Page 58 of P.S. I Miss You

I reach my hand under the table, fingertips grazing the top of his knee in an attempt to stop his frenetic energy from traveling any further.

“I’m not used to you being so … wound up,” I say. “At least, not around me.”

“It’s different now,” he says.

I slide my fingers into the copper mug’s handle. “What are you talking about?”

“You know … because things are different between us.”

“Different how?” My shoulders tighten.

“I assume we’re going to … I don’t know … try to figure this out?”

I sit my mug aside and rest my head in my hands, blowing out a swift breath.

I love Nick.

He’s my best friend.

But I don’t love Nick.

And I don’t want to “figure this out.”

“I’ve known you since I was a kid,” I say. “You were my first and only childhood crush. When you dated my friends or dated the pretty girls at school, it damn near killed me. And now? Now you come at me with this?”

“Mel …”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you liked me? Why didn’t you say something when you had the chance?”

“Don’t get mad at adult me for the decisions teenage me made a lifetime ago.”

“I’m not mad at you … adult you or teenage you. I’m trying to make sense of this,” I say.

“This is going to sound cliché as fuck,” he says, “but being on the road gives a man a lot of time to think. Too much time really. We met this guy, this meditation guru weirdo guy, who tagged along with us for about a week during the Pennsylvania leg, and he opened my eyes to a lot of things. I’ve spent the last month asking myself the deep questions, you know? How did I get here? How did I get so damn lucky? What’s this all for? What good can come from this? What matters most in this world to me?”

The tables and seats around us begin to fill. A couple of guys are tuning guitars on the stage. You can feel the livewire excitement in the air, like an electric charge.

“Melrose.” Nick reaches across the table, his hand on my hand. “You were the answer to all of them.”

MELROSE DIDN’T COME HOME last night, so naturally I assumed the worst. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured the two of them. His callused, guitar-string-plucking fingers in her hair, his greedy mouth marking all the places that should belong to me.

Finally it got to the point where I had to chase a couple of Benadryls with a Corona so I could get a few hours.

My alarm goes off at six, but I might as well be weighted to the bed. I can’t move. Every inch of me, every cell, every molecule, every atom, is tired as fuck.

Maybe I shouldn’t have taken two Benadryls, but it’s too late now.

Hitting “snooze” on my phone, I roll back over, desperate for ten more minutes like that would make a difference, but you can’t reason with a tired mind.

I’m halfway back to the place I came from when I hear someone singing, and it sure as hell isn’t my brother.

A second later—or what feels like a second later—my alarm goes off again.

Dreaming.

I was dreaming.

But to be sure, I haul my tired ass to the bathroom.

The light is off, the air tepid and void of condensation or the scent of her jasmine body wash. Her bedroom door is ajar, so I steal a quick glance, confirming her bed is cold, empty.

She was never here.

It was all in my head.

She’s still with Nick … wherever they are.

I WAKE IN NICK’S CHILDHOOD bed Friday morning, and I only realize where I am when I stretch my hands over my head and hit them on his bookshelf headboard where he used to proudly display his Ninja Turtle collection.

Lifting the covers, I release a sigh when I confirm that I’m fully clothed. Jeans. Shirt. Socks. The works. When I roll to my side, I see Nick sprawled out in the middle of his bedroom floor with only a pillow. No blanket. He, too, is fully clothed. And surrounded by high school yearbooks and empty wine bottles.

The night comes to me in bits and pieces, little movie clips that play in my mind’s eye.

Reminiscing together.

Laughing together.

Crying together.

We left Malo after I asked him if we could go somewhere and talk, and we ordered an Uber to his parents’ house, where he was staying while he’s back in town. They were out of town, so we had the whole place to ourselves, and for a few split moments here and there it was exactly like old times.

I even found myself forgetting that we were older, wiser, and that life and relationships were a bit more complicated than they used to be.

“Nick,” I say, stretching my leg off the bed and poking him. I smile as he wakes up, my body flooded with nostalgic warmth. “I’m hungry.”

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