Ambivalence: Chapter 15

Chapter 15:



I rest my backside against the concrete wall as I wait for my infatuated best friend. Five months ago, I was the girl preoccupied with feelings for someone. The angsty teen, confident in her love for an older man. Now, it appears to be Sam’s turn, whether that be considered good or bad is still up for debate in my mind.

Standing in the school quad’s center, I watch about half my peers rush to the parking lot, most of them hoping to grab a quick bite from one of the nearby fast food choices. The rest stride past me in the opposite direction, eager to reach the lunch line. Some hunch as they walk, fully engrossed by their phones. Others make loud intentional sounds and yell out to their friends. I’m amazed that a mundane routine such as lunch still excites upperclassmen. Maybe it’s the little taste of freedom it brings. Fifty minutes of freedom to be exact.

Growing impatient, I fiddle with my black Converse, tapping them together like Dorthy from the Wizard of Oz. Even though I have no famous quote of my own to recite, my heart knows what it wants: to be finished with high school. Three more months and I’m free.

As I continue to wait for Sam, the intense sun urges me to remove my hooded sweatshirt. I tie it around my waist, then spot her approaching me, her expression exactly the same as the last two days.

“You’re ditching me again, aren’t you?” I ask, displeased with her remorseful face.

Sam halts her steps with ease, her medical boot finally absent from her foot. “Come with us,” she pleads, smoothing a relaxed curl from her face.

“You don’t need a third wheel,” I state matter of fact. “Besides, this is the only time you get to spend with him.”

“But I want you to come. I still need a plan to fix the mess I’ve created.”

“What about Bryce?” I ask, chewing on a fingernail.

Frowning in confusion, she adjusts the strap of her pink dress. “What about him?”

“Will he care if I tag along?”

“Are you kidding? Not at all.” She pulls me by the hand towards the parking lot. “You’re coming with.”

As we walk in haste, I notice several admirers darting a glance our way, most likely appreciating Sam’s doll-like beauty. She addresses a few of them with a kind greeting and an easy blush, showcasing her more bubbly spirit. It quickly reminds me of her vacillating traits.

At school, Sam’s confident, assertive, and comfortable in her own skin. But other places, especially unfamiliar ones, she tends to be the opposite. Still, one thing remains in every situation. Her youthfulness. At times, it keeps me grounded. Maybe because it’s something I can always count on—bringing me comfort and predictability in the chaotic existence of my young adult life.

Once we’re in view of the parking lot, I’m yanked once more, this time in the direction of Bryce’s vehicle. His silver Range Rover conveniently idles beside the red curb.

It’s a strange sight. As if my brain can’t fathom why my boss would ever purposely be at a high school. Even if it is just the parking lot.

Wearing an insistent smile, Sam opens the back seat for me. I exhale the air from my cheeks, then enter tentatively, my heartbeat quickening from unfamiliar territory.

She quickly takes a seat in front, her voice chipper as ever. “Look who’s joining us today.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Bryce produces a grin. “Hey Kid.”

“Hey,” I reply sweetly, my nerves already starting to settle from his familiar greeting.

“It’s about time you agreed to come with us,” he continues keenly.

I let out a scoff with the click of my seatbelt. “Not sure I had much of a choice this time, but thanks.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he admits, aiming an intentional smirk at Sam.

“You’ll both thank me later,” she explains, essentially owning up to her highly effective influence.

“So where are we headed?” I ask, leaning forward in curiosity.

Sam fidgets in her seat as she answers, “The country club down the street.”

“Seriously?” I ask, surprised.

“Yes. Just wait. You’ll love the food. We’ve been going there everyday this week.”

“Sam, I’m not dressed for a country club. I’m in jeans.”

“No problemo,” Bryce says, offering a comforting smile in the overhead mirror. “I’m friends with the owner. Besides, it’s just lunch. Nothing fancy.”



*

The moment we pass the gate to the prestigious country club, my head remains on a swivel, scanning the breathtaking grounds from each window of Bryce’s vehicle. I admire the long row of lush majestic trees, their canopy of leaves providing ideal shade from the afternoon sun. Flowers of all shapes and colors can be seen on both sides of the pavement. The bright pink tulips catch my eye first. Abundantly green grass extends to the fairways, along with several more mature trees, sporadic in their placement. The snow capped mountains in the distance make the perfect backdrop for the flat well-manicured golf course.

Upon the circular drive entry, a three tiered fountain demands my attention, its flow of water so vigorous, I can hear it through the window.

