“It still looks good on you,” I tell her, my eyes focused on her as I take in her reactions.
She blushes. “Do you need the keys?”
“The keys?” I ask confused.
“To fix the car,” she replies, pointing at the battery, and I realize that’s her way of changing the conversation.
I give her a knowing look. I want her to know that I can tell what she’s doing right now. “Yup. The key would be nice,” I tell her. The sweater thing’s worked in my favor twice now. First, it shows me that Emely was right, I definitely have a chance. Also, it stopped her from fighting me on fixing her car.
She turns around and I hold my breath hoping she doesn’t end up shutting me out after all. I’m relieved when she doesn’t close the door. Instead, she disappears somewhere inside the house and I stand there at her doorstep waiting for her to come out. A few seconds later, she returns with the car keys in hand and the sweater gone. “I see you decided to forego the sweater,” I tell her, unable to stop myself from continuing to bring it up.
Her cheeks redden once again. I draw closer to her, feeling the pull I’ve never quite been able to fight against. Raising my hand, I bring it close to her face, wanting to feel her skin under my fingertips. She watches me intently but doesn’t stop me. Her eyes bounce back and forth between my own and my hand. I tuck a stray strand of her behind her ears. I don’t miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes when I lower my hand and I bite back another smile. I affect her still. And she definitely affects me.
I move my hand to hers and take the keys. “Seeing you in my hoodie reminded me of when I gave it to you,” I tell her.
“I don’t remember that,” she tells me, but I can tell she’s lying.
“You don’t?”
“Nope. I didn’t even realize it was your hoodie until you pointed it out,” she replies, ever the fighter.
“Well, I remember I had a football game,” I start. “I wanted you to wear my jersey.”
“That’s cheesy,” she says and I nod triumphantly.
“Funny you don’t remember because that’s what you said back then too. You said football players love when their girlfriends wear their jerseys as a way to show who they belong to and as a signal to others to back off. But that any girl could wear a player’s jersey. So, instead of wearing my jersey to the games, you wore my hoodie. Because only you would be wearing that. And you didn’t need a jersey to tell you that we belonged to each other,” I finish.
I don’t miss the way her eyes water. “Thanks for coming to fix the car,” she says then turns around and disappears into the house for a second time. This time, though, Amari doesn’t come back out.
I finish replacing the battery and knock at her door. Seconds later, she opens it. “Battery’s all set. I tested it. You shouldn’t have any troubles with it anymore.” I hand her the keys.
“I…um. I appreciate you coming to fix it.”
“That’s not the only thing I’m going to fix,” I tell her.
She extends her other hand to me and that’s when I see the hoodie she’s holding. “Here.”
Oh hell no. “What’s this?”
“Your hoodie,” she says. “Just thought you might want it back,” she adds.
I shake my head. “It’s not the hoodie I want back. It’s you.” With those words, I turn around and walk away.
25
AMARI
Applying the finishing touches on my makeup, I step out of the bathroom and into my bedroom.
“Your makeup looks gorgeous,” Emely tells me from my bed.
I roll my eyes. “Stop sucking up to me. I’ve already forgiven you.” I was mad at her for a whole two days before finally picking up her call and telling her I understood. She showed up at my house with chocolate and wine an hour later.
“I know… but I did really screw up. I thought you weren’t going to talk to me for years.”
“I thought I wasn’t going to talk to you for long too, but then you called me a million times, left me a billion voicemails and a trillion texts,” I tell her, searching through my closet for my dress.
“Damn, I was hella persistent,” she replies, and even though my back is turned to her, I can picture the knowing smile on her face.
“You were… and you were also not entirely wrong,” I tell her, grabbing the dress and walking toward the bed where she’s seated.
“Not entirely wrong about what?” she asks, and I can understand the confusion in her tone.
“You found out not long before I did and, while I expected you to tell me right away, I wasn’t really mad at you for not telling me.” When it comes to best friends, honesty is always the way to go, so I decide to be honest with my best friend.
“You weren’t?” She asks, but the look in her eyes shows me she already knows what I’m about to say. She knows me better than anyone.
I fix her with a look. “I was mad that you knew before I did. That Christian told you instead of me.”
She nods. “That’s what I figured.”
“Why did you give him a chance to explain, by the way?” I ask, sitting next to her on the bed. Emely isn’t the type of person who buys into anyone’s crap. She hated Christian when I first started dating him, she hated him even more when he broke me, so I wonder what made her so merciful. She isn’t known for second chances.
She moves from her place next to me and stands in front of me, instead kneeling down so I’m looking down at her. “You want me to be honest?” she asks, her hands on my knees.
“I’m kind of over people lying to me,” I tell her.
“You love him,” she tells me. It isn’t a question. There’s not an ounce of doubt in her voice when she utters those words.
“Okay.”
“He loves you,” she adds with the same confidence. This time though, I doubt it. I’m sure of what I feel, but I don’t understand how she can be sure of what he feels, I’m certainly not. It’s been six years.
I want you back, his own words come back to mind.
“Please don’t be mad at me again…” she starts and I prepare myself for what’s to come.
“But I know he loves you.”
“How though?” Has she been hiding more things from me? Has he told her anything else?
“When you kicked me out of your house, I talked to him. He asked if I thought he still had a chance with you.”
“He asked that?” I repeat, ignoring the part where she talked to him immediately after I’d gotten mad at her for talking to him in the first place.
“Yeah…” she says and I can tell she’s trying to tread lightly.
“And what did you say?” I ask, curious as to what her answer was.
She takes hold of my hands. “I said that I thought he did have a chance.”
That’s definitely not what I expected my spitfire best friend to say to him. “Why’d you say that?”
“Because I could see it in your eyes,” she says. “I still can,” she adds. I want to argue with that, but I don’t, and that gives her the opening she needs to go on. “He said he wouldn’t give up on you. That he wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers again. He said that he already made the mistake of letting you go once and that if there was a chance with you, he wouldn’t stop trying to get you back.” I want you back, again I’m assaulted by his words.