Page 18 of As the Years Pass
I can’t help but smile in return. His happiness is infectious.
“Walking helps me sleep,” I say, repeating the same thing I said the other night when he asked. And also because I’ve been drinking, and because I’m afraid of this night ending too soon, I say, “You could walk me.”
He grins, but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes, his attention on what he’s doing. Oblivious to my staring.
“I would like that.”
Our routine for the night is much like last week. We’re the only two left. He shuts off the lights and locks the doors. Then we’re on our way to my apartment.
When we were here last time, I thought of inviting him up. It was a fleeting thought That didn’t stick around long enough for me to war with it, but tonight… tonight I’m thinking of all the things we could do if he would take me up on the offer. If he would come up into my apartment with me.
But that isn’t fair.
I can’t make the same mistake I made last time. I can’t give Emmet anything. I can’t commit to anything. This isn’t how you treat friends, I know that. All those years ago, I promised him things that I knew I couldn’t give, and inviting him up here tonight would be doing the same thing. I would do anything to never have to see that hurt in his eyes again. I put that paint there once; I can’t do it again. Emmet and I need to remain friends and friends only. It’s the only way any of this will work.
“I think this is the first time I’ve been outside and it isn’t raining,” he comments, looking up at the cloudy sky.
“You get used to it.”
“I don’t know about that.”
I chuckle as I step off the curb to cross the side street. There’s no traffic this time of night, but I still check because this is the time for drunk drivers. Especially on a Friday. We stop in front of my apartment building, right in front of the steps and I turn to face him.
“Thanks for walking me,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets.
He watches me with a smile, his eyes shining. They’ve always been the most beautiful shade of golden brown. Sometimes darker, sometimes lighter. One time, I swear they looked just like a cat’s.
“Let me see your phone,” he says, offering out his hand.
Carefully, I pull my hands from my pockets and get my phone from my jacket pocket and hand it over.
“Password, Adam,” he says with a roll of his eyes. I chuckle, then hold it up for the face recognition. I have a feeling I know what he’s doing, and it keeps the smile on my face. He taps a few buttons, then hands it back. “Now you have my number. Maybe you can text when you can’t make it to the bar.”
“I’d like that,” I say, my voice a rough whisper. The thought of having someone to talk to, of having a real friend, an adult, has emotions building. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this. Maybe Cassidy wasn’t so wrong after all.
There can’t be expectations with Emmet, and I’m not sure if I should say that. Is it presumptuous? I don’t know, but what I do know is that we can only be friends. Now isn’t the time for that conversation. It’s too new, too fresh, and I’ve had too much alcohol. Maybe after we’ve gotten back into the swing of things, once we’ve learned how to be friends again, then we can comfortably talk about it. We’re relearning each other all over again. It’s going to take time to build trust and get comfortable again. There are so many years between our lives at this point, that it’s almost like we don’t know each other at all.
I can’t say I’d go back and change things, because if I did, I wouldn’t have my kids. And I fucking love my kids. But everything else?
It was clear to me too soon that Leslie was the wrong choice. The only good thing I got out of it is my kids. I wouldn’t trade them for the world, and so I accepted my decision.
“I should go up and get to bed. Have to be up early to get the kids.”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, taking a few backward steps. His smile is slow, but big, and it makes me smile back.
“Good night, Emmet.”
“Night, Adam.”
I head up my steps and unlock my door, but I give him one last glance before I head inside. His shoulders are hunched and he’s heading toward the bar. I hurry up to my apartment and let myself in, then dig my phone from my pocket and open up my contacts.
There it is.
Emmet Durant.
I click on it and type out a message.
Let me know when you make it to your car.
