Tate nodded but didn’t let his hand—which had gone from around my shoulder to the small of my back with my movements—drop. Instead it brushed against my hip as he moved to cup my elbow.
“I’m probably a jerk for asking this, after everything.”
After my mental breakdown, physical paralysis, and constipation of the mouth? After the way you sat there in complete support, never once even sending a glance of judgment my way? After looking at me the way you’re doing right now, a mixture of hope and vulnerability? No, Tate, I’d never think you’re a jerk.
It was good to hear my thoughts running through my head at full speed again. Insert sarcasm here.
“But, Em, why were you at the restaurant with Landon? Do you like him?”
Do I like him? Did hewantme to like him? Ugh. This was all so middle school, and I was over it. “Wasn’t that your plan all along? The whole reason for our little bet?”
“What?” His head shook so hard his curls bounced against his temple. “No! No. That wasn’t my plan at all.”
“It wasn’t?” Somehow I managed to keep the groan inside.
He shook his head again, this time without the same amount of vehemence. “No. Why would you even think that? Nothing could be farther from the truth.”
“Oh.” It was a fallback word, but I was falling fast. Tate hadn’t thought I was a pathetic bookworm incapable of getting her own dates. And if I’d just talked to him like a normal person instead of hiding everything inside to try and keep our friendship safe, I would have known that and could have spared us both all this trouble.
I needed his coffee table to bang my head against again. So, so stupid!
Tate’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “So do you? Like him, I mean?”
Like Landon? “Only as a friend. You know, like you and I are friends.”
His eyes hooded, but not before I saw the hurt.
Why’d I say that? Landon and I weren’t friends like Tate and I were. No one could be friends like Tate and I were because I was finally admitting to myself something I’d known for a while now—Tate and I weren’tjust friends.
Ten
I woke that morning needing to get some perspective. Get out of my head and my pinhole view and mywoe is mepity party that I’d be sulking in and see a bigger picture. Something outside me and myproblems. Luckily, I knew the best place to do that, and it wasn’t far from home.
Reaching into my closet, I flipped the switch and turned on the light. Pushed the dresses hanging in the corner to the side and exposed an old blue duffel bag. The thing bulged, always ready to be taken out. Not knowing when I’d need the contents, or rather, when someone else would need them, I never let it sit empty.
I grabbed the handle and pulled the duffel toward me. Unzipped the top and ruffled around inside, the two-dozen two-gallon ziplock bags crinkling as I moved them around. Left dozen for men, right dozen for women. Soap, deodorant, feminine hygiene products, sunglasses, and nonperishable food were only a few of the items I’d filled each love bag with. That was what I called them. Love bags. I hoped my small token of generosity made the person I gave a bag to feel loved.
I slung the strap of the duffel over my head and paused at the kitchen countertop, where two cup carriers held to-go cups of hot coffee. Too often I’d seen homeless people in the city waffling through the city trash cans looking for the last dregs inside a Starbucks cup. Today at least they’d have a full, fresh twelve ounces all to themselves.
Gripping the cup carriers in either hand, I pulled the front door shut behind me with my foot, then placed one carrier on top of the other, balancing precariously as I locked the door. Nothing spilled, and I shifted them back to two hands.
Seattle’s homeless population was on the rise with sickening numbers. So much so the city was calling it a crisis. In King County alone, almost twelve thousand people didn’t have a place they called home. Within the city itself, almost four thousand people spent each night unsheltered. It was impossible to drive without seeing the tent towns pitched under overpasses or walk without stumbling past a person sleeping along the sidewalk. It broke my heart and strengthened my resolve to raise awareness to the problem and funds to help.
Five minutes was all it took for me to walk from my comfortable apartment and reach a tent encampment. Blue tarps hung at angles from cement pillars, offering what protection they could, but by no means could these be called cozy homes. Domed tents, some so threadbare I could see through the seams, packed together, and over it all a cloud of hopelessness and despair. The stench of unwashed bodies and open-air bathroom facilities (I use the termfacilitiesloosely) hit me like a wall, and it took all I had not to cover my nose with the neck of my shirt. This wasn’t my first trip to this particular camp, and a lot of these residents had become my friends.
“Emory!” A woman ducked from the front flap of her tent, a tired smile on her face. Dirt caked into every crease and crevice of her skin. The wet wipes I’d packed would come in handy to help her feel clean, if only for a while. I used to let the women come to the apartment to take showers, but the super caught me a few too many times and threatened eviction if I kept bringing riffraff around his apartment building.
Too bad he didn’t recognize riffraff when he stared at it every day in the mirror.
Sondra stopped a few feet in front of me, but I took those last couple of steps and enveloped her in a hug, careful with the coffee still in my hand. If anyone needed the touch of friendship, it was these people who were shunned every day by those whose situations hadn’t dumped them in the dirt and kicked them when they were down.
“Here.” I held out the cup holder to her. She wiggled one of the full cups free, and her eyes rolled back in her head at the first sip.
“Simply heaven.”
Others exited their makeshift dwellings. Some I knew; some I didn’t. In half a second my hands were lighter, every cup of coffee now cradled between thankful palms.
It felt good, helping others. It also made me feel guilty. That I had so much when they had so little. That I complained at all when life had practically spit them out.
