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“Is this why you invited me to coffee? To demonstrate your utter disapproval for the life that I’ve chosen for myself? Emphasis on chosen, by the way.”
“No, I didn’t.” He sighed and ran both of his hands over his hair. My heart pulled at the memories the gesture invoked. When you do that, you look like a wet cat, I used to joke.
“To answer your question, nothing’s new on my end. Still writing. Still not making any money.” He laughed without humor. “Still working at a job that I hate.”
I hid a smirk. Andrew’s inability to keep a job was legendary. “Where are you now?”
“A home-décor mom-and-pop store. I love the owners, but I will die a fiery retail death if I don’t quit soon.”
“But what will you do for money? Do you have any savings?”
Andrew shrugged.
I shook my head. “Still living on a prayer, I see.”
“Now who’s the judgmental one?”
I held up my hands as I dipped my head in concession. “Fair point. Let’s move on to less incendiary topics.”
“Before I agree to that—how’ve you been? No bullshit.”
How are you holding up, Ace? No bullshit.He used to ask me this so often that it became part of the lexicon of our friendship. At first, I hated it; he never asked to actually give a solution. Or rather, he thought that asking and listening to the answer was a solution in and of itself. For me, I needed an actual solution, actual things to work toward.
But now, after everything, hearing it again—How are you holding up? No bullshit—my body melted with the recognition.
I shrugged. “Managing. You know how that goes.”
Andrew tilted his head, hearing the evasion in my voice. “Alicia.”
I inwardly shivered at the way he said my name. Andrew was never a forceful person until he said a person’s name. Until he said my name. He spoke it like a man who was used to being obeyed. He spoke it like a king, like I was his. We used to fight about it all the time.
Don’t say my name like that,I used to say.
Like what?he would ask.
Like I’m meant to obey you.
Then don’t answer like you want to obey.
Then and now, I didn’t know which feeling was stronger: my longing to hear him speak my name again or my fury that he thought he could command anything out of me.
“This is me, Ace. You know you can tell me anything.”
“Do I?” I met his eyes. “How did that work out for me last time?”
He nodded slowly, taking the hit with pinched lips. “You’re right. We have a long history of…” He spread his hands wide, indicating the unspeakable. “We can’t start over, nor can we start where we are. So how do we fix this?”
I shrugged, fiddling with my coffee. “I don’t know if we can.”
