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Jo: Unless you do … want to be in a relationship with him, and that’s what this is all about?
I put down my phone.
The Turkish food that both Evan and I love so much has now gotten cold. It still smells delicious, but I’ve lost my appetite.
I get up from the couch, my right hand feeling tired after all that typing. Behind me, my phone keeps beeping, a sign that my friends are still texting me.
But I don’t want to deal with this conversation anymore.
Chapter Nine
Emmy
“Do you need a hand with that?” I ask Evan as I welcome him into my apartment.
“That’s very funny. You’re so funny, do you know that?” He laughs at my poor attempt at humor as he enters my kitchen carrying several bags of groceries.
“Well, what can I say? They wanted me on SNL, but I decided to work at a beauty shop for very little money instead,” I reply sarcastically.
“I have to say, I’m very happy you did,” Evan replies. “I’m sure you would’ve forgotten all about me if you had become a huge comedic star.”
“Me? Forget about you? No … I mean, it would have taken … months to forget you,” I continue the banter as we start to unpack the grocery bags.
“Months!?” Evan laughs. “Is that what seventeen years of friendship means to you, Dolly?”
“Well, you have to understand … between the Met Gala and the Oscars, who has the time?” I say in a pretend diva tone and roll my eyes a little, just to make him laugh.
To my delight, he does.
“Can you imagine, though? What would our lives have been like if we hadn’t been friends?” he asks me.
“Hmm … I think they would’ve been pretty much the same. Only much sadder. So much sadder.” I smile and look into his green eyes. “Did you do something to your hair? It looks different today.”
“No. I just came from the gym and showered half an hour ago. I didn’t have time to put on any mousse or cream.”
I reach out and touch the small curls on top of his head. “You look exactly the same as you did in high school, do you know that? The same sweet, curly-haired boy, the same green eyes…”
“Dolly…”
For a moment, we remain there, against the kitchen counter, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Let’s start dinner, shall we?” he asks me.
“Yeah, sure! So, what are you making us, Chef Davis?”
“I thought I’d make your favorite tonight. Pasta Puttanesca!” he announces.
“Oh, yay! Your grandmother’s recipe?”
“Absolutely. She’s the one who taught me how to make it, after all.” He winks.
“I’m so glad she did! It’s been my favorite ever since she made it for us in middle school.” I grin.
“I know it, that’s why I’m cooking it for you.”
“Goodness, you spoil me,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his waist. He allows me to nestle my head against his chest and I breathe in the aroma of his skin. So familiar, so comforting, so warm—like home. His arms close in around me, and I can feel him kissing the top of my head.
“You deserve to be spoiled.”
