Page 10 of Let's Be Forever

“Sassy, sad, pathetic…I can go on.” She chuckles lightheartedly. “No hard feelings. I get it. I wasn’t into this anyway. I guess I was trying to get over him, but it didn’t work.”

“What would’ve happened if I’d gone through with it?” I was never going to, so I don’t know why I bothered trying to force myself.

“I guess hate myself for it in the morning?” She shrugs. “Anyway, come on.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Who said anything about that?” Her face scrunches. “I’m going to fix your hair. Your barber did a shitty job,” she states bluntly, dropping the butt on the ground and putting it out with her foot. “Your sideburns have been bothering me all night.”

“You have the supplies?” I touch my hair; no one has mentioned anything. Those fuckers.

“And a chair and sink. I used to do cuts in my apartment before I made enough to rent my own place,” she explains, and has me follow behind her.

“She’s got a good sense of humor,” Marc says after I finish telling him what happened.

I wouldn’t have gone upstairs with her, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my hair. When we were inside, she showed me and I couldn’t believe I’d been walking around like that.

“Why didn’t you tell me my hair looked like shit?” I glare at him.

“Because you’ve been so mopey and angry. I didn’t want to upset you. You’ve gone through a lot. The injury, the trade, moving, your parents, An?—”

“I’m not upset or angry. I wish everyone would stop saying that.”

He gives me a pointed stare. “Sylas, it’s been…” He pauses, gauging my expression. Which I’m sure he notices is not at all pleased. “Look, it’s been years. I know you miss her. I know you want her back, but she blocked you. You have to stop doing this to yourself. Moping isn’t going to bring her back. You need to move on.”

The reminder feels like a boulder being dropped on top of my chest, making it difficult to breathe, to think.

“I’m trying,” I groan, wiping a palm over my face.

I stand and trudge over to the kitchen, grabbing what I need then heading out onto the terrace. He trails behind and props himself next to me at the railing, looking out over Boston Seaport. I stuff a cigarette in my mouth, light it up, and hand the lighter and box to Marc. He lights his own and lets the silence between us stretch.

The sun is just barely starting to set, and the horizon is painted in soft shades of pink and orange. If she were here, she’d have her phone out, never one to waste an opportunity to capture the sky when it looks like this.

A few minutes later, Marc’s bulldozing his way through the momentary peace. “You can’t change what happened. I know you would if you could, but it’s been years, and everything is still the same. If the opportunity were to arise and you got a second chance, you know I’d support it, help you any way I can, but that’s not the case. You can’t keep beating yourself up over the past.” His voice is a soft plea, careful but pressing. “Let her go.”

5

ANNA

I don’t knowwhat’s worse: having to wait for whatever I’m baking to chill, or all the dirty dishes that come with it.

By the time I’ve dried the last mixing bowl, my cake has finally cooled long enough to decorate. I cover it using the leftover pastry cream and dust it with powdered sugar.

I snap a few pictures and then grab my sharpest knife, slice into it, and get two plates ready.

I walk over to the living room where Maya and Rosie are playing with the tiny kitchenette.

“Here, I hope you like it. It’s my third time making this, so hopefully it’s a charm.” I hand her a plate and fork and take a seat across from her on the floor.

“What is it?” She licks her lips and raises the cake to her nose, inhaling deeply. “That smells really good.”

“It’s a honey almond pastry cake. I don’t know when I’ll make it again, so savor it.” It needs four hours to chill, but the prep and cook time combined is three hours. It’s not too bad, but when you have a toddler who seems to have all the energy in the world and runs on apple juice and whatever she’s craving that day, it’sa little difficult to devote the time. “Also, I’m sorry about you having to sit here with her. You really didn’t?—”

“Anna, I have nothing better to do with my life right now, and there is no place I’d rather be. I don’t want to miss out on any more. So please, for the love of God, stop apologizing and shut up. You’re getting on my nerves,” she chastises with a grin, but I think she’s half serious.

It’s been eight days since she unexpectedly showed up. Since then, she’s been sleeping on my couch, buying groceries, playing with Rosie, all while applying for jobs and looking for apartments.

She hasn’t gotten lucky on those last two, but I told her she can stay as long as she wants. We still haven’t talked about what we’ve been up to since we last spoke. I’m certain like me, she’s still trying to figure out what she should and shouldn’t ask.