Locating my shoes was next on my list. I found them on the floor somewhere between Zev’s bedroom and the living room where he first kissed me. I closed my eyes and sighed remembering how it felt the first time his lips touched mine.
It was heaven.
Now, I was convinced I was living in hell.
I bent down, grabbed my shoes, and slipped them on my feet.
Keys, purse, front door.
On my way back to the living room, I had to walk by the kitchen. When I approached the kitchen, I slowed my steps until I was stopped.
Zev was there leaning his body—the one I was now intimately acquainted with—over the island. He was resting his weight on his forearms and his head was down. Until, of course, he realized that I was there.
In an instant, he stood up and looked unsure of himself.
Neither of us said anything. We just let the awkward silence take over.
When I could no longer stand it, I lifted my hand and pointed to the side as I rasped, “I’m just going to get my keys and my purse.”
The sound of my own voice was like a foreign language. Nothing about it was familiar. It sounded like that of a girl who had lost everything that mattered to her.
And while I knew, or hoped, the awkward tension between us wouldn’t last, I was devastated that it felt like this at all.
I walked away from the mouth of the kitchen toward the living room. Once I’d picked up my purse, I dug through it for my keys. With them firmly in my grasp, I repeated the words in my head: front door.
Only, with my head down, I hadn’t noticed that Zev walked into the room. So, I was thrown a bit when I heard, “Tillie.”
“Yeah?” I asked, giving him my attention.
“Do you… can I make you a cup of coffee before you leave?” he stammered.
Coffee? Did I want coffee?!
How he could think that coffee was what I wanted at a moment like this was beyond me. For days, Zev had been so consumed with grief that he hadn’t been able to make himself a bite of food to eat or anything to drink. Yet, he was now asking if he could make me coffee.
This was awful. This was, by far, the worst possible thing that could have happened between us. What I thought was going to be the beginning of something beautiful was anything but.
Once again, I found myself needing to get out of there.
Somehow, I mustered up enough strength and courage to do what I did next. I walked to Zev and put my hand to his chest. He looked down at my hand with such disgust; it was like I was burning him right through the fabric of his shirt.
Seeing that, I winced and pulled my hand away. Then, I powered through what I was feeling and answered, “No, Zev. I don’t need coffee. Stop feeling guilty for doing something you don’t even remember.”
“Tillie, I’m sorry—” he started, but I cut him off by holding my hand up between us.
“Don’t, Zev. Don’t make this worse than it already is by apologizing for it,” I beseeched. “If you are feeling better now than you did yesterday and last night, I think I’d like to go home.”
Regret filled his face. Even still, he replied, “Okay.”
And that was like taking the final bullet.
There wasn’t any attempt on his part to get me to stay. I wasn’t sure that I could, but it would have been nice to know that my feelings on all of this mattered to him. I highly doubted that Zev, my best friend since we were little kids, didn’t know how bad I was struggling with what happened this morning. That’s what hurt the most. Zev knew I was in pain, and he wasn’t doing anything to try to lessen it.
Maybe I’d been wrong.
With that cold reality settling in my stomach, I dipped my chin and said, “I’ll see you later.”
Then, without waiting for a response, I walked around him and left.
After driving faster than I should have, I made it home. I immediately went to my bathroom and turned the shower on. When the water temperature was just shy of scalding, I got in and collapsed to the floor.
And right there, in my shower after having the best night of my life, I poured my heart out and let my sobs consume me.
Zev
I slept with Tillie.
I slept with my best friend.
I slept with the woman my brother told me years ago he was going to marry. And the worst part of all of it was that I’d done it three days after he died, the day we laid him to rest.
What was wrong with me?
What kind of man was I to betray my brother in such a way?
I was currently living a nightmare. For days, I’d felt like I’d just been going through the motions. Liam died. And with him, part of me died, too.
I didn’t think I’d ever forgive myself for what I’d done.
Days ago, I was sitting there across from Tillie at a restaurant. We were laughing and having a good time. The next thing I knew, my entire world changed. I couldn’t even remember the name of the person who had been working on set with Liam and called to tell me that he’d been very seriously injured and was being transported to the hospital. All I could remember were the words that the doctor said.
We did absolutely everything we could, but we couldn’t revive your brother.
Despair didn’t even come close to describing how I felt in that moment.
Hollow was more like it.
My brother was gone.
And the only thing that got me through the pain and horror of the last several days was Tillie’s presence.
Tillie Fisher.
So strong.
So fucking strong, I couldn’t begin to understand it.
Her concern and love for not only me, but Liam as well, was unyielding. I knew she was hurting over the loss of him just as much as I was. Even still, she never let on. Sure, she cried. We all did. But she pushed herself to stay strong when she knew I wasn’t. That’s what was so fucking special about her. No matter what pain the days brought for her, she was there for me.
Always there.
I was never alone over those three days.
And I took advantage of Tillie’s kindness and friendship in the worst way possible.
The look on her face this morning, even as she sat across from me knowing I was struggling with something, was soft and sweet. I had no doubt that she was prepared to fight any demons I was still struggling with. Only, I don’t think she had been prepared to hear that the thing that had troubled me the most was waking up and seeing that she was lying naked next to me in bed.
The way she shut down is something I’d never forget. Disappointment, sadness, and soul-crushing hurt were plain as day despite her feeble attempt to remained unaffected.
Tillie was my best friend.
I knew what she was feeling better than she did sometimes.
Her words might have indicated that she wasn’t bothered by my reaction, but her actions proved otherwise. I saw her clutch the sheet to her chest a little tighter. I watched as she searched the room, trying to come up with a plan to escape. My eyes captured the hurt that flashed in hers when I asked her if I could make her coffee.
Even though I knew I was the only one who could take away all of the hurt she felt all morning, hurt inflicted by me, I didn’t.
I was too consumed with guilt.
Guilt and regret.
And probably a little bit of fear.
No, that wasn’t true.
I was consumed with a lot of fear.
Because I was certain that my selfish actions were going to take my best friend away from me. There was no way Tillie and I would ever go back to the way we were.