“Sorry,” he said. He stood up and walked around the couch, and I was struck, as I always was since I’d moved away, by how much he had changed since the day we met eleven years ago, when his family moved into our neighborhood. Back then, he was gangly-limbed, all knobby joints and too-big feet and hands. Now twenty-five, he was six-foot-two and had filled out substantially, with broad shoulders and well-muscled arms and legs, a younger, better-looking version of his father. He had full lips, a strong jaw, and pronounced cheekbones that drew direct attention to his eyes. I had a hard time reconciling these two versions of Tyler; whenever I thought of him, my mind flashed to an image of the shy, awkward boy I’d grown up with, not the strong, attractive man he had become.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. It wasn’t unusual for Tyler to treat our house like his own—he was an only child, too, and after his parents divorced, and his mom, Liz, had to start working full-time, Tyler spent many of the evenings she had to stay late at the hospital pharmacy with us. He and I would do our homework together, and then he’d join us for dinner, sometimes even spending the night on our couch if Liz was stuck with the swing shift. During football season, he would spend every Sunday afternoon watching a game with me and my dad, yelling at the TV and high-fiving when our team scored a touchdown or sacked the opposing team’s quarterback. Tyler was here so often, in fact, that my mother began referring to him as her surrogate son. But the last time I’d been home, we hadn’t parted on the best of terms, so I couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable having him here now.
“Your parents had Mom and me over for dinner,” he said. “I told them I’d stay up and make sure you got in okay so they could go to bed.” He pulled me into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”
“You, too.” I turned my head so my cheek pressed into his chest. His body was hard and warm; his shirt held a whisper of a sweet, but earthy-scented cologne. I didn’t remember him wearing it before, which immediately made me wonder if he had a girlfriend who might have bought it for him. Or perhaps he bought it because of her. It would make everything so much easier if he was dating someone, too.
I stepped back and picked up my phone from the floor, checking to see if the notification chime I’d heard moments before had been a return text from Daniel. “Miss you, too, babe,” he said. “Can’t sleep without you next to me. Love you.”
My cheeks flushed as I read his words, and I felt Tyler’s eyes on me, intent. Back in September, when at my parents’ insistence I came home for Labor Day weekend, Tyler and I had hit Cafe Akroteri for dinner on Saturday night, and then hung out at his apartment, half-watching a preseason NFL game he’d recorded while we talked. At some point, I’d told him about Daniel, and his reaction had been less than enthusiastic.
“Is it serious?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s getting there, I guess. I like him.”
“But who is the guy?” he demanded. “How long have you known him? Have you talked to any of the other girls he’s dated, or his friends? Did you Google him, at least?” He peppered me with questions like these until I finally snapped.
“You know what, Ty? It’s none of your business,” I said. “I get enough of this kind of shit from my parents.”
He scowled. “I’m just worried about you.”
“No. You’re just jealous,” I shot back, and then, seeing how his shoulders curled forward and his face crumpled, I knew that my words had poked at a wound in his heart that had yet to fully heal.
He dropped his gaze to the floor and sat back hard in his seat.
“Ty, wait. I didn’t mean—”
“I think you should go,” he said, cutting me off. He looked at me, his eyes the same light, clear color as sea glass. Without another word, he stood up, went into his bedroom, and closed the door. A second later, there was a loud thump, followed by another, and then one more. I wasn’t sure what he was doing—hitting the wall?—but it seemed clear that going after him would only make things worse.
I returned to my parents’ house that night, then drove the six hours back to school the next day. Since then, I’d basically avoided any complicated interaction with Tyler, wanting to keep things light between us, knowing all too well how sensitive he was, and certainly not wanting to hurt him again.
Standing in the kitchen with him now, I hoped that his offer to wait for my arrival was his way of saying that all was well. “So,” I said. “How are you?”
“You’d know if you ever answered my texts with more than emojis,” he said, playfully, but I still heard a tinge of reproach.
“I know, I know,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender. “I’m a sucky friend. My schedule has been brutal. Emojis are pretty much all I can manage.” This was mostly true. On top of the fifteen-to seventeen-credit class load I took each semester, I worked as a personal trainer at a gym near my tiny apartment. Most of my clients were mothers trying to get their prepregnancy bodies back, or older women attempting to halt the inevitable ravages of time, neither of which fit in with my long-term career goals. But I tried to look at the job as a stepping-stone, and it paid fairly well. For the most part, I could set my own hours, and to tell the truth, I enjoyed seeing the progress these women made—a pound lost here, a heavier weight added to the leg press there. It reminded me that even the smallest of changes can reap meaningful rewards.
Tyler stayed silent, shuffling his feet and avoiding eye contact, as though he, too, was unsure exactly how to behave after the fight we’d both swept under the rug.
I yawned, and then slapped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry,” I said through my fingers. “Long day.” I knew we needed to talk things out, but I was too tired to do it now.
“I should let you get some sleep. We’ve got the tree farm field trip in the morning.”
“Oh god,” I groaned. “What time?” Each year, both our families went to pick out our Christmas trees together, sipping tongue-scalding hot cocoa and eating slightly stale spritz cookies. It was something my parents had done with me since I was born, and we invited Liz and Tyler to join us after her ex-husband, Jason, left them and moved across town to a condo in Fairhaven. Only a lost limb or the threat of deathly illness could excuse me from participating, and even then it was possible my mother would rent a wheelchair and pop a morphine drip in my arm so I wouldn’t miss out. Traditions were kind of her thing.
“We’re meeting here at ten.” Tyler smiled. “I’m glad you’re home.” He grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch and then, as suddenly as his head had popped up from the couch, he was gone.
? ? ?
My mother had roused me from sleep the same way for as long as I could remember. I’d be curled up beneath the weight of my blankets and she would sneak into my bed, tucking herself around me. “Good morning, sunshine,” she’d whisper, her mouth resting near my ear. “Time to wake up, sweet girl.” She would rest her hand on my hip, which she’d pat a few times, then shake gently if I didn’t respond, then more vigorously if I ignored her.