“What a podcast that would make,” Amelie quips.
“Actually, I think you’re both on to something,” I joke evilly.
We go quiet, nothing awkward about the silence as we all lapse back into our individual tasks. It’s just a normal Friday afternoon, closing up our academic to-dos and waiting for the party to start tonight. It’s the first one we’ll throw this semester, and I’m so sad it’s our last first party. Senior year has come up too quickly, and although I always thought I’d relish graduating and moving on with my life, I find myself terrified of leaving this place.
For almost four years, I’ve lived with my best friends in this college life bubble. Parties, being able to freely express myself, cuddling up on the couch and watching shows or borrowing their clothes when I’m sick of mine. Midnight runs to the diner for pancakes, or weekend trips to the winery. Yes, we all worked really hard at our studies, but this place was a mecca we’d never find again once we entered the real world.
And where would I end up in correlation to them? The next eight months might be the last time we’re all together for who knows how long.
“How you holding up?” Amelie asks, interrupting my thoughts as she whisks something into her baking bowl.
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
“As you always like to say.” Taya rolls her eyes. “Bev, we’re not morons.”
“Sometimes, I’m not sure about that,” I joke, but it comes off in my usual bitchy tone.
Amelie looks offended as she turns around and points a spoon at me. “Keep that up and you’ll get no red velvet cookies.”
That puts a pout on my lips, because while I love a healthy diet, her baked goods are my weakness. “Please? You know I’ll starve if you two don’t feed me.”
I’m good at a lot of things, most things honestly. Cooking, though? You might keel over if I use the oven.
“You really would. So back to how you’re doing since your ex-high school sweetheart moved back in.” Taya doesn’t let me off the hook.
I sigh, running my hands through my hair. “I don’t know. The other night was just another blow to my ego.”
“Not your ego, your heart.” Amelie cocks her head sideways and gives me a sympathetic glare.
“I have to say, I did miss the slamming doors.” Taya sighs sarcastically.
“I went to therapy.” My voice is small.
Taya chokes on the lemonade she’d filled in her water bottle earlier. “Excuse me, what?”
I can’t meet their eyes. Being this vulnerable is akin to lighting myself on fire, and my friends know that.
“That’s amazing, Bev,” Amelie all but coos.
“When did you decide this? You could have talked to us. I’m so proud you finally made the decision.” Taya has more questions, always the one to challenge something.
I’m still looking down at my notebook while I talk, because I feel so out of my own skin. “When I saw Callum talking to that girl at the bar. If I don’t do something, I’m going to lose him forever.”
“Bev …” Amelie’s voice sounds hesitant. “I know you love him. But you should do this because you want it for you.”
“And what if it doesn’t bring him back? I think that was his whole point two years ago. He loved you so much, he wanted you to address your past for you.”
I don’t miss the way Taya says loved in the past tense, and it burns me. I also sometimes hate the fact that we’re all so honest with each other. We made a promise a long time ago that we would never sugarcoat things, which I appreciate. Until it has to do with me and then I want them to kiss my ass and forget how blunt we can all be.
“And I am.” It’s only half a lie. “But if that means Callum also sees what he used to see in me, then I’m killing two birds with one stone.”
They eye me like this is the worst idea in the world, and then we hear the man himself as if his ears were ringing.
The three of us shut up as soon as his footsteps echo on the stairs, and when Callum walks into the kitchen, it’s so obvious that we were just talking about him. The room is silent in that way where you know people just stopped talking because you entered it.
“Well, hey.” Callum raises his thick, black eyebrows and gives us a sheepish smile.
It’s not fucking fair for a human being to be so hot. My ex is drool-worthy, as in most women are drooling around him twenty-four seven. Especially in the black jeans and tight gray tee he has on. He looks like a James Dean stunt double with his black hair slicked back like that, and all he’s missing is a cigarette in his mouth to complete the bad boy look. The best part about Callum is that while he looks like one of the guys in The Outsiders, he’s truly one of the kindest humans I’ve ever met. He has that goofy, lovable personality, is loyal to a fault, and truly takes care of the people he allows closest to him.
And the fact that I now have the smell his cologne, the one I originally bought for him and he started wearing our senior year of high school, down the hall is just downright cruel and unusual punishment.
“Want to join us for some cookies?” Amelie asks him, because she’s too nice not to.
“I, ah, am actually headed out. But I’ll be back later for the party.”
“Heading to the library again?” I joke, trying to be anything but how we’ve been for the last two years.
I also desperately want anything to connect with him on. And if a lame inside joke about him liking the library now is it, I’ll take it.
“No. I’m going on a date.”
He drops it like a bomb in the middle of the kitchen, and Taya was so unprepared that she can’t even filter her reaction. She gasps loudly and whips her head to me, like we’re on some soap opera.
“Oh. Okay.” They’re the only words I can seem to form.
“See you guys later.” Callum ducks his head like he feels ashamed admitting where he’s going, and hurriedly leaves.
“Heart, meet pulverizer,” I quip when I know his car has pulled out of the driveway.
Taya and Amelie both rush over to envelop me in a hug, which I usually escape from. They know physical contact makes me feel cagey.
But right now, I’ll take all the smothering and love I can get. Because if someone doesn’t hold me together, I might just completely fall apart.
10
CALLUM
“You’ve never watched The Sopranos? Honestly, I may have to get up and leave now.”
Gretchen laughs around a bite of pizza as she teases me.
I wipe some grease from the corner of my mouth. “I grew up in Upstate New York, not Jersey. It seems to be a class in school where you’re from. Wait, you’re not in the mob, are you? I swear, I’m not wearing a wire.”
I wink at her as I grab my beer, the fizzy liquid mixing perfectly with the pepperoni pie we’re splitting.
“I’d ask you to lift up your shirt and let me check, but that might be too forward for a first date.” Gretchen wiggles her eyebrows.
This girl is funny, and whip-smart. The entire night has gone really well, and while I anticipated some awkwardness or jitters, I haven’t found that to be the case. I picked her up from her house, which is on another street near campus, and she looks like a knockout in nothing more than tight jeans and a short sleeve, yellow blouse. Gretchen is the girl next door, hot down to earth kind of chick and I’m really into the vibe she’s giving off. She seems no nonsense, grew up as one of four kids in a suburb in New Jersey, and is working toward her degree in business. Our conversation is easy, she doesn’t seem to be hiding enormous skeletons in any closets, and for this being only my second first date ever, I think it’s going really well.