Conversations From Afar

reminiscent / 93

i'm in love with a girl will FOREVER be a jam

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"We broke up." My mother is leaning her hip against the counter, swishing the red wine around the goblet of her glass. We've just finished dinner and she's making a cheese plate for her friend's coming over to watch Julia Robert's movies.

I swallow my smoothie jerkily, "What?"

"I broke up with Harry," she says, casually situating slumping slices of brie.

"Why?"

"His ex-wife has been living in the house." I stare at her and my phone chimes in my lap. "And he confessed that... they..."

She waves her hand around. "Wait, he slept with her?"

"Or something to that effect." She makes a face.

"I'm sorry, Mom." And I am, but I check the Cam's text; balcony.

"I'm fine, honey. I've been through these things before." The buzzer announces her friends and I slip out onto the balcony.

"Hey." Cam, leaning contemplatively on the rail of his balcony, not dressed weather appropriately in the slightest. It's like déjà vu; all that's missing is the faint smell of smoke.

I smile foolishly, "Hey. What are you doing here?"

"Reminiscing." He toes that very large flower pot that's been there since we met. "You should come over." And so I do.

"Hey, Kat!" My mother's friends greet me with arm-pats and half-hugs, "Going out?"

"Yeah, meeting a friend." Friendfriendfriend my friend who is here. Back. My friend who is more than a friend.

"Have fun, honey." Any signs of breakup feelings are gone from her face, and I let myself out into the hallway with the consolation that she's with her friends.

Cam is back inside, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the picture window. The apartment was stripped of all personality when he and Matty went their separate ways. The only things remaining are an old speaker system neither of them wanted to carry and the couch. The sunken shelves look so strange without Cam's psychology books and Matty's weird collections.

"I miss it here." He says as I join him. I sit cross-legged with my knee overlapping his and lilt to rest my head on his shoulder. He smells like cotton and fabric softener there.

"It looks so different."

"I kind of miss Matty too." His hand captures mine, linking our arms, and he flattens it between both of his in a gesture as easy as breathing. "I remember when he first moved in I was like, he's so weird, but he kind of grew on me...you know? With his plays and capes and swords."

"He had swords?"

"Shakespearean swords, and sometimes when he was cooking - the odd time we ate together - he would sing songs, but not popular songs, like Ophelia's mad song or something."

"That's kind of cute."

"Mm..." The window is getting darker, slowly to be more lit with headlights and lamp posts than sunshine," Then when we met, I swear I must've spent more time on the balcony than in my room."

"And you used to smoke."

"Yeah..." He doesn't sound quite regretful, just sort of thoughtful. "I remember the first time you came over I made smoothies and I kept thinking that if I did something wrong you would run. I was so nervous."

"You didn't seem nervous." His shoulder is warm beneath his t-shirt, his collarbone sharp against my cheek.

"I was. But then you followed me into my room, that was a surprise."

"Mm."

"So... are we ever going to figure out how to do this long distance thing?"

"Haven't we already?"

"I mean really figure it out. Make an outline, or something."