We’re silent for a few more moments, Reeve’s stare probing, my eyes desperate to look away.
“Uh, can I walk you?”
Nervous Reeve is not one I’m familiar with, so instead of letting my brain overanalyze, I nod, beginning to head in the direction of home.
Our steps ring out as we walk side by side, our motions somehow synchronized.
“So, how’s the Wentworth Estate going? They still have you on March deadline?”
I smile at him remembering the little things. Now that I think back on it, Reeve always did remember details I said more than anyone else.
“It’s surprisingly going really well. I’m no longer working with that prick who wouldn’t give me the names of his clients. It’s this woman instead, she’s great. I’ve mostly got all the work done; I just have some small touches to add.”
“Seems like you had a productive month,” he replies.
“I had a lot of time to think,” I whisper, then instantly regret it.
Reeve stops walking. “I know words are cheap and all you can go by are my actions, but I am sorry. I never thought we would get to this point.”
I don’t turn around, for fear he will see the shine behind my eyes. The giveaway to all the hurt and love I still have inside of me. The anger is gone, no longer poisoning the well that is my soul.
“It’s okay, Reeve,” I tell him honestly. “You’ve actually always been there for me as a friend, more than anyone else I’ve ever known. I guess we just messed it all up trying to turn it into something else.”
I look straight ahead, shadows of others lining my vision while streetlamps illuminate my path home. I look at anything and everything to keep myself from looking at him.
“I don’t know if I believe that, Em. I don’t think we were a mess; we just went about it all wrong. I went about it all wrong.”
Shaking my head, I let out a deep breath. “It’s all in the past now. No need to dwell on ancient hurt.” My eyes squeeze together as if letting in any light could burn them out of their sockets. When I’m certain I’ve composed myself, I turn to Reeve, giving him my best smile. “You know, you don’t have to keep sending me presents. You don’t have to buy back our friendship.” I mean it purely as a joke, to lighten the mood, but when the words leave my mouth, I realize how bad it sounds. Not for a second did I ever think he was trying to buy his way back.
“It wasn’t supposed to come off that way,” he replies, his voice uncertain. “I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you. It was small things I thought you’d like.”
Feeling like a dick, I nudge his arm. “I’m only joking. Come on, I need to get home before Cora. Otherwise, Lord knows I won’t get any work done.”
He smiles back at me, but it’s forced. Nevertheless, he picks up his pace, his scent of pine and mint invading all my senses when he’s next to me.
We walk in silence that is surprisingly comfortable, my body warming at his proximity and familiarity. Despite being away from him for only a month, I missed his friendship as much as his love. A friendship I’ve had for so many years, his presence has become second nature to be around.
Eventually I break the silence, and we begin to talk. First about his job, and then l tell him of my plans for Lottie’s baby shower. The conversation is mundane, nothing too heavy, as we aren’t yet ready. But it warms a part of me nonetheless.
So, when we stand in front of my flat and bid our goodbyes, I can’t help but notice the lingering sense of longing that has increased in my mind, along with the feeling that I’ve made a very horrible mistake in cutting him out.
The human mind is a strange thing. It holds years’ worth of memories and information, seemingly having endless storage. It tells you what foods you like, what you hate, who and what you fear and love. Countless things.
One thing it’s also exceptionally skilled at is convincing you that you don’t want something. Out of sight, out of mind. But what happens when that thing comes back? During my time away from Reeve, I managed to convince myself I would eventually be okay without him coming around again. That all our choices the past six months were errors in judgment, and I could move on. Yet one look at him last week at Evie’s and all of that convincing feels especially weak.
So, as I sit here, listening to “Shameful Company” by RKS and adding red, pink, and blue to my canvas, I give myself a few moments for the love and doubt to sink in. It must be a few hours later when Cora exits her bedroom, her black hair now streaked with strands of blue. Demon is right on her heels, following her like a shadow.
“It looks good,” I say, motioning to her hair.
She shrugs. “I don’t hate it.”
I laugh in the way only Cora can make me with her silliness.
“You home tonight?”
I shake my head. “The guys have a gig at Saint Street. Figured I’m basically done with all this, so I can go. Want to come?” I ask her every time, but it’s always the same reaction.
“No thanks. See you later,” she calls out as she strolls to the front door.
I grin to myself, turning back to my work.
“Uh, Emilia, there is a cardboard cutout of Edward Cullen at the door for you.”
I jump up from my work, unsure what the bloody hell Cora is talking about.
And true to her word, as the image before me comes into view, there is indeed a cardboard cutout of Edward.
“What the fuck?” I ask more to myself than anyone else.
Cora eyes the thing as if it might bite her. That would be fitting, him being a vampire and all. “Listen, Em, I know I’m into Wicca and all, but you do know this movie was fiction? I thought the craze of having cardboard cutouts was so 2009?”
“I didn’t order it!” I exclaim, getting up and moving to inspect it.
“Holy shit, I think it’s signed,” she says, then suddenly laughs as if that’s the funniest thing ever.
“What?” Walking over, I see it is indeed signed by Robert Pattinson. Wow, my sixteen-year-old self would be swooning.
At the thought of sixteen-year-old Em, it’s clear who this is from.
“Looks like Loverboy isn’t taking no for an answer,” Cora says. Her gaze darts to the back of the cutout before she grabs her purse and slips out the door. Demon scratches at the door for a few moments, probably hoping Cora will come back, before he retreats.
I try to ignore the way my heart clenches at the gesture, especially knowing how much he hated sitting through the movies with me. As much as I try to deny it, a small smile pulls at my lips when I sit back down, attempting to get back to work. And despite my mind’s protests, I can’t seem to keep from thinking back to the small stack of brown paper packages on the dresser in my room. The packages I’ve refused to open.
Five minutes later of doing nothing, I groan, heave my body up from my seat, and sneak into my bedroom. Why I’m sneaking when no one else is home, I don’t know, but some part of me feels as if opening these packages will be like opening another can of worms.
“I’m just going to see what they are, and then I’ll put them away,” I tell myself as my grubby little fingers pull apart the paper on the first one.