I’m startled by the quick opening of Sam’s door, where a well-kept guy in a black vest and bow tie awaits for her to exit the vehicle. Bryce is quick to walk to the other side and hand over his key, helping me realize the formal dressed man is a valet driver. I exit my door and peer up the steps leading to the pillared club house.

Sam looks over to me, smitten as she speaks. “Isn’t this place picturesque?”

“Very much so,” I reply truthful.

Despite being impressed, my smile fades as we climb the concrete stairs. My insecurity of being underdressed is hard to shake, especially since I’ve never been a fan of sticking out.

We arrive at the double door entrance, which only elevates the exterior further. The lobby is just as fancy, warm yellow lighting and high-ceilings that stretch across a long corridor. The light oak floor shines and echoes with the many footsteps of guests coming and going from one hallway to another. Some are dressed in spiffy golf wear, others are sporting more dressy casual outfits. The same goes for the dining area. Absolutely NO one is wearing jeans, that is, except for me.

The petite, white-collared host adjusts his black tie as he approaches us from his station. It’s not long before his dark colored eyes cast a glare of disapproval my way.

“It’s great to see you again, Mr. Williams,” he greets politely.

“There are three of us today, Max, thank you.”.

“I’m sorry, sir,“ Max begins with hesitance. “But we have a very strict dress code. I’m afraid the young lady with the jeans is not permitted in the dining hall.”

I hold in my sigh of embarrassment and tap my foot to Sam’s. She brushes off my annoyed look with a quick shake of the head and a whisper. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

Bryce hands Max some cash without even attempting to be discreet. He then goes on to say, “I need you to let it slide and if anyone gives you a hard time, you send them my way, deal?”

Max nods, shoving the money in his back pocket. “Right this way.”

I quickly grab hold up Bryce’s arm, taking him by surprise. “Hey, maybe we should just leave. I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”

“No one is getting in trouble silly.” With his hand on my back, he urges me to catch up to Sam. “Everything’s good, I promise,” he continues, widening his smile.

I try not to make eye contact with anyone as Max inconveniently seats us in the far corner of the room. Our square table is nestled by the window overlooking the beautiful grounds.

Sam chuckles softly while I attempt to slide the bulky chair closer to the table, my fingers struggling to grasp the thick fabric. After wrestling with it, I discover a new found empathy for declawed cats.

“You good? Bryce asks, concealing a smile.

I respond with a scowl, drawing faint laughter from him.

Fortunately, Max promptly attends to his duties. "The usual, sir?"

"Yes, I'll take three chef specials. Wait—" his speech pauses abruptly as he glances in my direction. "Do you have any food allergies?"

I shake my head.

“Great. Three specials and put a rush on it, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Straightening his spine, Bryce says, “I hope you don’t mind me ordering for you. It helps move things along with the time crunch we’re on.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, glancing over the botanical etchings on the table. “But I want you to know, your definition of fancy differs greatly from mine. This place is exceedingly showy.”

Bryce shrugs. “It’s all a facade. Nothing here is what it seems.”

I peer up at the tray ceiling, casually spotting the crystal chandeliers around the room. Facade or not, the elaborate details are noteworthy.

“Don’t worry, The food is worth the pretentious atmosphere,” Sam points out.

“She’s right. The culinary expertise of the chef here is exceptional.”

I sip on my water as we wait for our order, taking in every physical gesture made between the love birds sitting across from me. Bryce tends to lean over Sam when he speaks, offering a sort of protective shield. She absentmindedly mirrors Bryce’s body language, everything from his posture, to his overt smiles. It’s fascinating to watch.

I wish their beautiful affection was enough to convince me, but it’s not. I still don’t trust Bryce, and I worry I never will.

The aroma coming from my plate as it’s placed in front of me, brings the scent of savory and roasted goodness to a new level. A tender, juicy-looking steak and veggies never smelled better.

“How is it?” Sam asks, watching me take my first bite.

“Freaking amazing,” I mumble with a mouthful.

I watch them simultaneously break into a smile, then pick up their silverware, eager to dig into their own appetizing plates.

“Alright, I’m ready to hear your plan,” Sam announces, poking a petite potato with her fork.

“Plan?” I ask, tightening my brow.

“Your plan to fix everything. My parents are still freaked out about Bryce, remember?”

The desperation in her voice unsettles me. I take a moment to gather my thoughts, then reply with the only thing I have. The unimaginative truth.

“Sam, I know you really want a quick fix, but time is the only thing that’s going to change things.”

She exhales sharply, her eyes twitching with disappointment. “Really? Time? That’s your idea of a plan?”

