Regret Me

The Best Way

"Do you want to do something today?" I asked into the morning.

Lizzie and I both woke up very early this morning. Me because of the time difference and her because every time she slept for more than five hours, the anxiety would seep into her sleep, and she would spring awake. We sat in her garden on a swing-like bench; my legs draped over hers and a mug between our hands. Neither had said much until we both had a few sips of coffee and breathed in the start of the day.

"I need to tell Clay I'm moving to New York and about Robbie and he has been wanting to meet you for seven years now so ..."

"Let's go and see Clay," I smiled, "I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous."

"Nervous?" she asked.

"Yeah, I've only met your uni friends. Clay has known you your whole life and that means he needs to love me because I plan on being around for a while," I replied honestly.

"You're such an English student," was all Lizzie answered.

"What does that mean?" I giggled.

"The way you speak, it's poetic," she laughed, "you're so well spoken ... maybe it's because you're British actually. British people tend to sound more well-spoken than Americans."

"In my head, you're a Brit," I told her, "I forget you have an accent sometimes."

"You're in my country now, I think you'll find you have the accent," Lizzie smirked.

"Whatever Olsen," I giggled.

She laughed out her nose and looked out onto her garden again, resting her warm mug on my calves.

"I'm going to miss this garden," she spoke again.

"We can build you a big new garden," I replied.

She nodded and looked over at me again, "I- no, never mind actually, all good."

"You sure?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

She nodded once more, "doesn't matter, it wasn't important."

"Okay," I mumbled, still looking at her, "are you hungry? I'll make you breakfast?"

She shook her head, "I think I'm too anxious to eat."

"Can you try?" I pushed.

She looked up at me again and quirked her head, "can I eat when I'm hungry mom?"

"I'm going to make some toast," I replied, swinging my legs off hers and standing up, "what would you like on it?"

"I'll eat later," she told me.

"Nope," I shook my head, "you're already way too small for my liking, if you don't come and eat with me, I still stand in front of you and literally throw slices of bread at your face until you eat at least two of them."

She laughed slightly and rolled her eyes, standing up and following me inside, "I'll have honey and jam."

"Perfect," I smiled proudly, sipping my coffee and looking around at her kitchen, quickly realising I had no idea where anything was kept.

"Sit down, I'll make breakfast," Lizzie giggled, grabbing the bread out of a bread bin and popping four slices down in the toaster before turning back to me.

"Your eye's starting to look better," I lied.

"Don't lie to me," she laughed, "it looks like someone hit me across the face which of course they did but that's beside the point."

"I mean ... the bruise isn't so purple anymore and the cut has scabbed over, so I see that as a win," I replied.

"Silver linings," she scoffed dramatically.