If staring at my ceiling in complete and utter misery was an Olympic sport, I’d be a fucking gold medalist by now.
It’s been only a week since the debacle at the baseball game, but it feels like a million years have passed. The moment I left the stadium, speeding away in my Impala, I moved my happy ass out of the dorm suite. I knew Keene wouldn’t be back in time to stop me since he was dealing with the repercussions of our very public outing, and like the coward I am, I slipped away like a thief in the night.
Of course, by the time I got home that evening, Mom had already been called by Loraine and heard about what happened at the game. She was waiting for me on the couch, and the second I opened the front door, the saddened look on her face told me she knew.
She knew everything.
That was all it took for me to break on the spot. I dropped my bag at the front door and bolted to her. Ran to the safety of her arms, and clung to her like a lifeline.
That night was a week ago, and while she’s given me the space I’ve needed since, I know it’s about to change when I hear a soft knock on my door not long after she gets home from work.
I roll to my side and sigh, still wanting a little more time to lick my self-inflicted wounds in private. So while I’m doing my best to ignore her, the rap of her knuckles comes again against the wood, making it impossible.
“Can I come in?” her soft voice comes from the other side of the door.
No.
The answer is always no. When she asks at dinner if I want a second helping. If I want to talk about what happened. If I’ve heard from Keene at all recently, or made an effort to reach out.
If I’m okay.
Always no, though I never verbally admit to the last one. What right do I have to complain about how shitty I’m feeling when I was the one who chose this? I actively made the decision to walk away from Keene.
Now, I have to live with it.
“No,” I say, loud enough I know she’ll hear me.
Instead of going back downstairs or to her room like she normally would, I hear the telltale sound of a handle turning and my door creaking open anyway. My eyes sink closed and I pray to any god who might listen for her to go away. Leave me alone to stew in my misery.
She doesn’t say anything as she crosses the room to me, nor when she slides onto my bed with her back against the headboard. I keep my back to her, feeling too many emotions already clogging my throat and well in my eyes.
“You need to talk about it, sweetie,” she says, settling her palm on my back.
It’s the gentle tone of her voice, combined with the pressure of her hand on me, that sets me off.
My body shakes as silent sobs rip from my body. No sound or even tears escape me. I just tremble in her grip as the day I destroyed my friendship with Keene flashes through my mind. It already lives, a vicious tape on repeat. A devastating reminder of my biggest regret, filling me with enough self-loathing to drive the sanest person completely mad.
Mom’s hand soothes me, rubbing my back as I break before her, letting out every ounce of pain I’ve been holding on to for days—hell, weeks now.
Pain for me. For Keene.
For the us we could’ve been, if only I wasn’t so fucking terrified to let him have me the way he wanted.
I don’t even know when the tears start, only that Mom gently brushes one after another off my cheek as they fall. Some slip past her too quickly, coating my lips in the salty flavor that reminds me of the breeze off the ocean in Cannon Beach.
And I sob harder.
It could be minutes or hours that pass before I calm myself enough to turn to her.
Her warm eyes are teary too when she looks down at me, and I can tell the sight of me losing it has brought her close to the edge. Still, she remains strong for me. The way she always has, ever since Dad died.
“I fucked up, Mom,” I whisper, folding my arm and nestling my head into the crook of my elbow. “I really fucked up this time.”
“Yeah, you did,” she says, her hand on my back moving in slow, soothing circles. “But the good news is, you and Keene always manage to work it out in the end.”
My head shakes rapidly as I try to calm my breathing. “Not this time. There’s no way.”
“What makes you think that?”
He told me as much.
“I just know. And even if I got him to forgive me—which might be impossible with the way I hurt him—we won’t ever be the same.”
Her fingers sift through my hair. “You don’t know that for sure, Aspen.”
I do, though. I know my best friend, who has too big of a heart and is far too forgiving. But even he has his limits. And even if—and this is a big if—he can find it in himself to forgive me, I still don’t think I can forgive myself for this. For hurting and betraying him on such a deep-seated level.
