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Dylan: And you know what I’m gonna remember?
Me: What?
Dylan: That I had told you I remembered you from somewhere … and I was right.
***
I woke up to a palm against my cheek and soft, gentle kisses on my forehead. When my bleary eyes slowly dared to open, wary of the sunlight streaming through the parted curtains, I could only see the silhouette of Peter, kneeling in front of me.
“Hey,” he whispered in a light, soothing tone. “Good morning.”
“Hi,” I replied, my voice hoarse. I lifted a hand to cover my eyes from the unrelenting sun. “Can you close the curtains?”
“What?” He removed his palm from my cheek, then said, “Oh, right. Yeah, hold on.”
I listened as Peter got up and walked across the room, then came the sound of curtain rings moving along the rod. The room behind my eyelids grew darker, and I opened them with relief.
“Better?” he asked, and I nodded gratefully. “Okay, good.”
I sat up on the couch, remembering I was wearing nothing but my tank top and underwear. It was chilly this morning, and I shivered, pulling the blanket around my shoulders like a cloak.
Peter sat beside me and wrapped his arm around me, acting as though we hadn’t spent the night bickering, to the point of me sleeping on the couch. My body was rigid against his, unable to relax when the memory of tossing and turning through worry was still fresh in my mind.
“So, let’s talk about last night,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied, already uncomfortable with the conversation before it even began.
“I can’t believe you’d give up the chance of being with a rock star to be with me,” he said, then released a chuckle that surprised me.
“I told you,” I replied with a sigh, “I wanted to be with someone—”
“No, I know, and I think I get it. But I’m just saying, if I had the chance to be with my favorite celebrity, I’d probably take it,” Peter continued before letting out a bark of incredulous laughter. “God, I can’t even blame you! Like, I can’t even begin to imagine what that must’ve been like—to have that opportunity. It must’ve been surreal.”
The shift in his demeanor over the subject was eerie but relieving. He no longer seemed angry, not even tense or envious, and that was a good sign. Still, it was strange to talk about my time with Dylan like this—with Peter’s arm around me and his side pressed to mine. Pretending I needed to readjust my legs, I slid from his touch and hid my discomfort by clearing my throat.
“It was,” I replied, remembering that night in the hotel room. It seemed far away now, and when I thought of everything that had happened since, the distance between now and then grew even further.
“Seriously, I’m glad you had that experience,” Peter went on, clasping his hands between his knees. “But I’m gonna have to ask you not to see him anymore.”
The request was almost enough to give me whiplash as I jolted upright from beside the arm of the couch, staring at him through widened eyes. “What? You can’t—”
“I know that’s not what you want to hear from me,” he interrupted, gentle and calm. “I know you want me to be the cool boyfriend, who’s totally fine with you hanging out with some guy you used to hook up with. But I’m not that boyfriend, Lennon, and I never will be. I’m sorry.”
My stomach churned, and I thought I might throw up all over Peter, his blanket, and the shitty couch. The idea that I’d have to choose between him or Dylan—who was, despite everything, one of my closest friends—seemed impossible and wrong. Not to mention, unfair and horribly cruel.
Yet …
I sank against the couch’s arm, remembering my outburst over a dress in Peter’s closet. He had kept a silly dress—on purpose or by accident, it didn’t matter. It was there, and I had given him a hard time for it. Over a stupid, inconsequential dress.
Why should I have ever expected him to be okay, knowing I was still spending time with a man I had slept with? A man I had admitted I never would’ve left if things had been different.
Oh, but the pain in my chest was fierce as I lowered my head to my hand, shielding my eyes and fighting back tears. If I hadn’t said anything, if I had just not invited Dylan to dinner, none of this would’ve happened. We could have continued with our regularly scheduled programming as usual, and Peter would’ve been none the wiser.
But you shouldn’t have been hiding things from your boyfriend either.
Yeah, but how the hell am I supposed to let go of one of my best friends?
Don’t forget that he was the man of your dreams before he was a friend, and that hasn’t changed.