“Your parents need more than just a few days to adjust and make sense of your relationship, especially given the fact that Bryce is ten years older than you. I’m sorry, but I think you’re gonna have to wait this one out.”

Her scoff and hardened gaze about shatter me, but it’s her words that do the most damage.

“You don’t actually expect me to believe you put any kind of thought into this, do you?” Sam begins, harsh and blunt. “Because there’s no way my best friend of ten years would suggest I do nothing. Not with all the crazy schemes and passionate ideas I’ve personally witnessed and participated in over the years.”

“Sam, I—“

“I’m not finished,” she interrupts. “For you to bring up the age gap is almost comical. But honestly, it just proves what I already knew. That you don’t fully support our relationship.”

“That’s not true,” I force out, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m here, right now, supporting you, just like I have from the beginning."

“Except I made you come,” she disputes heatedly.

“OK, why don’t we all just take a breather,” Bryce suggests, his clenched jaw carrying a great deal of tension. “Clearly, emotions are getting the best of everyone.”

“Fine. I have nothing left to say anyway,” Sam says, standing from her seat.

He reaches for her hip. “Baby, where are you going?”

“I need a minute… Please don’t follow me,” she adds, walking away from our table.

My gaze lowers briefly as I fight the urge to tear up. “I should go after her.”

“I think it’s best if you don’t,” he says, a calmness to his voice.

“Why not?” I murmur.

“Because it’s not your job to fix this, and Sam knows that. She never should’ve put this responsibility on you in the first place. much as I’d like to tell her that, I know it’s better if I let her come to that conclusion on her own. Confronting her right now would only push her away.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I argue poorly.

“Sam’s smart and incredibly loyal. She’ll come around. Just have some faith.”

His use of the word "faith" catches me off guard, prompting me to pause and reflect. I don’t hate the new and different energy he presents.

I tuck a loose hair strand behind my ear and say, “I really hope you’re right. I never meant to offend either of you, especially considering ten years isn’t that far from the six year age gap I’m currently in. But I know it is a very big deal to Sam’s parents. There’s absolutely no way around their fears and concerns for their daughter.”

“The biggest problem with that statement is the conclusion it presents.”

I tilt my head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Some might argue the vagueness, but to me, it implies her parents will never accept our relationship.”

My sudden silence, followed by a hard swallow is all it takes for Bryce to lose the hope in his eyes. And even though it hurts my heart to take that spark away, it doesn’t feel right to give him a false sense of hope.

“I get it,” he starts off, leaning back in his chair. “You still don’t trust me. That’s where all your doubt originates from, and why you never bothered to come up with something worthy of Sam’s approval.”

“Trust me, time was the only thing worth mentioning,” I respond in defense.

“Tell me, kid. Truthfully. What’s it going to take for you trust me?”

A part of me wants to be completely honest with him. To say, ‘even if you were to tell me everything I want to know, it likely won’t convince me of anything.’ But I can’t tell Bryce any of that. I need him to feel comfortable around me. Mostly for Sam’s sake.

“I don’t know,” I reply thoughtful, tapping my foot under the table. “I guess there is one thing you can do for me. It won’t make me immediately trust you, but it will certainly help with my overall approval.”

His consistent subtle smirk emerges, blending curiosity and amusement. I find it irritatingly attractive.

“Let’s hear it,” he says, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“I need you to promise me you won’t ask Sam to move in with you, or say yes when she asks you to let her move in. Because believe me, she will. I’m asking you to wait. Wait until she works everything out with her parents, because if you don’t, Sam’s family—the family that means everything to her—changes indefinitely. And the guilt that comes with those changes will destroy her.”

“Ally, what you’re asking isn’t remotely fair. The gravity of that kind of request is…”He pauses, as if he’s afraid to continue. “What if Sam’s parents never approve? You can’t expect her to live at home forever.”

I mask my panicky thoughts with a dry chuckle. “Of course not. Sam’s an adult. Just give me three months. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Two,” he counters, rubbing his chin with his palm.

“Fine. Two.” I cave way too easy, secretly hoping I never have to worry about the outcome of it all. Once again, I need all my questions about Bryce answered yesterday. And more importantly, I need those answers to be factual and unbiased.

Sam returns with a quiet somberness, her eyes slightly pink. I notice the gut-punched look on Bryce’s face as he realizes Sam’s been crying.

“Hey gorgeous,” he says, helping her sit. “You OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answers, receiving a kiss to the temple from Bryce. “I needed a minute to pull myself together. Sorry I got so upset.”

