Page 50 of The One Where They Fall in Love

“Let’s go to that bar down the street. I saw something about a cheeseburger on their sign,” Liam says, fussing around in the kitchen.

“Liam, I haven’t lived here for two weeks, bud. There’s no food in there,” I call, smacking the final picture on the wall and sitting down next to Lucy.

“Guy can’t even get a Cheerio around here,” Liam mutters. “Yeah, I’m going to need sustenance, like,soon.”

“Okay, let’s go before Liam turns into Marsha Brady from that Snickers commercial,” Lucy says, throwing her phone on the bed and heading for my closet.

“What are you doing?” I ask, watching her rummage through my clothes.

“I just looked up the place. It says Saturdays are DJ nights. You can’t go looking like that.” She raises her brows at me, and I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing yoga pants, with a baggy t-shirt that says:Sorry I’m late, I saw a dog.

“What are you talking about? These are myniceyoga pants,” I say matter-of-factly. Lucy rolls her eyes and throws a sequined shirt at me.

“I’m not wearing this, it scratches my arms,” I say, throwing it back at her.

“Then why do you own it?”

“Because it was sparkly and I was having an off day.”

Having Lucy here makes me happy. Aside from the tall blonde man standing in the kitchen—the same one who waits for traffic lights to be red before crossing the street, and therefore could not look more out of place in Manhattan—it feels like old times. Exchanging banter with Lucy, the comfort and familiarity of her presence brings a warmness into my chest. I miss her.

In the corner, a box of books falls off of the hall tree by the door.

“Lucy, that was literally the one place I told you not to put anything. The wall shakes when the neighbor slams their door.” I make my way over to the pile of books on the floor and start scooping them into my arms.

“I may or may not have been listening when you said that,” Lucy admits, a guilty look on her face. I fall to my knees to pick up the rest of the books. “Need help?” Lucy asks from the other side of the apartment.

“No, I got it—” My voice trails off as I pick up a journal I recognize from years ago. It was the one I used when I was studying the yoga sutras. I bullet-journaled my way through it. It’s a small red journal, one I’m sure I picked up as an impulse buy at a Barnes and Noble register. The edges have faded with time, and the exterior of the pages have a yellow tint. I can’t remember the last time I found this. It must have been stuck at the back of my bookcase and was thrown in a box when I was saving my books from the water.

I turn the book over in my hands, feeling the soft faux leather crease in my fingers. When I flip it over, I find an explosion of color on the pages. Both pages are filled witha blend of colors—yellow, red, purple, and orange, vibrant streaks stretching towards the edge of the pages, centered around meticulously outlined words in the middle of the space.

“You are the sky. Everything else—it’s just the weather.” — Pema Chödrön

The hair on my arms raises and goosebumps spread across my skin. I get the exact same sensation every time I read that quote or hear it in a meditation. I haven’t thought about those words in a while. I try to pinpoint the moment when I created this entry—it must have been a few months after I moved to the city. I had my first internship at a small press. I missed home and I believed every intrusive thought that burrowed into my head—that I was a bad daughter and a selfish sister for moving away. I remember the guilt, the pressure to be present for my mom and Nick, to do everything I could to make their lives easier. I was cracking under it. I thought I was ridiculous for thinking I could live on my own and I blamed myself for every bad day Nick had and the toll it took on my mother.

It’s just the weather.

I close my eyes and picture an open sky, blue and cloudless, and try to remember what I felt the first time I read that quote. Understood. Heard. Comforted.

How different the weather in my life is now, compared to back then. I was so young, so optimistic. I still feel the same pressure I did when I first saw these words years ago. I’m still unsure of the future. I’m still alone. I’m older, but I’m still waiting for things to get better.

My thoughts drift to Oliver, and the way I feel…lighterwhen I’m with him. My world is a little less lonely with him in it. He thinks of things before I ask for them, or even know I need them myself. I’ve never met someone who can read me like that, which is why I want him in my life, in whatever form he is willing to give me. I don’t know what our future together looks like, or if there even is a “together” for us, but all I can say is that Oliver makes me feel good. And it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to say that.

“You okay, Elle?” Lucy says as she takes a few steps towards me.

I turn around and snap the journal closed, taking a deep breath. “Yep. Let’s go.”

Twenty-Two

Oliver

“So do we need to talk about it?” Henry asks as he spots me on the bench press.

“What?” I grunt.

“You know what,” he says in an obvious tone. That’s the thing about Henry. He’s so sure of himself. He sees the world around him for what it is, and he is so damn perceptive it’s annoying sometimes.

“For once, could you not be so mature and communi-cative?” I say, placing the bar on the rungs and sitting up. I wipe the sweat off of my forehead and hang my head, waiting for the lecture I know is coming.