I know he doesn’t mean it in a rude way, but calling it “the painting” trivializes it to me, making it more into a hobby than a career. Instead of getting into the semantics of it with him, I just smile.
“It’s going great. I’ve got a big client I’m doing some custom work for right now, so I can’t complain.”
“Wonderful,” he replies. He runs a hand through his hair, and I can’t help but notice the way it falls all over the place, pieces seeming to protest the serious amount of hair gel he’s put into it. “I’m sure it’s keeping you busy.”
I nod, feeling that awkward part of the conversation slip in. You know, when you run out of stuff to say after the mundane greetings and how-are-yous. Our conversation for the next ten minutes of my trip follows a similar pattern. A lot of nodding and shrugging, neither of us having the balls to move away and end it with niceties. Instead it drags on, me telling him about work and him talking about his family. I nearly sigh in relief when we hit my stop.
“This is me,” I say, standing.
He nods for probably the tenth time, and I collect my bag, ready to leave.
“Um, Emilia,” he calls out as I’m stepping off the platform. I turn just in time to hear him.
“Maybe we could get coffee sometime, you know, catch up?” His face is uncertain, the fear of rejection written all over it. Despite my gut telling me no, practically screaming no, I nod to be polite, just as the doors close, separating us. It won’t ever be romantic between Noel and me—I understand that now—but perhaps some company from people outside my bubble wouldn’t be too terrible.
I see his smile before the train begins to roll away, leaving me behind in a muggy station filled with busy commuters.
Life is a strange thing. One second you think you have your entire world planned out, all your ducks in a row, and then the next, one thing can happen that shatters your entire foundation. Life is made up of moments, big and small, that contribute to it all.
It could be something as big as seeing your parents happy, smiling one morning, then the next second hearing that a truck has smashed into their car. Or as minor as wearing a great outfit, then spilling your coffee down your front.
One, your life is shaken and the other maybe just your morning, but it changes your direction, changes your mood. So, as I sit here the next morning, feeling all types of sorry for myself, I attempt to force my feelings into one of these two categories. But I continuously find myself stuck.
No, Reeve leaving doesn’t compare to the deaths of my parents, but it also isn’t as insignificant as spilling a cup of coffee. His absence is somewhere in the middle, somewhere I’ve yet to understand and locate, not easily stored into one box or another.
Stana places her hand on my own, her tan skin making mine look even paler in comparison. She decided to surprise visit me today, probably worried I’d be reduced to a pile of tears. What I don’t tell her is that I keep the crying for my shower, when I’m alone and no one can hear me. I think I try to convince myself that if my tears mix with the water, maybe they aren’t really there. Out of sight, out of mind. But despite my dry eyes, the anguish that has taken up residence in my soul is noticeable, especially to a best friend.
“Do you know what one of the hardest things we’ll ever have to deal with in life is, Em?”
Her green eyes probe me as I shake my head.
“Acceptance. Especially acceptance of what we cannot change. Getting to that point with my own family, was the most freeing experience. Sometimes we are so desperate in life to change situations or people that we put our own emotions at risk in hopes that it will have a positive outcome and all the pain will be worth it. And on the odd chance, sometimes it works, but most of the time it only ends in more heartbreak. Sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves is to accept we can’t change others, only ourselves.”
I blink back tears, flipping Stana’s hand over and linking our fingers.
“Who let you be so wise?” I tease, thankful for this friendship, this girl.
“I just surround myself with great people, Em,” she says, winking. “You know it wasn’t too long ago I needed a similar pep talk from you, and not once have you let me down. It’s my turn to be there for you. If what you told me is true, and we are family, which I know we are, then you will know I only want what is best for you.
“I’ve had a great life, Em. But it wasn’t until I met you and your group of misfits that I finally felt like I fit in, like I’d found my place in this world. And a huge part of that is thanks to you, and your brother. I want you to have that so desperately. And I know you want Reeve to be that person for you. Hell, I want that. But before he can do that, he needs to figure out who he is.”
“I know,” I repeat weakly, leaning my head on her shoulder, wishing my story had a different ending.
As the days go by, the month of January passes, February now upon us. Despite my best efforts to move forward, Reeve’s absence is felt. Whether it’s hangouts at Saint Street or lonely Sunday night dinners, I can’t help but feel as if a part of myself disappeared with him.
The boys haven’t performed in over a month, not wanting to play without Reeve, the band being his idea to begin with anyway. Lottie’s rounded belly continues to grow, her due date at the end of March fast approaching. Stana busies herself with her master’s degree, while Ali’s duties at Saint Street continue to keep him occupied. Owen, whom I rarely see, spends most of his free time with Lottie, the five of us together only once a week if we are lucky.
I eat, sleep, and breathe my work, channeling all my emotions into my art. With my own deadline fast approaching, it’s been a beneficial way to take my mind off of everything while also letting my emotions out. Demon seems to like me a bit more than usual, so I guess that’s a bonus.
I never did catch up with Noel after our Tube ride together. I don’t think a friendship with him would be fair to either of us. Cora keeps me company occasionally, talking shit about Reeve in an attempt to make me feel better. Sometimes it works, sometimes not.
Despite my best efforts, my gaze begins to dart to the calendar every day during the first week of February. Although he never gave me a specific date, I know Reeve’s return is said to be sometime this month. Well, that’s what he told Ali anyway. I’m not exactly sure the path their friendship will take. Even with all the hurt and anger, I could never let Ali fully take my side in this. Upon my request, he said he won’t hold what happened between us against Reeve, but from what Stana has relayed to me, Reeve and Ali had words.
The only good thing about all of this is there are no more lies. It feels as if the past year has been a whirlwind of emotions, good and bad, and I’m only just able to catch my breath. Lord knows as soon as Lottie’s little girl is born things will turn hectic again, so I think everyone is attempting to relish in the quiet of the next two months.
I wish I could do the same, let my mind stop, calm down. But my reality is, I have a broken heart. It’s plain and simple, yet overly complex at the same time. One second I feel okay, as if nothing can hurt me, and then the next I’m a sobbing mess. I know it will heal with time; I just fear Reeve’s reappearance will hinder said healing. I guess it’s one of those things you have to see to know the result. I can imagine our reunion a million different ways, but until I see him and look him in the eyes, I don’t know how I will react.