Living With Him

Fifty-eight: Vacation with Sherlock

Andres.

He hasn't changed much since the last time I saw him. He did grow some beard, but it still looked good on him. What doesn't look good on him though?

"Are you stalking me?" I teased and he laughed.

"I just happened to pass by and saw you help a girl get in her ride, and you walked to your car which is parked near this bar, so I figured you just came from having drinks."

"Keen observation," I folded my arms and smiled at him.

"You do have that flushed face that can only come from having a drink," he slipped his hands in his pockets and tilted his head as he observed my whole being. I couldn't help but look down because I just felt my cheeks grow warmer.

"You got me," I muttered.

"Do want to walk for a bit?" He gestured towards the park across the street and I nodded.
"You're not dizzy, are you?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." I gave him a soft push and he laughed.

"When did you start drinking, though? I never imagined you being drunk."

"I can't remember when exactly," I answered and noticed him looking at me from time to time. "I don't drink all the time though, only when there are occasions and when I'm really stressed."

"I see," he said and we kept on walking.

I learned that since I last saw him, he started travelling since his dad passed. He stayed longer in Japan and thought of staying there for good, but he had the urge to come back home. He told me to go with him next time since he's pretty sure that I'll like it there. I said I'd think about it.

I didn't say anything when he told me that he was surprised not to find me when he came home. He said that he asked questions but got no answer. I guess he decided not to press on with the matter since he's not getting anything from me either.

I don't know if it's the alcohol but I just kept on bumping into his arm as we walked further. I suddenly realized I was sniffling a little which made me look at the time.

"It's getting colder, I have to go home."

He stopped walking and he cupped my face. "Yeah, you look cold. It's late, too."

We walked back to my car in silence.

"Are you really sure that you can drive home?" Andres asked and I gave him a short nod.

"I can," I said a few seconds of silence. "It was really nice to see you again, Andres."

"It's nice to see you again as well, George."

We looked at each other, and I felt that he wanted to say something more than just that but didn't. Instead, he gave me a wave along with, "I hope to see you again."

I let the songs go on shuffle as I drove home.

It's not that it wasn't nice to see Andres again, but I couldn't help but associate him with the events that I'm trying to avoid.

Maybe you can talk to him about it.

I grimaced a little at the thought. I don't want to. I don't need to.

Days, things, seasons, they all come and go—so do people. There are things that just don't work out. That's what it is, and it wasn't real anyway. We were just pretending.

I realized that my eyes betrayed me when I felt my nose burn up and a tear trickled down my cheek.

"Not again," I rolled my eyes and drove a bit faster than usual so I can get home sooner.