Page 8 of A Very Friendly Valentine's Day
“Nice to Meet Ya, You Can Call Me Lucretia!”
“Too Mott to Handle.”
“You have no idea who Lucretia Mott was, do you?”
“She was one of the witches onVampire Diaries, right?” he deadpans. He is currently the star of another CW show and always pretends to only know anything about teen pop culture just to annoy me. I toss my pen and notebook at him, and he laughs. “She was an equal rights chick.”
And now I’m the one who’s relieved. “Yeah. She was an equal rights chick.” He hands me back my notebook, and I reach for the pen that landed on his chest. He grabs my wrist before I pick it up.
“You’re not seriously thinking about this though, right?”
I carefully pull my arm away from him and snatch the pen. “I’m serious about everything—you know that. I mean, I know it’s a little outside my area of expertise in art history… Oh my God, you’re right! I should write a hip-hop musical about Mary Cassatt!”
“Bird. You’re not writing a hip-hop musical about anyone. You’re hiding. In your bedroom. At your own party. It’s sad.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t think there’s a good part in this for you—but there is! Mary Cassatt became great friends with Edgar Degas! You could play one of the great impressionist painters.” My heart is racing now. “There could be a dance number with rapping ballerinas! Oh my God, this is brilliant.” I scribble in my notebook. “Why aren’t you excited?”
“Just friends again, huh?”
“Yes! Just friends. He was a great supporter of hers.”
“You’re still avoiding the party.”
“So are you.”
“Baby, Iamthe party.” He bolts upright, his face suddenly so close to mine, I catch my breath. “I flew down here for this and you’ve been avoiding me all night.”
“No, I haven’t.”I have. I totally have.He flew from Ohio straight to Vancouver for work after his brother Brady’s wedding, so this is the first time I’ve seen him since The Voicemail. I’ve tried, I’ve tried, I’ve tried to forget about it. I try, I try, I try to look away from his pouty lips. But they’re so flippin’ flappin’ big and soft and so flingin’ flangin’there.An island of dusty rose-colored flesh in the midst of all those golden planes and angles and dark stubble. It’s almost inconceivable that those lips have never once met mine in the six years we’ve known each other. “I was attempting to circulate and socialize with other people. That’s kind of the point of having a party, is it not?”
“For most people, sure. But you’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird.”
He laughs, just a little. A quiet little appreciative laugh, the kind that I’ve always thought was reserved just for me. “Yeah. You are.” He stares at my mouth, in a very un-friend-ly way, and I think all of my internal organs just started doing the Macarena. “Birdie…” he whispers.
Nuhhh!is the involuntary noise I make in response.
“I didn’t just butt dial you when I was in Ohio, did I?”
It’s only after I swallow hard that I realize how much I’ve been salivating. “Hmmm?”
“I called and left you a message. I blacked out, but I keep getting these flashes of memories. I don’t know what I actually said. I just remember how I felt when I called you…”
I shake my head, or at least I think I do. Denial is my instinct here. Denial is the oxygen that keeps this planet of male-female friendship inhabitable. Denial is the gravity that keeps us from crashing into each other and then floating off into separate atmospheres indefinitely.
“Tell me.” He speaks so softly I can’t quite tell if it’s a demand or a question.
There’s music and laughter and chatter outside my bedroom door, but inside there are just two people who are holding their breaths and waiting for the other to do something to change the world. I’m not ready for the world to change. Kissing Eddie was not on my list of New Year’s resolutions and it never has been. But if he just tilted his head one inch in either direction, leaned in a few inches toward me, I have this terrible feeling I would be here waiting for him as if it’s what I’d been waiting for all along.
I’m aware of his whole body stiffening, everything except his jaw, as his lips part the tiniest bit. He rests one hand on my thigh and slowly reaches around my waist with the other…and then he pulls the phone out of my back pocket. Laughing, he leans back, holding my phone and guarding his face with his forearm as I pummel his bicep with my fists.
“You turd! Give it to me!”
He lies back again, rolling onto his stomach as he attempts to type in a code on the lock screen. “You saved my message, didn’t you?”
“Eddie.”
“I want to hear it.”
