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2
Paul
Iheld the door for Shelby as we stepped out of the studio, discreetly looking her over. I didn’t like that she hadn’t eaten all day. And I didn’t buy that it was purely a result of having a busy day. She knew better than that. Her body had a hard enough time functioning with fuel, so she wouldn’t justforgetto eat.
Did that mean she wasn’t feeling well in another way? She had good days and bad days with her HCM. Maybe it was a bad day. Though she could have simply said that, and I would have understood. I’d been with her through plenty of them. I knew what it was like. The fatigue. The dizziness.
“You sure you’re okay?” I asked. We stepped onto the sidewalk and headed toward the taco shop a couple of blocks down from Shelby’s studio. I shot a text to Roxy to let her know where we’d be and to meet us when she was done with her nails. “You know you can’t just forget to eat.”
“I know, Paul. It’s just been a day.”
“A bad day?”
Usually, that’s how we described it. She knew she didn’t have to list her symptoms to me. I knew them all, and I knew they didn’t all hit her at once. I knew she got tired easily, which was why teaching others to dance was better for her than being a dancer herself. I knew about the heaviness on her chest, like how it sometimes felt like an elephant was standing on it, and when that happened, she needed to go lay down immediately or she’d tense up too much to breathe properly. And I knew that when we got to the taco place, she’d only eat one taco, maybe two, because eating a big meal felt like running a marathon to her.
So, yeah. She could simply say it was a bad day, and I’d do what I could to help. And living here again brought that back, since helping her in person was a lot easier now that we lived in the same town. Like we had in the beginning. Things were a lot easier then, too.
Meeting Shelby changed my life. After she’d confided in me that day, everything changed. I was the only one who knew about her HCM outside of her family for what felt like a really long time, which meant being her friend caused me to grow up in ways I otherwise probably wouldn’t have. But then I left, so for the last eleven years, we’d been long-distance best friends, and nothing more.
“Yeah, I guess it’s just a bad day,” she replied as we walked along. “You know how that goes.”
I did. But it was different now than when we were teenagers. Twenty-nine-year-old Shelby had this sense of peace about her that sixteen-year-old Shelby had yet to learn. Back then, she’d been so scared. All the time. The horror of what happened to her cousin—who no one even knew was sick—was always on her mind. Like a shadow she couldn’t run from. I could literally see the fear in her eyes every time she laughed back then, almost like she thought if she laughed too hard it would be for the last time.
We’d remained close throughout the last eleven years while I was gone, so I’d logically known she was growing and adjusting to her life with HCM. But being back, seeing her on the daily, sometimes her quiet strength on the bad days was enough to figuratively bring me to my knees.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked, still getting used to the fact that I could actually ask that now and the answer didn’t have to be something virtual or long-distance-friendly.
My decision to join the Marines when we were eighteen had shocked the crap out of her at the time. For the two years before that, we’d been pretty much inseparable. At school, the only time we were apart was when we were in different classes. I walked her to her classes, ate lunch with her, and even stopped being so much of a burnout because of her positive influence. Then I got a bunch of crap from my burnout friends about ditching them for her.
The only friend I kept when Shelby and I got close was my next-door neighbor, Will, and that was definitely a proximity thing since we were opposites as far as hobbies and interests. He was a preppy jock. He’d been the quintessential quarterback of the high school football team and prom king with his classic high school heartthrob looks. I was a skater. I wore band tees, had long hair, and my shoes had holes I thought gave them character. The only thing we’d had in common was that we’d both required tutoring from my brainiac younger sister, Aria.
Then, when we were eighteen, Will joined the Marines. It was right after our senior prom. Right after Shelby made it one thousand percent clear to me that we’d never be more than friends. So, without a second thought, I followed Will into the military, running away like the coward I was. From Shelby. From feelings I didn’t have a right to have. And from a future with her that I’d never get.
All of which should be the last thing on my mind on the eve of proposing to Roxy, of course. I was doing what I always told myself I’d do. I was moving on. I was with someone who actually saw me as more than a friend. And Roxy was amazing. This was a good thing.
Shaking my head to clear it, I frowned at Shelby, realizing she hadn’t answered my question. “Shel, what’s up?”
She looked up at me, then stopped walking, gently touching my arm so I’d face her. “You’resureyou want to do this?”
My stomach clenched. What was she doing? Why did she keep asking me that? Did she have any idea how much I hated the guilt swimming around in my gut? The night before proposing to my girlfriend of over a year, I shouldn’t be this nervous. I shouldn’t be worried that she’d say no. And I definitely shouldn’t be distracted by the long-buried feelings I had for my best friend that were still so…complicated.
“Yeah,” I replied, shaking my head like that should be obvious. Because it should. “Of course I do.”
She pursed her lips as she studied me, and I fought the urge to make a joke to ease the tension. It might come out sounding forced, and then she’d keep talking about this. And I really wanted her to stop picking up on my nervous vibes. They were mine to deal with.
It wasn’t like I’d spent the last decade-plus pining over her. We’d had a real, honest friendship. Uncomplicated. Easy. Natural. She was my first call after a rough day, and I was hers. She was a virtual-movie-night companion, watching the same thing from opposite coasts, and even though it wasn’t a date, it made a Friday night with no date feel less pathetic. She was someone to write home to on deployment, who made the whole thing feel like it had a bigger purpose than just the events of the day ahead.
There was nothing but friendship between us. Case in point, the fact that she’d set me up with her coworker when I was home for Christmas. There I was, in town for only two weeks, internally wrestling with the fact that our long-distance friendship had gotten shocked by a downed power line the moment I saw her in real life again, and then she’d set me up with a date. Two, in fact—but one of them hadn’t even lasted through dessert, so I didn’t count it.
But one thing was clear to me: just like she’d told me on prom night all those years ago, Shelby had no feelings for me beyond friendship. I’d probably put myself in the friend zone from the very first day, becoming the one and only person she could talk to about her diagnosis. The not-so-good, the bad, and the ugly. And that was where I’d always stay. And I was happy with Roxy. I was moving on, like I should.
“Okay,” she said, letting out a heavy sigh. “So you know, nothing will bring me more joy than to see you and Roxy get engaged tomorrow night. You deserve happiness, and I’m so glad you have her.”
I gave her a small smile, as if her words hadn’t gutted me, then jerked my head toward the taqueria. “Thanks, pal. Now let’s get some food in you before you pass out.”
“No joke.” She rolled her eyes, as we approached the taco shop.
When we reached the door, it flung open and would have smacked Shelby right in the face if I hadn’t shot my hand out in time to stop its forward momentum. Before I lost my cool on whoever almost broke Shelby’s nose, I let out a short laugh. “Watch it, loser.”
