Page 91 of Just Friends

Until this moment, I didn’t. It felt like Sebastian had been playing me the whole time we were together, pretending he felt the same love for me that I did for him. That he didn’t mind when we broke.

But even if it was his fault, and he was so very wrong, I know it shattered a little piece of him too.

He exhales. “Well, that’s what I’ve been trying to call to say. To be honest, I’ve been trying to call since the day you walked out of my apartment, but I could never figure out the right words.”

Even though he can’t see me, I nod, everything he said playing on a loop in my head.

“I’m really sorry, Hazel,” he says again. His voice has lost all tinges of sleep. It’s no longer rough, but soft as silk. He sounds like the Sebastian I knew, even if that man turned out to be a stranger.

I don’t think Alex could ever be a stranger to me, even if things turned sour between us. He’s the other half of my soul. A poem scratched on paper that I’ve memorized until reciting the words is as easy as breathing.

“Thanks for telling me,” I respond. I can’t bring myself to tell him it’s okay, because it’s not. But I am glad I heard it. Because for the first time, I’m realizing that maybe the problem was neverme. He was the broken one, and it was his shrapnel that embedded in my skin.

“Well,” Sebastian says. “I’ll talk to you later, Hazel.”

“Goodbye, Sebastian,” I say and end the call. His contact photo watches me in the dim light, the long-ago photo we took together, back when we were happy and whole. It doesn’t hurt to look at it as much anymore. It no longer feels like a knife slicing through my chest.

Scrolling down to the bottom of the contact, my finger hovers over the delete button. I could block him, but I don’t think I’ll need to. This phone call is the last I’ll hear from Sebastian Castellanos.

It’s easy to press theDeletebutton. It doesn’t feel like letting him win or running away. It feels like letting go and running toward something new. I’m ready to begin again.

“ItalkedtoSebastianlast night,” I tell Mom over breakfast the next morning. It’s Monday, and I’m heading home this afternoon. She insisted on making a full breakfast, with sausage, eggs, and Belgian waffles topped with whipped cream, just like we used to have on those special occasion mornings growing up.

Mom swivels to face me from where she’s flipping sausage in a pan on the stove, holding her spatula in the air like a magic wand. “Why? What did you say?”

As much as she’s driven me nuts over the past few weeks with her inability to follow doctor’s orders, I’m going to miss her. She was officially cleared to go back to work at her follow-up appointment on Friday, so I’m surprised she even made time for breakfast this morning. She’s like a horse chomping at the bit to get back into her shop—without me hovering and restricting her activities.

“I guess I needed closure,” I say slowly, turning the words over in my head. “I needed to know why he did it so I could figure out how to keep it from happening again.”

A divot forms between Mom’s brows, and she flips the stove off, the flames dying beneath the grate. “Honey, it’s not your fault he cheated.”

“I know that,” I say, leaning against the counter for support. “But it’s one thing toknowit, and a different thing tofeelit. To believe it.”

Mom watches me, her face solemn, and I know the words hurt her. That she wishes she could take my pain away and heap it upon herself like she would do with my backpack in the airport on family vacations.

“Do you believe it now?” she asks after a long moment, searching my face for the truth.

I shrug one shoulder and let out a breath. “I’m starting to,” I say, and then after a moment, I add, “I’m still scared about Alex.”

A small, tender smile touches Mom’s lips. “Love is scary, kiddo. No matter what you’ve dealt with in the past.”

“I just don’t want this to end badly,” I say, the words caught in my throat. Tears prick the backs of my eyes.

Mom hands me a dish towel, and I dab it under my eyes, breathing in the lemony scent of her laundry detergent. It’s the same kind she’s used for as long as I can remember, and it feels familiar when everything else around me feels like it’s on the brink of changing and evolving.

“I can’t promise that it won’t,” Mom says after I finish wiping my eyes. “But you might miss out on something very special if you let your fear get in the way.” She pauses for a moment. “And you may still lose him.”

That has always been the fear. The thing that’s been twisting and writhing in my head for weeks now—that no matter what I choose, I may still lose him. We can’t go back after that morning on the porch, after he told me he loved me. And I can’t go back to when I didn’t feel this way about him. I have a feeling it’s always been there, a piece of me reserved only for him.

We can’t go back, and I have to decide whether I’m brave enough to move forward.

My phone vibrates on the counter, making a loud buzzing noise against the butcher block.

Best Friend Alexander:Will you be back in time for Movie Monday?

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I type my response, and Mom says, “Alex?”

When I look up at her, there’s a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there before, and it makes my heart pinch. Maybe I’ve been oblivious to how I feel about Alex, but it’s obvious that no one else has. And they’re happy for me. They’re happy that it’sAlex.

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