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“Sit. Have dinner with us,” Hollis says.
This is so much more than just a meal. It’s a wildly romantic private picnic with my three temporary boyfriends as my favorite tunes play.
This is the only place I want to be. I sit on the blanket, legs stretched out. Rhys grabs the basket, then pours a small glass of white wine and offers it to me. “Did the boyfriend project work out for you?”
It’s a little wry, but there’s a touch of vulnerability there too. Like he wants my yes. He deserves it. They all do.
I lift the glass, then say to all of them, “Yes. They showed me what it means to be good to a woman. They cherished me; they adored me; they romanced me.”
“Good,” Rhys says, while clearing his throat, like he needs to clear away emotions too. Gavin looks toward the never-ending stretch of vines. Hollis swallows roughly.
And I will miss all of you.
But I try to focus on the friendship, just the friendship. As we eat, we talk about the coming weeks. “You’ll talk to Amira soon about her meeting, right?”
Rhys’s eyes flicker with nerves but also some acceptance. He knows his fate is out of his hands. “I will.”
“You better let me know,” I say.
“Bossy,” Hollis teases.
“And you know Rhys will when he shows up at your class again,” Gavin adds. “He can’t break that streak.”
Hollis shoots a pointed look at Gavin. “I’ve no doubt you’ll be making sure we wear face masks if we win this coming weekend.”
“One hundred percent,” Gavin says, but his tone says that’s not the streak he wants.
Hollis sets a hand on my thigh. “You better send us cat pics and dog pics when you settle into your new place.”
“Count on it,” I say.
“And a copy of your column,” he adds.
I’d nearly forgotten. Or maybe that’s not quite right. I hadn’t forgotten. The column just became the way of my life for the last several days. “I will,” I say, and it’s a promise—one that means we’ll stay friends. We’ll nurture this friendship.
Even though we’re so much more. “Guys,” I say, feeling all emotional and wistful at once.
“Yes?” Rhys asks.
“This was so much more than the missing O. You have to know that.” Their passionate gazes tell me they do. The way they look at me with fondness and genuine affection gives me the courage to say the next thing. “You made me feel…connected to my body in a way I never had—a way I wanted desperately to feel. You helped me relax. You helped me let go of…my anxiety. That means so much to me.” But there’s one thing we didn’t do in bed. One thing I think about. A lot. “And I wanted to feel all of you at once. But I don’t think I can, knowing it’s ending. It’s so intimate I’m afraid I won’t be able to go back to friends.”
No one says anything probably because no one disagrees. It is intimate, for all of us, and it would make the next part even harder.
When we clean up.
When we leave.
When we return to the cottage for our last night together.
When they say goodbye early in the morning before the sun rises, and they leave to catch their flight. When I do what I’ve been practicing all week—letting go.
I let them go.
56
DON’T EAT ALL THE TOILET PAPER
Briar
