After a year and a half of trying to move on from the what-ifs, the tides have pulled Alexandra Rivera and Zachariah Kim back together again.
*****
In the h...
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"My parents wanted to have dinner but maybe when I'm done I can come over?" Emmie suggested. "I kind of doubt it 'cause you know how they are but, you know, just in case."
"That sounds good," I replied, twisting the knob on the stove to lower the heat. "But give me a call before you come, if you do. If I'm too tired to do anything then I don't want you to waste your time driving over here."
"Sounds good." A muffled sound came through the line before she returned to the call. "I gotta go but I'll let you know."
When I first invited her over a couple of days ago, the plan was to come clean about Zachariah and me. I'd even bought her favorite dessert—strawberry shortcake—as a way to bribe her into not completely flipping out at me. While utilizing a subtle form of manipulation wasn't the most ideal tactic, it gave me some peace of mind to follow through on my plans.
But as a couple of days passed by, nerves built up in the crevices of my well-being until they formed into a full-fledged panic that couldn't be ignored. It really shouldn't have been this dramatic. There was some truth to the words Zachariah used to soothe me the other day, but I couldn't help but let the guilt eat at me.
By the time this call came around, I was secretly relieved she would most likely not come over.
After placing my phone down, I eyed the cursed strawberry shortcake. I didn't even like strawberries.
I dug into one of the drawers anyway and grabbed a spoon so I could go to town on it. I wasn't going to waste my money on a damn strawberry shortcake.
That was how Zachariah found me when he came over a little while later—hunched over my kitchen counter with nearly a quarter of the shortcake devoured and a guilty frown on my face.
After scolding me for leaving the door open, he kicked it shut behind him and twisted the lock into place. He walked over to the other side of the counter and slid down onto one of the barstools, eyeing me carefully and probably wondering what he had gotten himself into by coming over here tonight. His appearance was a surprise, but a welcome one.
"You have terrible timing," I told him.
He tilted his head to the side curiously. "About what, exactly?"
"Emmie was supposed to come over tonight." I placed the plastic lid back over the cake and stepped over to the sink to drop the spoon inside. As I wiped my hands off after a quick rinse, I added, "Don't worry, she can't make it."
"I wasn't worried."
His guitar case leaning up against the wall wasn't the only sign he had come over after a session with his band. It was the way his hair had a slight sheen from the sweat he built up from sitting in that garage and pouring his heart out through those songs he played. The way his fingers looked soft and raw from pressing tightly against those strings. And the way his entire face lit up after getting lost in the music. With the adrenaline coursing through him during those sessions, I compared it to the way I felt after those soccer games I'd been forced into by my friends during my freshman year of high school. Like hitting a runner's high and not wanting the momentum to stop until I sprinted along cloud nine.
