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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Katerina and I are a block from Calum's house when we hear footsteps. We don't make anything of it at first, but the next thing I know, I hear my name being called. My shoulders go rigid as I recognize immediately who it is—I couldn't forget her voice even if I tried.
The two of us turn around slowly and watch as Emmie jogs toward us. She stops a few feet away and pauses to catch her breath. That's when I notice she has a towel in her hand.
Emmie opens her mouth but seems to think it over and shuts it again before holding the towel out to me. "I swiped this from Calum's linen closet." Hearing her voice again feels like another drink in my face, but this time my heart takes the brunt of the hit. The taste still lingers on my tongue, and though I try to swallow it away, it leaves a bad aftertaste. I can't tell if it's from the drink itself or the embarrassment.
I didn't realize how loud a silence could be but the one between us is catastrophic now that we're in the quiet suburban with only a street light illuminating us. It feels like we've been transported back to a time in our lives when we were all happy, a time that feels foreign now.
"I'm sorry about Heather," Emmie continues as she stares down at the sidewalk. "I told her she needed to behave herself if we saw you tonight but she obviously didn't listen."
"No shit," Katerina grumbles and I nudge my elbow into her side. She doesn't hide the grunt. "What? That was such a bitch move and we all know it."
Emmie is quick to agree and I hate myself for it. "It was. I can't even begin to describe how sorry I am. Y–you didn't deserve that."
"But I did." My voice falters as I speak but it's quiet enough for both of them to hear. I don't pay attention to Katerina's head swiveling over to look at me in disbelief because all I can do is stare straight forward, right at the girl who used to feel like the other half of me and is now just somebody I used to know. "We all know I deserved it. You were just too afraid to throw the drink at me yourself two years ago."
Her lips become a hard line and her facade shuts down. She's pulling away from me even as she remains in place.
She should be pulling away.
She should be running.
She should be in Seattle because at least Seattle doesn't have the backstabbing ex-best friend that fell in love with her boyfriend.
"It wasn't—" she begins to say before hesitating.
It's almost comical. What could possess a person like her to run after me without knowing what she wants to say? She's a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it; I somehow reduce her to this mess.
"I know it wasn't as simple as you're making it out to be in your head. I may not have understood that before but that doesn't mean I'm going to just be okay with you getting a drink thrown in your face. What kind of friend would that make me?"
