Finn and Fenna. Fenna and Finn. They were inseparable. Two peas in a pod. Soulmates. The envy of everyone. Until that night in July when everything broke apart.
Fifteen years later, they live on opposite sides of the world. Finn is a talented photog...
This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have come. What if there's a scene? What if I lose my shit? What if I change my mind? No. No, I won't do that. Not if I'm right, and I'm pretty sure I am. I'd put money on it. All the signs are there.
Of course, she's late. So typical. Has she ever been on time? And yet, if I'm ever late, it's the end of the world.
It doesn't matter, Finn. It doesn't matter. Not anymore.
The deli is empty, mostly, except for the dark-haired girl who's writing the next New York Times bestselling novel. She's always here, with her laptop, chewing on her glasses (when she isn't wearing them), looking intense. I don't know why I think she's writing a book. But why else would she be here so often in the morning when most twenty-somethings of the world are working or at school?
Her hair is down today. It falls around her shoulders in dark waves. She looks so different when it's down. So pretty. But she's always pretty.
And I'm pretty fucked up.
I shouldn't be thinking about this girl. I shouldn't be thinking about any girl. I should be thinking about Lauren. I should be thinking about an hour from now when everything will be different if my instincts are right. Wow, that's strange to get my head around—things being different after three years of things being mostly the same.
I place my hand on my knee in an unsuccessful attempt to quiet my foot from manically tapping the floor. Why am I nervous? I haven't done anything wrong. I'm not the bad guy here.
And then she breezes in, all breathy and apologetic, her ponytail swinging, like this is just any other day in the life of Finn and Lauren. But I see right through it because she's never really sorry about anything. Not that I can remember, anyway. Stupid thing is, even when she's the one who messed up, it was always me who ended up apologizing. Hah. Look at me. Already thinking in past tense.
Her lips brush my cheek and the perfume she always wears, the one that smells like lemons, hangs in the air around us. I'm surprised it registers after all this time, but I guess today is a day for noticing things. Big things and little things.
She knows I know. I can tell by the way she starts talking and doesn't stop—doesn't give me a chance to say a word. On and on. Something about Dana and Rachel and a party on the weekend at Dana's family cabin up at Lake Elliot.
There are kayaks, she says. You like kayaks, Finn. Live music, too. Remember that band we saw in the summer? Rewind? And it's great for taking pictures. You'll have to bring your camera. Dana says the light up there is incredible. And the stars and sunsets, you know?
And then, just like I knew he would, James shouts from across the counter - tells me there's a phone call for me. The phone call. From Ryan. Who knows the truth.
I walk behind the counter on shaky legs. Everything feels surreal and intense and time slows down. Because, in my gut, I know. I'm not an idiot.
Afterwards, miraculously, I make my way back to our table. Then I lean down close to Lauren, and tell her I'm leaving and that she can get her stuff when I'm at work tonight. I don't say why. She knows.
I tell her I don't want her to be there when I get home. I tell her this calmly, just like I practised in the shower this morning. Then I walk out of the deli, cross the street on rubber legs, and don't look back.
When I know she's gone, I head back to the deli. To thank James. Or maybe because I can't go home. Not yet.
Not yet.
"Soup?" James asks me, because he knows, too. "It's on me."
And while I think about it, I turn my head, and the girl with the dark hair and I look at each other, and my heart jumps in my chest because F-U-C-K - she's looking at me. She's looking at me in a way no one has ever looked at me before.
She turns away, flustered, and I'm left standing in the middle of the deli wondering what just happened, my body kind of twitchy.
Stress. It must be stress ... because of Lauren. I'm not thinking clearly. I'm fucked up. I should go for a walk. Maybe a run, even. Get out of here.
But I don't do either of those things. Instead, I say yes to the soup, and I decide to stay.
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