“I’m sorry too,” I offer quickly. “You’re right, you deserve a better plan of action.”

“Ally, it’s not your job to fix my relationship problems. I don’t know why I put that pressure on you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK.” I lean forward on the table, a new enthusiasm building in my chest. “Listen, I have an idea. What if in a month or so—after your parents cool off some— we have a get together at my house. You can invite them and Bryce over, and they can get to know him in a neutral setting.”

Sam’s eyes perk up as she looks to Bryce for his input.

“Sounds like a good plan,” he admits.

“I agree. Let’s cheers to that,” Sam says, raising her glass.

As we clank our drinks together, Bryce mouths the words, ‘thank you,’ to me, sending additional warmth to my face and heart.



*

The fact that it’s Thursday has retained my attention and left me a little on edge all day. Lunch with Bryce and Sam certainly kept me on my toes. But it’s my dinner plans with Christian elevating my anxiety levels. His need to rectify his actions brings me a great deal of comfort, but it also sparks feelings of apprehension and uncertainty. What new information does he have? And why did he feel the need to interfere in my work life?

I leave Probe Research and arrive at the Casa de Salsa a few minutes later than expected. Vibrant, rhythmic music can be heard once entering the arched building. I gaze around the brightly colorful restaurant as a hostess approaches me, her hands carrying a menu.

“Hi, I’m meeting someone,” I clarify. “ He’s probably here already. Brown hair, brown eyes, well-designed muscular physique.”

“Corner booth.” She points with confidence, a twinkle in her eyes.

“Thanks,” I reply, quick to turn down the instructed aisle.

The moment I spot my favorite handsome detective, my heart bubbles up with excitement and giddiness. I approach him carefully, determined to startle him. Dressed in jeans and a black long-sleeve, Christian’s focused gaze remains on his phone screen. The concentration displayed on his brow and jawline, add a touch of intensity to his appearance. I’m not gonna lie, he’s looking sexier than usual.

With sweaty palms, I slide into the orange upholstered booth, breathing as quietly as possible.

“Hey,” he says, looking up in surprise.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

“You’re good,” he reassures sweetly, giving me a quick glance over. “Any trouble finding me?”

“Nah, your keen analytical gaze is really hard to miss.”

He chuckles under his breath, the corners of his mouth lifting into a genuine smile. “I appreciate the accurate portrayal of me.”

“Anytime,” I answer proudly, easing up on my posture.

There’s always been this air of confidence in the way Christian holds himself, and I believe it’s what initially attracted me to him. It’s nice to see he hasn’t lost that.

A friendly waitress greets us with a bold rhythm in her steps, her colorful skirt swaying with her movements. The dim lighting illuminates her waves of dark hair, contributing to her unique welcoming impression.

“Can I start you off with a margarita?”

Quick to answer, Christian says, “Sure, can I get the house margarita on the rocks, please?”

“You got it,” she answers.

“Make that two,” I add softly.

Surprise plays across Christian’s face, along with a subtle tilt of his brow. There’s no objection from him, though I imagine his curious intrigue is entwined with mild disappointment.

“Could you also bring us two waters?” He requests.

“Sure thing,” the waitress confirms, suppressing a yawn.

I wait for Christian’s eyes to meet mine, then access his temperament. His gentle smile conceals a hint of regret in his eyes.

“You’re not going let me drink, are you?” I ask, reclining in my seat.

“If I were driving you home, I would. But we both know you’re a bit of a light-weight. I’m not taking any chances.”

I smile at his reasoning, replying with careful thought. “Fair assumption, but it’s been a long day. How bout we settle on a few sips?”

“Alright. A few.” Playfully rotating his phone on the table, he ponders with a momentary blend of confusion and curiosity. “I’m really surprised she didn’t ID you.”

“I’m not,” I say, picking up his police badge from the edge of the table. “She probably didn’t feel the need to question someone with established legal authority. At least, that’s what I was counting on.”

With a short, but obvious pause, he says, “I’m a little impressed.”

“Only a little?” I tease.

“You know what I mean.” He nudges my foot under the table, improving upon my smile.



*

After a few minutes of playful conversation, the mood changes and Christian’s face shifts to a more solemn expression.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, resting my arms on the cold table.

“Nothing,” he answers, leaning forward with a small smile. “I want to tell you again how sorry I am for interfering and the whole situation with Garret. I know I overstepped.”

