On the Edge of Tomorrow

Chapter 2

"I'll call you, Lily Turncott." My name lingered in his midwestern accent.

"I'll answer, Billy Collins." I returned, hoping to match his sudden surge of confidence.

"And you have my number." As he spoke, his gaze washed over me. 

"I do," but my confidence waned. 

His eyes dipped as his bravado cracked, revealing the softer side I had gathered glimpses of during our night.

"I'm sorry I have to leave," Billy's voice was a whisper.

"Hey." I laid a hand on his cheek as his eyes drifted up to mine. "Don't be."

"I'll be back and call and write," he offered.

"And send carrier pigeons and the Pony Express sounds fun," I teased with a giggle.

"You don't like horses, but I could probably muster a smoke signal or two," he tapped the pocket holding his cigarettes as he spoke, but couldn't dispel his pathetic expression.

"Oh Billy, you can manage the most pitiful face sometimes," I smiled at his mournful expression.

He nodded. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Billy, I knew what I signed up for when you asked for a malt," I added.

"I really just wanted a malt." His head tilted to the side as another motive popped to his mind. "And to see you smile. You can do better than that guy. Trust your gut." His hands fell to my hips as his thumbs glided over my stomach.

"I know and I will," I agreed.

"Billy..." a voice called out from the van.

"I got to go. Goodbye, Lily Turncott." His lips sunk to my forehead for a lingering kiss before he ricocheted off me and spun to the pace to the tattered van.

I knew he wouldn't look back, but still, I whispered, "goodbye, Billy Collins," to the wind. 

His departure was nothing short of a hangover. It was one night, a blur of a connection. And then he vanished. Everything remained the same, but I was different. 

The walk to my place started pleasantly. This enigmatic man that permeated me either haunted or possessed me thoroughly. I wasn't sure which and didn't care. A smile stretched my cheeks as bits of conversations replayed in my head. But with each step, the buzz drained. By the time I returned home, the warm fondness had twisted to throbbing reality. Billy was a ghost, a temporary apparition, never tangible enough to grasp.

By midafternoon, the final vestiges of Billy evaporated with a ring of my phone.

"Lily, what the hell happened last night?" Anger and annoyance mixed in Chris' tone without a single trace of sadness.

"Chris..." but I didn't get to finish.

"So we've been off lately; we can't throw this away. We have a plan; we work." Chris launched an overly rehearsed speech.

"Plan?"

"Come on, Lily. We have a future." The frustration permeated his tone.

"A future," I mumbled.

"Look, I'm a couple of blocks away; I'm coming to you."

"Here?" My thoughts fractured. I wanted to cling to the fading memories of Billy, but Chris was pressing back into my brain.

"I'll be over soon." He didn't wait for an affirmation; he simply hung up the phone.

My brain wouldn't let my eyes or thoughts focus. I took a deep breath to steady the dizzying state I found myself in and picked my jacket up from the floor, absently flinging it to my desk chair. Something fell from the pocket, a pen. My mind snapped to it. It was the pen Billy had used to write his number. I had his number. But my mind didn't stay on the number if fixated on the pen. I plucked it up and slumped to my chair.

As though possessed, I wrote. As I signed my name, I realized what I had written. A letter to Billy, raw and truthful, sat before me. I read the note, uncertain how I had articulated such honesty in my distracted state, but the words soothed me. How was this connection with a nomadic musician so evocative?

"Lily, you here?" Chris called from the living room.

"Yeah," I shot back like a child with their hand in the cookie jar while I folded the letter and, along with the precious pen, hid it in my desk.

"Hey." Chris' voice came softly.

"Hey." I weakly smiled up at him.

"Talk to me, Lily."

Chris wasn't a bad guy, but as I looked into his blue eyes that peered at me through his perfectly styled blond hair, I realized how over it was. My mind spun on how he couldn't see me. I felt my hands lift to my face, flowing over my features as though I was wearing a mask of a former Lily. I must've hidden the new me because I wasn't the same girl Chris came to see.

"Are you okay?" Genuine concern filled Chris' face.

"Yeah... no... I..."

"Lily, don't do this." The sadness struck Chris' expression now.

"I'm sorry, Chris. It's..."

"What? What is it? Everything has been fine. What's happening?"

"Everything has been fine; just fine," I agreed.

"So, what's wrong?"

"I don't want fine, Chris. I want... I'm not sure what I want, but I'm too young for fine. We're too young for fine." My words came as a plea for understanding.

"Lily, this is real life. This isn't one of those old movies you make me watch. We work, we're happy. So what if we aren't an epic love story? Sometimes the quiet stories are the best." Exasperation edged into Chris' words.

"I get that." A sigh seeped from me. "You're wonderful, and you're going to make someone so happy, but it's not me."

"You're making a mistake, Lily. I know you better than you think I do. Epic is too much. You want quiet." Chris' cadence clipped with growing anger.

"Maybe, but I need to figure that out for myself," I offered.

"Lily, I can't believe you're ending this for no reason other than it's too fine."

"Chris, please; don't press on this," I begged.

"Is there someone else?" A roll of anger tensed his muscles.

"There wasn't." It was true. When we broke up, there was no one else.

"Wasn't? And now? It's been eighteen hours, Lily."

"I think you should go, Chris." I ushered him towards the door.

"Tell me, Lily. Tell me how you're sure we're done." He saw me now, the new me. He needed the confirmation.

"I slept with someone last night," I confirmed.

Chris stared at me in shock. Then he left, slamming the door on us as he went. 

I glanced around the apartment, grateful that my roommates weren't home. I slipped into my room and pulled my letter to Billy out of my drawer. I could call him, and he'd answer, but instead, I reread my words to him. I knew my eyes may never fall on him again, but our brief time together had changed me.