But isn’t that what he’s talking about?
“Yes,” he says, nodding. “I regret that block. I hate what it did to your career. I’d take it back if I could, but…” He pauses, his voice trailing off. “Maybe not only for the reason you think.”
I lean back on the couch, confused.
“If I hadn’t missed that block, then I would have had no reason to make it up to you. And since then, that’s all I’ve been trying to do—make it up to you.…”
The pieces start to align.
“And because of that, I chose you over Kimberly. I chose you over myself.” He puts his hand over his chest. “Your feelings had to come first because I fucked up,” he says, swallowing. “Every time she cried, I wanted to tell her I loved her. Every time you fought, I wanted to step in and shield her.”
I see it now. The bouquet of blue tulips resting against the grave. The way he looked at her the night of our graduation. All these things that were invisible to me for so long, simply because I hadn’t been looking.
“I still love her like that. I can’t shake it. And if I’m honest, I don’t want to,” he says, his fists clenched in his lap. “I’d rather love her forever and hurt the entire time than let her go for even one second. Maybe someday… maybe someday I’ll be able to. But for now I can’t.…”
He’s quiet for a moment before he looks over at me.
“The minute you said Marley’s name, I knew she wasn’t just your friend. I knew because that’s how I feel about Kim.”
I drop my head, rubbing my face with my hands. Shit. This is a lot to process.
“God. I’m sorry, Sam. I’m—”
Sam puts his hand on my bad shoulder, cutting me off. “This was my fault, and so were the choices I made after. But… I’m letting that go. I have to.”
I shake my head as I look up at him. “You both should have tossed me to the curb a long time ago.”
Sam snorts and rolls his eyes. “Shut up. As if either of us could have gotten rid of you. You don’t give up on people, so we don’t give up on you,” he says, giving me a rueful grin. “Besides, Kim tried. Seven. Times.”
We both break down in laughter. It feels good, though. Healing and sad all at the same time.
“So… you’re doing it,” I say as our laughter dies down. “You’re leaving.”
He nods. Solemn but hopeful. “Yep. I’m outta here.”
“You know I’ll be coming to visit, then?”
“You better.” Sam smiles, and we look at each other for a long moment. Sam, the glue that held the trio together, held me together, is taking his place in the world.
“I guess this is what growing up feels like,” I say, hating it.
“It kinda sucks, if I’m honest,” Sam says, echoing my thoughts. Instinctually, we do our handshake, pausing during the last fist bump to smile at each other.
“Always forward,” I say as I reach up to clap him on the shoulder, knowing that our friendship will stretch and change for years to come, but if it didn’t break after all this, it never will.
23
Things are strange without Sam around.
All winter long we make it a point to talk every Saturday morning, FaceTiming while I take blue tulips to Kim’s grave, the weather slowly getting warmer as bundled walks through snowstorms give way to April showers.
Between spending time with Marley, and my internship, and starting journalism classes at the local community college, it feels like I blinked and the seasons changed.
Pretty soon, it’s 75 degrees out, and the park is filled with people running around in tank tops and sunglasses, acting like it’s summer.
I set up the last of the folding chairs and stand up to stretch, my shoulder a little sore from all the lifting. I do a final once-over of the outdoor classroom I’ve spent this entire May morning setting up, nodding when I see the rows are perfectly straight. A few minutes later the middle schoolers start to trickle in, but the teacher…
Missing in action.
I scan the perimeter, searching for that familiar trace of yellow. My eyes catch sight of a yellow skirt, its owner pacing nervously back and forth by the pond, a tiny gang of ducks trailing behind her.
I grab a single yellow Doris Day rose from my bag and head over, stopping to straighten the hand-painted sign reading HOW TO TELL A STORY in cursive far neater than I could ever dream of writing. The ducks turn to look at me as I get closer. I mumble my “excuse me’s” to them as they part, a clear path forming straight through to Marley.