Page 78 of Friendshipped
I swallow a big sip of coffee. Why am I pushing at this? I may end up pushing him right into her arms. But I can’t seem to stop myself from poking the bear. “And now she’s your date to fireworks.”
“She’s no more my date than you are. She’s coming as a friend.”
Having been clearly redirected as to my secure spot in the friend zone as always, I console myself with another bite of my cinnamon roll. I’m the one standing in my pjs eating his fresh baked goods. Take that, Megadeath. I’m not convinced she isn’t moving into his life and heart. But a fit of jealousy won’t serve me.
I fight the sudden urge to walk over and kiss this amazing man who baked me cinnamon rolls and came here looking like every woman’s best dream.
I’ve known Trevor forever. My heart aches from how much I love him. Even if he doesn’t pick me or feel what I feel, I’m determined he can’t settle for Meg Abrams. Trevor MacIntyre is one of a kind. He deserves someone equally amazing.
Trevor turns and grabs some tin foil from my drawer, plops a few rolls onto one of my plates and covers them and then takes his pan with him. He leaves me feeling more emotions than I want to sort through this early in the morning, even with a cup of coffee in my hand.
28
Lexi
Having Meg back in town feels like one of the days we all walk around town saying, “Looks like tornado weather,” or “Could be a twister coming in.” You feel this looming sense of foreboding. The air stills and you know you’re in for a storm. You just hope it doesn’t take everything that’s precious to you.
Meg’s presence has changed everything. At this morning’s parade she stood right next to Trevor. Whatever you’re thinking, it was closer than that. It’s obvious no one ever taught her the meaning of personal space. She’s like a barnacle in need of a good scraping.
Trevor seems somewhat oblivious to her cloying attachment. Either that or his kindness demands he not push her away.
He did smile at her four times.
Yes. I’m busted. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. And I counted the number of times Trevor smiled at Meg.
I took occasional glimpses at the homemade floats, marching band, and people dressed in all manner of corn costumes. Corn’s a thing with us.
Trevor even broke into a laugh once when Meg said something funny. It wasn’t a courtesy laugh either. It was the one where his eyes crinkle and his head tilts back a little. It’s my laugh. The one I draw from him. It belongs to me.
Meg’s gotten steak and laughter. This isn’t stacking up in my favor at all.
And the thought of Meg having something funny to say seems completely impossible. Apparently, it’s a side of herself she reserves for Trevor.
Now, five hours after the parade, Laura, Shannon and I are all gathered in the back seat of Trevor’s car, driving to the Abrams to pick up Meg. And she will sit in the empty front passenger seat while we ride to the fireworks show, the three of us across the back seat like a bunch of extras in a movie.
She gets to ride shotgun.
Shotgun, steak, and smiles.
She’s getting an alliteration of goodness from Trevor and I’m trying to remind myself he’s not mine for the keeping, even if the seat she’s about to sit in belongs to me at least five out of seven days a week. I still have more of him, but for how much longer?
Meg approaches the car wearing a blue jean miniskirt with a red and white gingham top and her bleach blond hair pulled back with a red, white and blue bow. She’s the very image of patriotism. I’m not quite sure this is what the founding fathers had in mind when they fought for our liberty, but hey.
The door opens and her voice rings through the car in a sugary-sweet tone. “Hi there, everyone! Happy Fourth!”
The three of us in the back row give her a lukewarm greeting. We sound like three kids who just got told we had to go to bed early. I appreciate the solidarity on either side of me.
Trevor’s friendly enough to make up for the three of us. He looks at Meg like he’s honestly happy to see her. And as much as I want to be a hospitable person, and I usually am, my generosity doesn’t seem to extend to sharing Trevor.
Meg’s hand drifts to Trevor’s forearm immediately like he’s magnetically charged. He looks down as if he’s about to say something, but then he just sticks the key in the ignition and starts driving.
My eyes lock onto the spot where Meg touches Trevor and I can’t look away. Laura nudges me and makes a face that saysHe’s being very friendly. I return the look with one that saysThat’s just Trevor.
But is it? I don’t know. Laura pats my knee the way Memaw always did when I lost at dominoes as a girl.
If I could borrow the new bug zapper wand Rob made, I’d tap Meg’s hand. Just a little bit. I wouldn’t maim her. I’d watch her jiggle and twitch as her hand lifted OFF TREVOR.
Oh, did I shout that silently in my fantasy zapping incident? Whoopsie. Truthfully, I’d love to see Meg zapped like the pest she is.
