Between the Lines

When he pushes away, I’m confused. When I start to follow, blinking, he holds up a hand to stop me. “Emma, I can’t. This isn’t—I can’t.”

He turns and yanks the door open. Three seconds and he’s gone. Lying back on the bed, I review every detail of what just happened, over and over, but it doesn’t get any clearer. I almost call Emily, but don’t. It’s a rare night that she and Derek both have off, and I don’t want to interrupt them with my problems. This is a riddle I need to figure out by myself. When Dad comes back later, clicking the television off and whispering my name as he pulls the comforter over me, I pretend to be asleep.

My puzzle is missing pieces. Not as many as it was missing earlier today, before we ran into Graham and Cara. But I know about her now; she’s one less secret between us. What made him pull away? There must be someone else. Brooke? They were obviously still close last month. By his earlier admission, she’s one of the few people who know about Cara. She could be the reason he withdrew after he kissed me in Austin, and again tonight.

The light-blocking draperies cloak the room in darkness, but I’ve been half-reclining against the cushioned headboard and wide awake for two hours. My adjusted eyes distinguish the outlines of each piece of furniture, the mirror across the room, the shape of my shadowy reflection in it. I raise my hand and wave, and the ghostly mirror image waves back.

The drapes can’t block the sounds of the city below. Unlike my periodic nights of insomnia in Sacramento, I’m not awake and alone here, in the city that never sleeps; I’m one of millions, like I already belong.

Dad snores softly in the other bed. I click the button on the side of my phone, the screen lighting up. 2:18 a.m. We’re flying home in ten hours. I pull up Graham’s number, click send message. The cursor blinks, waiting for me to type the message, and I sit there in the glow of the tiny screen. After thirty seconds, the display turns off. What do you say when the feelings don’t fit into words? Finally, I type the message and hit send:

Me: I’m leaving today. I want to see you. I’ll be in the lounge downstairs at 6 am.

There’s no answer, and I feel discouraged and a little bit pathetic as the minutes tick by. As my eyes grow heavy, my grip on the phone loosens and I snuggle down under the covers, my phone under my pillow, the alarm set to 5:30 a.m.

***

Unsurprisingly, there are few people in the lounge this early on a Saturday. I request a booth in the back and wait, somehow sure he’ll show, despite the fact that he never answered my text. Minutes later, he arrives, his hair falling over his forehead, still damp from a shower, a days’ growth on his face and wearing jeans, boots I might see on a guy working the construction site down the street, and a faded t-shirt featuring another band I recognize from Emily raving about them.

He slides in across from me, his hands clenched on the table top. His gaze is direct, unlike yesterday—when his eyes seemed to land anywhere rather than connect with mine.

A waitress steps up when he sits, and he orders coffee. At my nod he says, “Two, please.” He sighs, fingers splayed on the table. “Look. I’m sorry I never told you about Cara. I thought about telling you a hundred times, and the longer I didn’t, the harder it got to bring it up. I meant what I said about not really telling people about her. I’ve led two lives for so long that it’s habit, and until now I’ve escaped combining them.”

The waitress arrives with the coffee and he falls silent until she moves away.

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you like that last night…” he says.

“I freaked out first.” I stir a packet of sugar into my coffee as he pours cream into his.

“You had reason, I think.” He grimaces into his coffee cup. “Cara is the most important thing in my life, a defining part of me. It was unfair of me, not telling you. When I took on the father gig, I didn’t consider how it would affect future relationships. For years now, I’ve kept my family on one side, and… almost everyone else on the other.”

“That sounds hard.”

“Yeah…” He breathes out a sigh, rolling my empty sugar packet into a ball. “It is.”

I breathe in, breathe out, clenching and unclenching my hands under the table. “Graham. I’ll be living here in four months. Maybe we can meet up for a run now and then. Or take Cara to the park, or whatever. I could babysit, if, you know, your family’s busy and you want to go out. I’d love to get to know her. Because… you mean a lot to me. And I’ve missed you.” Staring at the table top, I run my fingers over tiny grooves in the glossy surface. “I miss our friendship.”

“So you want to be friends?” he asks, and I look up at him. His hands are still, his expression serious. “Friends, and that’s all?”

The kiss last night. “There’s no reason we can’t be friends. I was out of line last night. I understand how you feel about Brooke—”

“Wait. What about Brooke?” he interrupts.

I swallow, my throat tight. “Um. Your relationship with her.”

“My relationship with—? Emma, Brooke is my friend. I know everything that happened with her… and him. She knows about Cara. We bonded years ago over parts of our lives that no one else we knew could relate to. She’s a close friend. But a friend is all she’s ever been, and all she’ll ever be.”

“So you aren’t in love?”

He looks at me for a long moment. “I didn’t say that. I said I don’t love Brooke.”