Page 26 of Road Trip to Forever
We’d drift apart.
Our communication, the foundation of what makes usus, would crumble.
What we’re doingworks—no pressure, no expectations. No need to act a certain way just because we’re two single people.
Friendshipworks.
Platonicworks.
It was working well, until Patrick went and looked at me with fire in his eyes, and now I can’t stop thinking about him. The curve of his mouth and how it would feel against the inside of my knee, my hip, the soft skin on my stomach. The flush on his cheeks and his hands under my thighs when he hauled me into his arms that night and held me there. What I want him to do to me, and what I want to do to him.
“He’s been in your life for so long, Lo,” Emma says. “Nothing would ever force him away, and he’s not going to leave willingly. If you took that step with him, you’d have the chance to be happy. Who doesn’t want to be happy?”
I fiddle with the friendship bracelet wrapped around my right wrist. It matches the one Patrick still wears, the material faded from blue and purple to tattered gray. The string is turning flimsy and fraying at the ends, but I’ve kept it on for years. I don’t think I’ll ever take it off.
I made them at summer camp when we were twelve, sitting out on the old canoe dock during afternoon free time. Patrick was at the boys’ camp down the road, and I slipped one into an envelope and mailed it to him for his birthday as a surprise, hoping he didn’t get teased if he decided to wear it.
He loved it, proudly showing off the gift to the boys in his cabin and then asking me to teach him how to make one when we got home. We passed the rest of the days leading up to school coming up with new designs and color schemes. Different patterns and ways to tie the knots. It was fun to sit there, our legs dangling out of the treehouse and the heat sticking to our skin, working side by side. Child-like bliss I still hold onto.
“He and I are spending a lot of time together,” I explain. “I haven’t been home this long in months, so it makes sense I’m feeling attached to him. Observant, too, and aware of him in a way I wasn’t before. I notice how close he stands to me. How he hooks his pinky in my belt loop when he reaches over my shoulder to get the coffee filters off the top shelf in my kitchen. The way he watches me when he thinks I’m distracted. I’ll look over at him during a movie, and he always has this small smile on his face. One of his dimples pops, and his eyes light up. It’s like he’s holding onto a secret, and it’s infuriating to not know what he’s thinking.”
“Patrick watching you isn’t a new thing,” Rebecca says. “He’s done that for a while now, and the way he looks at you is beautiful, Lo.”
“How does he look at me?” I ask.
My voice trembles as I stare at my friends. The air seems like it’s charged, an electric current circling around our conversation. I don’t know what they’re going to say, but I do know that once they say it, everything will change.
Emma smiles. She reaches over and takes my hands in hers. “Like every second he stares at you is the best second of his life,” she says. “Like he never wants to look away, because then it will end. You’re his lifeline, Lola, and the only thing keeping him afloat.”
SEVEN
LOLA
The declaration catchesme off guard. It makes my heart sputter and spiral and come dangerously close to breaking in two. Emma speaks with so much certainty, so much gusto, like it’s a verified fact backed up with evidence and data.
“How can you be so sure?” I whisper.
“It’s the same way we all look at our other halves. They’re the brightest stars in the sky.”
Ohshit.
Shit. Shit.Shit.
Does my best friend havefeelingsfor me?
And do I have feelings forhim?
How can they pop up after years of knowing each other? Where were they hiding before? And why,whyhave they been dormant for so long, choosingnowto manifest and show themselves, days before we’re about to take a cross-country road trip together in one car with nowhere to hide?
Feelingsis a serious word with implications and life-changing consequences behind it. One wrong move, too bold of an assumption or an overstep, and everything we’ve built could shatter into unrepairable shards.
Patrick is great.
Better than great.
A rare, one-in-seven-billion person, the type that protects your heart. He guides, follows, but never pushes or forcibly leads. It’s a balance, a cooperation. The tip of the scales from uneven to steady. He makes me feel special, important,valued.
If this is how he treats me as a friend, like I’m precious and adored, how deep would his care go if we were something more?
