Chapterish 79

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APRIL 22nd

Earth Day

"It's been like a month," Trevor says, nodding.

"Really? Wasn't counting." I shrug.

"Shocked." Trevor's looking at me, arms crossed. He's just asked the age-old cringe worthy Q. What are we?

Ladies, I shit you not. Here's a 26-year-old boy asking me to V clearly define our relationship parameters. Why yes, I know what you're thinking and hell has frozen over. Oh, Trevor. Adorable Trevor in his preppy-esque clothing, with his baby face and all around normalcy.

Is it me? Maybe it's me. Maybe I have the words define us, please written across my forehead. I must.

"Sorry," I smile. "I didn't know you were keeping count either." I say, trying to keep the peace.

"It's just, I mean. We don't see each other for two months, don't even know each other really and then we run into each other on Halloween."

"Yes, I was there," I laugh.

"Then we don't talk for almost five months. Still hardly know each other and we happen to be in the same bar on Saint Patrick's Day."

"With you so far." I nod.

"And neither of us are even Irish!" Trevor grabs my shoulders.

Oh no. Don't tell me he thinks we're soul mates.

"Trev, I get it. It's been..." What? What's it been, Em? Fate? It's what the old me would have believed, but she's unreliable now. Can't exactly confess this to Trevor.

"It's been great." He finishes my thought for me. Great.

"It really has."

"Look, relax," he says. "I'm not trying to wife you up. Hate to break it to you."

"Thanks for the warning." I roll my eyes.

"I'm fine with whatever you want to do. I just want to be on the same page with this. Whatever this is."

"Same page is good." I say.

Wow, what is this? Is this what a breath of fresh air feels like to my collapsing lungs? A mature adult conversation to make sure we're all on the same page.

GTFO.

"So what page is it?" He asks me again, waiting for me to confirm. Man, he's pretty damn cute.

"An easy one?"

"Easy?" He repeats.

"Simple. Light. Readers aged 9-12?" I grin.

"Aged 9-12? So that's like almost PG-13?" Trevor jokes.

"Oops." We laugh.

"What's the next holiday? Maybe we should plan to accidentally run into each other." Trevor says.

"Funny you should ask. It just so happens I know that today is Earth Day," I say, laughing.

"Earth Day? Well that's got to count as a double holiday, right?" He asks.

"You read my mind."

I can't exactly pinpoint why I feel guilty. Trevor is a big boy –an adult –capable of making his own terrible decisions. Me. I'm that decision.

I mean really, he must know I'm a train wreck. But he doesn't care. I don't care. With Trevor around I can heal. Well, I can coerce myself into temporarily suspending my disbelief long enough to think I can heal.

That's all.

"So, yea. Never having breakfast there again," Trevor says. We turn onto the street, leaving the umbrella café behind. In the dust, where it belongs.

"Yea, not the best." I laugh. I pull on my coat and bundle up. It's a cold April day.

"Who sells vegan eggs. What are vegan eggs?"

"Exactly," I laugh.

"They didn't even have coffee," Trevor groans.

"Honestly, all down hill from there."

"Last time I let you pick the place," Trevor says. He laces his hand through mine. It's weird, but also one of the things we just do. It kind of reminds me other humans are still coexisting, so I allow it.

"I'll make it up to you. How about the park?" I ask.

"The park?" He side eyes me. No one can rock a tan pea coat like Trevor.

"Yes. They're planting trees and flowers and like, cleaning up trash. You know, Earth Day community bullshit." I say, nudging him along down the street.

"Right. We really should help the community help the environment. You know, since we're taking advantage of the holiday to hang out and all," Trevor laughs, pulling my hand along.

"Yes, we wouldn't want to take advantage. What holiday is tomorrow?" I ask.

"What holiday is next week?" He smirks.

"Next month?" I say.

"Whoa, I might be sick of you by then," Trevor laughs, swinging me in for a hug. Citrus.

"Likewise," I smirk.

"Actually, I don't want to surpass the 9-12 reading age limit, but can I beg you to come to a family party next weekend?" Trevor asks, peering at me sideways through blonde hair.

"You could beg a lot. But that's at least 13 year-old material," I laugh. I roll my eyes. "But, I could be persuaded."

"I have a few ideas already." Trevor squeezes my hand. "I wouldn't ask, but I can't face another BBQ alone."

"I get that," I blurt out. Really, it's not even that I hate going places alone; it's just the incessant questions from people. Bringing someone stops that. "What is it? When?"

"Cousin's engagement party BBQ thing. It's in my parents' backyard. Saturday night. It's a surprise too so you can't be late," Trevor says.

"Yes, sir." I laugh. It sounds fake. Partly is.

"Don't worry," Trevor laughs, rolling his eyes at me. "I promise I'll introduce you to as few people as possible. I'll hide you in a coat closet if I have to."

"I'd feel comfortable with that." I nod.

"I can always show you my bedroom too," he grins.

A family party. For Trevor. I agreed. I have a lot of questions for myself right now and no idea where to start.

We get to the park and we plant a tree. Very green-thumb of us, I know. The entire time I just keep thinking about playing touch football with Brooks on Thanksgiving. I think about the dying trees and the poetry and the existentialism. The park felt like an entirely different place then. I was an entirely different person then.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take it out to see Trix calling. Trix texting. I don't answer. Smiling, I make a mental note to call her later. She'll want to hear all about Trevor. She'll be thrilled for me. I'll tell her about the flowers we planted. About the sapling we just christened Baby Tod.

It used to hurt to talk to Trix. By used to I mean like three weeks ago. Reminded me too much of all them –of him. But I'm embracing the rift. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, at least of the people I care about.

For the other ones: Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Things are better.

In fact, I was feeling so good earlier I did a thing. I liked a post. Yes, a picture post. Yes, of Brooks and his girl. They weren't kissing, but they may as well have been. They were on a beach. Under the sun. She got to taste the sun on his skin. I hope she knows how lucky she is –her and her stupid striped influencer one-piece.

WHO WEARS HEELS ON THE BEACH?

The craziest thing is I wanted him to see that I liked it. I want –need –him to believe I don't care. A digital like is basically moral support. It's a pseudo declaration of approval. It was a baby step, sure, but it felt like a leap.

There's always that thought lurking in the dark shadows of your mind –you know, the place the sun doesn't touch –where thoughts dwell in the night. If I like this, or comment, or view it –then he will see that I did. And maybe then he'll think of me. Even if just for a second, I'll be on his mind. And then I'll be winning. And his post will be second to that. The pseudo declaration of approval won't hurt so much. In fact, it'll be the least I could do.

Somehow this gives me back some power on the playing field. I know it sounds like a ludicrous and millennial thing to say, but you know. You know it.

It's OK. My social media response was to post Trevor and me to my story. Planting flowers on earth day. Together. #official

I was big today.

Amazingly, still so motherfuckin' small.

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