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Monkey Wrench

"All this time to make amends.

What do you do when all your enemies are friends?"

- "Monkey Wrench," Foo Fighters (1997)

Jordan

It's a custom-made Cartier that I spent weeks picking out myself—fifteen thousand dollars of white gold and diamonds. When we got engaged, she would have worn my grandmother's ring, and, when we got married, the family diamond.

But Lillian Bennett may never become Lillian Dawson, and all I have to show for the possibility is this stupid promise ring.

I turn it over in my fingers for the millionth time since the day I found it back on my dresser. Lily sported it on her dainty left hand for about a month, wearing it all the way up until the last time I saw her. She disappeared during our last summer in the Hamptons, and, when I got back to New York and found her ring in its box waiting for me, I knew it was really over.

I should have gotten rid of it. Put it in the safe. Donated it to charity. Hell—threw it in the Atlantic Ocean from the bow of our yacht. But I just couldn't. I knew it was a pipe dream to hope that she'd ever wear it again, but I wasn't expecting a second chance. I'm closer now than I've been in years.

So why doesn't it feel that way?

The sun rises in my window, casting hazy orange streaks across my floor through the freezing clouds. I'm bone tired, but I didn't sleep a wink last night. How could I possibly? I'll concede that Lily and Alex spending the whole day together is nothing new, but there's something different about them doing it now. About Lily having so much time with which to turn on me and expose our secret—to throw off the careful equilibrium we've maintained up until now.

I open the ring box, placing the diamond-studded band in its place again. And, slamming it closed, I get back up from my bed to slip it into the locked drawer on my dresser. When I return to my full height and look into the mirror, however, my reflection almost scares me.

Dark under-eye circles stand out against my bone white skin. I need to get reacquainted with my brush, as well—tossing and turning all night certainly hasn't done wonders for my hair. But, most unsettlingly, my cold, steely eyes stick out like electric blue from my face. My father's eyes.

I quickly tear my gaze away from the mirror, throwing myself into my bed face-first and staying like that for a few minutes. If I manage to deactivate my brain, I may be able to get a little sleep before my parents run into each other and end up in an hour-long yelling match.

But I doubt that I could ever stop thinking about Alex and Lily, even if it would do wonders for my mental health.

A few months ago, things seemed complicated. But, in hindsight, they were really as simple as they'll ever get. I thought I'd never see Lily again, and, although that was torture, it left me free to focus on the headache that is Alejandro Molina. To admire his physicality and conjure up scenarios that were clearly impossible, but still fun to think about.

Once Lily came back into the picture, we hit a disconnect in our relationship that has yet to be resolved. I thought I loved him, and that was scary. But, in the past few months, I realized that I didn't. That was even scarier. To know that physical attraction, separation anxiety, and years of memories convinced me that I wanted to be with him romantically when I never really did. We're incompatible in too many ways, and, while he's always known that, I'm just now catching up.

For years, I tried to shove Alex into the Lily-shaped hole in my heart and got angry at him when he didn't fit. It was unfair to him—to both of us—and I'm glad that phase of our relationship is over. I'm realizing that, through all the confusion and angst, all I've ever really wanted was for him to be by my side in any capacity. I wanted my best friend back. And, now that my all-consuming romantic love for Lily has collided with my platonic and familial love for him, I can't see us making it out of this on speaking terms at all.