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“Says the man who kissed me.”
“And then proceeded to throw up afterward.”
She shivers. “Don’t remind me.”
I’m not sure whose drunken idea it was, but our kiss was a mistake the moment it happened. Our lack of romantic chemistry was a dead giveaway that Iris and I would never be more than friends.
She shakes her head. “Putting me aside, you’ll never be able to move on to someone new if you’re still holding on to the memory of someone else.”
My stomach churns. “I’m not holding on to the memory of someone else.”
“Really? Then give me your wallet.” She holds out her hand.
“No.”
She crosses her arms against her pink T-shirt. “Exactly like I thought.”
My eyes narrow. “Holding on to a photo isn’t a crime.”
“It’s not the photo but what it symbolizes that matters.”
“And what’s that?”
“That a part of you will always love a part of her, no matter how hard you try to deny it.”
“It’s impossible not to love her.”
Iris leans forward. “So you admit that you love her.”
“I never denied it in the first place. Those kinds of feelings don’t just go away, as much as I wish they did.”
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” She rubs her temple.
“No need to worry. I know that there is no chance in hell that we are ever getting back together.”
I made sure of that the moment I walked away from her, turning her fear of abandonment into a reality.
And I’ve never forgiven myself.
It’s not until Iris leaves for the night that I pull out my wallet and search for the picture she spoke about. The edges of the small photo are worn from years of wear-and-tear and countless wallet transfers.
It’s been over a decade since the photo was taken, but I remember the day like it was yesterday. Lana’s mom took it of us the summer after I came back from rehab. Both of us are on the dock, drinking cholados Colombianos to celebrate my twenty-first birthday. Lana stares into the camera lens, eyes bright and face beaming, while my focus is solely on her.
It’s obvious I loved her, even back then, although I never acted on my feelings. I was happy to stay friends while we were both figuring out our lives. Lana had just turned eighteen, and I was fresh out of rehab and still struggling with the stressors of my life. And then I got drafted into the National Hockey League when Lana wasn’t even twenty yet. Neither one of us were ready for the sacrifices we needed to make to be together, so instead, we kept things platonic. It nearly killed me inside, but I knew she was worth the wait.
At least until you fucked things up for good.
I flip the picture over and trace the words she wrote on the back.
Get drunk on life, not alcohol.
Love,
Lana
She gave it to me as a parting gift that summer, and I have kept it ever since.
At first, it was the push I needed to stay sober. Any time I was tempted to drink, I’d pull out her message and stare at it until the demons left me alone. It helped me stay on track for a few years despite all the temptations surrounding me. But then I tore my ACL and lost my hockey career, making it easy to slip back into destructive habits.