When I don’t answer her, she continues sliding her fingers through my hair, humming softly while she does it. It puts me at ease, the gentle scraping of her nails against my skull. Calms me and grounds me in a way that nicotine can’t even touch.
The only thing with this same power is…Keene.
“Can I ask you something that might sound kind of silly?” she asks after a few minutes.
My shrug of a response is enough to give her permission to continue.
“Do you think being in a platonic relationship with Keene is any different than being in an intimate one? Besides the sexual aspect, of course.”
I cringe and look up at her. “Christ, Mom. Are we really doing this?”
She gives me a small shrug for an answer.
I can practically hear her words from when I was younger—during that infamous birds and bees talk—saying if you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be having it.
The thing is, I have no issues talking about sex. But talking about it with my mom? That’s a whole other ballpark I wasn’t prepared to be batting in today. Especially if it’s in reference to batting for the, uh…same team.
Clearing my throat, I sit up and lean back against the headboard beside her.
“Yeah, I do think that our friendship changed when Keene and I started the…physical stuff and…” I trail off, shaking my head. “It was just different. Of course, it was. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“But I’m asking apart from the physical stuff, sweetie. Did you care about him any more or less than you have before? Was it harder or easier to be honest with him about how you’re feeling when you added the physical stuff to your relationship?”
I roll my teeth thinking about it.
“No,” I finally decide. “I guess it didn’t change any of that. Not really.”
“And why is that?”
Wracking my brain for a few moments does no good, and I come up completely empty-handed. “I don’t know.”
“Because you’ve never had to worry about keeping your guard up with Keene. In fact, you’ve always been each other’s biggest warrior and fiercest protector.” She adjusts her position from beside me slightly, and I lift my attention to her eyes. “Over the past twenty years of your life, you and Keene have been inseparable. A dynamic duo. Partners in crime. Whatever you wanna call it, that’s what the two of you were. And during that time, he did all the grunt work you’ve kept everyone else from completing. He found a way into your heart the way no one else ever has.”
“Yeah, but…he’s my best friend. If I can’t trust him, who can I trust?”
“Exactly. You trust him more than anyone else. Sure, it started as friendship, but that was just laying the foundation.”
I must look lost or confused, because she gives me yet another patient smile. My mother, the saint.
“You might not see it this way, but you’ve always loved him, Aspen. It was obvious how much you meant to each other since you were old enough to walk. Anyone who was around the two of you for more than ten minutes could see it. So after all this time, and the friendship and love you’ve shared? I’m not surprised falling in love with him was the next step.”
The empty hole in my chest grows, throbbing and aching for the missing piece Keene holds in his hands.
“Loving someone because you care about them is different than being in love with them. The hearts-and-flowers kind of love.”
Her brow raises skeptically. “Are you saying this isn’t that kind of love?”
I hate how simple she’s making this sound. Like the answers have been right here, staring me in the face the whole fucking time, but I’ve just been too blind or stupid or both to realize it.
My voice is hoarse when I whisper, “I love him with every inch of me. And that’s the last thing I wanted to happen.”
She frowns, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder. I see the unspoken question in her eyes and hear them in my own thoughts too.
If only the reason for them made sense to everyone else as much as they do to me.
“I didn’t want to fall for someone. Anyone. Ever. It’s never been in the cards for me. When I pictured my life ten years from now, I never saw someone…sharing a bed with me or kissing me good night. It wasn’t something I planned on, and it’s not something I wanted.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What else would it be?”
“Something you were too afraid to allow yourself to want, perhaps?” I don’t miss the way she fiddles with her wedding ring. The one she still wears every single day, despite not being married for over a decade now.
The vice around my heart constricts painfully. “Does it matter which it is?”
She nods. “One of those is nothing but a fear. And those can be overcome, if you try.”
