did.”
He half smiles. “That’s almost exactly what Eli said to me.”
“So, you’ve talked to him?”
“Yeah, we’re okay now.”
“You and Eli are . . . good?”
“Yes,” he confirms before concern creases his brow. “Are you . . . good?”
The tears start rolling again before I can stop them. “I hurt him. I didn’t want to hurt him.”
He places a hand lightly on my back. “Faye, it’s okay.”
“I ruin everything. I messed up. He was so—” I stop, realizing how inappropriate this is, even in my current emotional state. “I kept you from being happy. I’m keeping myself from being happy.”
