“Maybe she was nervous to tell you?”
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“It’s my apartment, you asshole.”
I roll my eyes. “Semantics.” I lean forward and press my forearms into my thighs and clasp my hands together. “Dude, I don’t know what to do.”
“What is there to do? I mean, you’ve only said you were fuck buddies, unless, you know . . . you love her.”
I shake my head, not quite sure if I believe it or not. “Nah, nothing like that. But, it doesn’t feel right.”
“Well, I guess you’re going to have to get used to it, because unless you love her, you really don’t have any other options other than to try to find a new fuck buddy.”
“God, you’re useless.”
“Really feels good when you say things like that.” He chuckles and then hands me back my beer. “Drink up, man. I’ll allow you to get wasted and sleep here tonight.”
“Now that’s the kind of friend I need.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
INDIE
FIVE YEARS AFTER INDIE’S SENIOR YEAR
“Thanks for helping me move,” I say to my mom, who sets a box down on the secondhand table I just bought.
“Of course, we’re just so glad you’re close to us again.” She comes up to me and gives me a hug, as Joe and Priscilla bring in the last of the boxes.
“This is a nice place,” Joe says, hands on his hips, his dad bod looking nice these days. It took a while for me to get used to having Joe around, and Priscilla for that matter, but they took it slowly with me. Joe is a pretty understanding and perceptive guy who knew I wasn’t happy when he first moved into my mom’s house, so he didn’t push himself on me. Nor did he force me to have a relationship with Priscilla. That developed over time. The way Joe handled things when my dad passed away gained him a lot of respect in my book. Especially when my mom was grieving over the loss of her first husband. Joe was there for her and nurtured her through mourning her loss.
He was there for me too, and even though I don’t want to admit it—because I was against it at first—Priscilla is pretty cool and we get along. It doesn’t hurt that she’s started playing soccer . . . and is pretty good at it.
What especially helped, though, was when my mom realized how much she’d hurt me. How I’d felt so replaceable. Abandoned. I took a chance and spoke honestly with her after Dad died. She simply hadn’t seen how Dad’s and her relationship issues affected me so miserably. I didn’t get the chance to reconcile with Dad, and I was determined not to repeat that mistake with Mom. She’s a different woman with Joe—brighter. She apologized. It was heartfelt, there were tears, and then there was alcohol. And a shocking hangover for both of us the next day.
And now? Now I’m back in my old stomping ground, ready to make new choices. Better choices.
“Thanks, Joe. It will do for now until I can save up a little more. I would like to move closer to Brentwood at some point to cut down on the commute, but unless you’re in student housing and splitting the rent, it’s pretty expensive.”
“You’ll get there,” my mom says. “But look at all the natural light in here, and there’s a park across the street, which is nice. You’re not staring at a bunch of buildings.”
“Yeah, it’s one of the reasons why I moved here.”
Joe takes a kitchen box and says, “Should I start unpacking, or do you have a certain way you want to put things away?”
“There’s like two drawers in the kitchen.” I laugh. “I think I’ll be able to find whatever you put away, plus I don’t have a lot.”
“Which reminds me,” my mom says, holding up a package I saw her bring in from her car. “We got you a housewarming gift. We know you’ve been sharing apartments with girls on your team, and then you know . . . Anthony.”
“We don’t need to mention him,” I say, pressing my hand to my stomach. My heart’s still cracked because of him.
“Well, anyway, here’s something from us.”
“You didn’t have to do this,” I say, sitting next to the box and opening it up.
“We wanted to. You’ve been through a lot this past year and this is a fresh, new start. We’re excited for you. And assistant coach for the men’s soccer team at Brentwood—the first female coach of a men’s team at Brentwood. We are so proud.”
I smile softly. “Thanks, Mom.”
When I got a call from Coach Wilson about a coaching position opening up at Brentwood, I thought she was referring to the women’s team, but when she said men’s, I was completely shocked. We’d been shooting emails back and forth, keeping in touch as I made my way through a professional career that had its highlights and definite downfalls. When I told her I was taking a year off, she told me she’d look out for a coaching job for me, keep her ears open. A year later, I never expected to be offered a coaching job at Brentwood, especially with the men’s team. But she highly recommended me, I interviewed well, and I was called the next day, letting me know I had the job.
For a few years, Brentwood had been my home, so being here again feels like a better fit. I loved being in Texas, but this place is . . . healthy for me. Restorative.
I open the box and it’s full of little apartment things like hand towels, soap containers, oven mitts, toilet paper (which makes me laugh), a can opener, and some frames. I pull out the first frame, which is a picture of me and my dad when I was in middle school. It was right after a game, and he has his arm around me, standing proudly.
Tears well in my eyes as I smooth my hand over the picture. “He loved you so much, sweetie, even if he had a hard time connecting with you sometimes.”
I give her a shaky smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
The next picture is of me, my mom, Joe, and Priscilla in Chicago during Christmas last year. We’re in front of a large tree, bundled up and smiling together.
“I love this picture.”
“Me too. I have it up on the mantel,” Mom says.
I reach for the last picture and my heart stops in my chest when it comes into view.
“I found the picture on your Instagram,” my mom says. “I love this picture of you two, and he’s been such an important person in your life. It feels right that he would be here.”
Lincoln’s gorgeous smile is beaming at the camera. I’m snuggled into his neck, happy as I can be. I can’t quite place when we took the picture or where since it’s just our faces, but what I do know is that it was during a time when I was happiest. It was during a time where I felt safe and protected, when I could have called Lincoln at any time of the day and he would have been there for me. And I would have been there for him. Because that’s what he asked of me on that painful day when he left Brentwood the first time. It’s what I promised.
“I’m about to embark on one of the hardest journeys of my life, and I’ll never make it if you cut me off. If you take away my best friend. Promise me, Indie. Promise me you won’t let me go.”
God, the expression in his eyes had gutted me. And looking back now, I feel guilty I didn’t keep my promise to him. “As long as you want me as a friend, I’m yours.” Words of an emotional twenty-one-year-old? Fanciful?