Clearing my throat, I give her an agonized look. “Maybe you’re right. But this isn’t the way it was supposed to go with us.” I shake my head, grief consuming me further. “He’s my best friend, not my…”
“Partner?”
I nod. “I can’t let myself want him like that. Because…what if it doesn’t work?”
“And what if it does?” she counters. “And isn’t that worth taking the chance that what you two have could be something extraordinary?”
My head sinks into my hands. “I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to lose him. That’s not supposed to happen with us. None of this was supposed to happen.”
The elephant in the room sits between us, because my actions thus far have only ensured that I’ve already done just that. I lost him.
A glance up reveals her lips rolling inward, forming a thin line while she thinks. The action pops out a dimple similar to my own.
“So…you’re on the verge of losing your best friend—and possibly the love of your life—just because things aren’t playing out the way you thought they should?”
I open to my mouth to deny it, but when she puts it like that, I feel like a fucking idiot. Thankfully, she spares me the humiliation of having to admit it aloud, continuing with her point.
“I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but life never goes according to plan. Not for a single person I’ve ever met. Which is why you have to learn to adjust, take things as they come.”
Every ounce of my body knows she’s right.
Because, despite what I told Keene outside the stadium that day, I don’t regret him or the time we had together. I don’t regret helping him or loving him or anything that transpired between us.
I just hate that I couldn’t protect him the way I always have in the past.
More so, I hate being the catalyst for the moment that photo ended up on the screen.
I might not have done it—aired our business to everyone there that night—but I planned the trip where the photo was taken. I sent the photo to him before his game the week prior to Family Night, hoping it would cheer him up a little bit from whatever funk he was in.
I’m almost positive that’s how Avery got his hands on it, though working out those details feels completely pointless now. The damage has been done, and there’s no chance of undoing it.
Mom reaches over, takes one hand in hers, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “You have the chance to make this right. Because the way I see things between you and Keene? You’re the unexpected inevitable.”
Her words hit me in the chest, damn near knocking the wind out of me.
You’re the unexpected inevitable.
But God, if that’s true, why do I feel like I don’t stand a chance of getting him to even listen if I tried to plead my case?
“I don’t know how to make it right.” I give her a small, helpless shrug, tears pricking at my eyes again. “I don’t know where to start.”
“I’m sorry is usually a good place,” she says, knocking her shoulder into mine. “Especially when you’ve hurt someone. And I’m sure you realize you’ve probably got quite a bit of groveling to do after how you’ve pushed him away.”
My free hand reaches up, fingers threading through my hair. “I know. And that’s the worst part of it all, because as much as I want to make it better, how can I when I’m the reason for it in the first place?”
Her smile is delicate, and her palm squeezes mine again. “You’re doing that thing you do.”
I frown. “What thing?”
“Overthink yourself into circles.”
My laughter is caught somewhere between genuine and forced, especially when I recall Keene’s parting words.
You’re the one who chose to end this…and I was the one who wanted to fight.
“As always, right?”
“You don’t have to, sweetie. The way I see it, you fell for your best friend. Someone who you’ve known and trusted for most of your life. And while I think that’s something worth fighting for, you’re the one who has to do some soul searching and decide for yourself.”
My eyes sink closed, and I let my head fall back against the headboard. I wish she’d tell me exactly what I need to do, how to make this right. Give me the roadmap or instruction manual, and I’ll follow it to a T.
Life doesn’t work that way, though. So I need to find my way through this on my own. Which means I have a shit ton of soul searching to do, just like she said.
Mom must realize I’m maxed out on emotional talk, because she lets out a soft sigh, patting my leg a couple times before standing. I glance up, tracking her movement to the door where she pauses and turns around.
“You didn’t ask for my two cents, but as a parting gift, I’m giving it to you anyway.” Her eyes and tone are as soft as ever, but her words leave little room for debate.
“Okay,” I whisper, a sudden knot forming in my throat.
“There are far worse things in the world than falling in love, Aspen. No matter who it’s with.”
