Page 41 of That Right Moment

The one single thought made me sit up in bed, the warmth from the night being replaced by a cloud of confusion.

No. I wouldn’t let it.

Trying to push that thought from my mind, I reached for my phone. It was later than I’d thought. Madeline was most likely asleep, so I clicked on the only other name I talked to more than her.

Clay answered in a muffled groggy voice. “I was sleeping.”

“Nice hearing your voice, too, Clay.”

“Milo,” he groaned. I could hear muffling. I could see him now. Sleeping in his king-sized bed in his polished apartment in Seattle. His groan got louder. “It’s one in the morning.”

“Yet you answered,” I joked. “Besides, I answer you when you call me this late.”

“Milo, I…” His voice faded. “Go back to sleep. It’s just my friend. I’ll be right back.” His voice became clear again. “What’s got you so worked up that you had to call me at one a.m.?”

“What's her name?” I asked, veering the conversation to him, avoiding the reason I called all together.

“Rebecca,” he whispered. “Now what’s up?”

“How long have you known her?”

“Does that matter?”

“Well, kind of.”

After college, Clay had two options presented to him. He could move to New York with Ophelia when she got offered her current career, or he could move to Washington to work in accounting for some law firm. He chose the career, causing a nasty break-up with Ophelia. I’d watched him change in more ways than one during the past twelve years. He’d worked his way up in the law firm, managing the entire accounting branch, even taking clients on and attending court with them. He stayed single, seeming to have a different woman every other month. This month, it was Rebecca’s turn.

Every now and then he would visit home, but instead of staying with his parents, he elected to sleep on my couch, always arriving in pinned suits and the shiniest shoes. His brown hair was always slicked back, even though he kept it longer. He would judge my apartment in some way or another, and then he would always admit he missed Portland. He always avoided the topic of “Ophelia.” Until he could open up about it, I played along and met a few of his girlfriends. Clay had always been a good friend, a trusted one, so there was no doubt who to call when big things happened.

“Milo…” Clay yawned. “What’s going on?”

I heaved a sigh and finally said, “I took Madeline on a date.”

Silence.

“Clay?”

“Didn’t you try that…fifteen years ago?” he asked.

“Twelve, but remember she said we had no spark?”

“Ah, yes, and you’ve been in the friend zone ever since.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, well not anymore.” I crawled out of bed. “Her coworker suggested we date, and well, here we are.” Flicking the lights on in the living, I walked around and plopped on my couch.

“Isn’t she with Kent?”

“How long has it been since we last talked?”

“I’m not sure.” His voice was muffled as he yawned. “Nothing important has really happened to warrant a phone call.”

I began to recount the last few days to him, him humming in agreement and saying the occasional “yeah” as the story continued. Not that it was a long story, just enough to take some time. Once I was finished, adding in bits and pieces of our date, I paused, waiting for him to respond to me. When all I got was more silence, I figured he had fallen back asleep.

“Clay?”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he finally mumbled. “Madeline has had a thing for you since that double date.”

I shook my head. “Well, if she did, she never let on. We’ve been friends for so long…maybe we both thought it would mess things up.”

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