“I forgive you, Christian, obviously. How many times have I screwed up? Don’t answer that.” I warn him. “But I have to be honest, it’s not something I ever expected you to do. If anything, I expect you to always confront me. Not go behind my back.”

“You’re right. I should have came to you.”

“Where did all this stem from?” I ask, nervous for his response.

Our waitress returns with our drinks, eager to take our food order. Realizing Christian and I haven’t even cracked a menu, she offers a suggestion. “Fajitas for two?”

We both agree, then take hold of our margaritas. Only, they remain idled in our hands as the conversation continues.

“Last Sunday night, I obtained some pivotal information from Agent Reed, my friend from the FBI. Some of it’s classified and potentially dangerous. As in, please don’t share anything we discuss tonight.”

“That topic being Bryce?” I ask, uncertain.

“Not just Bryce,” he explains, opening his locked phone screen. He shows me a zoomed in picture of a balding middle-aged man, his broad nose being the most prominent thing about him. “This is Martin Fransisco, an alleged drug lord known for supplying large amounts of drugs in and around the area.”

“Why are you showing me him?” I ask, wrinkling my forehead.

“Because the FBI has reason to believe Bryce is working with him. They suspect his business is being used to launder money.“

I force a hard swallow. “What does that mean exactly? And why do they think that?”

“Allegedly, Bryce borrowed a significant amount of money from Martin, and according to sources, he was incapable of paying him back. Presently, they think his business is disguising dirty money as legal transactions in order to appear legitimate. It’s possible Bryce was unwilling dragged into criminal activity and is being blackmailed.”

“Possible or most likely?” I ask, wanting clarification.

“Does it really matter? He’s still engaging in illegal activity.”

“Yes, it matters. Because clearly, the drug dealer guy is exploiting Bryce for his own personal gain. How is that fair?”

“You’re right, it’s not,” he answers, lacking an emotional tone.

I begin to ache all over from the influx of information, my head spinning with confusion and stress. I cradle my face with my hands, exhaling in anxious frustration.

“Hey,” Christian says, gently reaching for my hand. “I’m sorry if all this overwhelms you.” His fingers trace soothing patterns on my palm, quieting my restless mind. I lock eyes with him, allowing my gaze to convey unmistakable approval. A genuine warmth lights up my expression and my body leans attentively.

“I really hoped it wasn’t something this bad,” I admit ruefully, releasing a sigh.

“I know… Listen,” he says, firm in his resolve, “I know that brain of yours is gonna try hard to come up with some sort of a solution, but there isn’t one, OK?”

His calming touch is the best part of his speech, distracting my brain from overthinking. But once his hand ceases to touch mine, my mind begins to ruminate over the information.

“What if the FBI were to offer Bryce some sort of plea deal in exchange for information on Martin and his illegal operation?” I ask, hopeful.

Christian lets out a sigh, then responds to my unwavering determination. “The FBI believes Bryce lacks sufficient knowledge about Martin to warrant any type of negotiation.

“Oh,” I reply, my voice subdued.

I catch sight of our waitress, carrying a sizzling tray of food. The aroma of seasoned meat and warm tortillas waft to my nose. As she sets the food in front of us, she notices our full margaritas.

“Are the drinks not any good?” She asks, scrunching her nose.

“No, we were just busy catching up,” Christian explains, lifting his glass to take a sip.

I quickly replicate his actions, taking in a lot more liquid than agreed upon. Christian makes a throaty noise, attempting to draw my attention.

“Enjoy your meal,” the waitress says, leaving us to it.

“That was not a sip,” Christian utters, calling me out immediately.

I giggle with his reprimand. “Sorry, I was caught up in the moment.”

Suppressing a smile, he gently shakes his head in disapproval. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

With food in our bellies, Christian and I relax in conversation, sticking to favorable topics and avoiding any mention of work or Bryce.

The subject of college comes up, and I share my conflicting thoughts, confessing my desire to stay near home, now that Kelly’s pregnant. His support and positive outlook brings me a sense of relief. But I’ve yet to discuss any of it with Ryan, leaving the issue unresolved for now.

Christian’s birthday dinner is probably my favorite subject matter. His sister Cameron has already confirmed my attendance via text. The enthusiasm and admiration she has for her brother is something I can appreciate. Meeting her in person will be a fun experience. Meeting Christian’s girlfriend on the other hand is bound to be a disaster. He vows it won’t be, and I choose not to argue with him.

After settling the bill, we make our way to the entrance. A lively boy and girl, both elementary aged, skip past us on their way out. The girl with her super high ponytail, exclaims, "Boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider. Girls go to Mars to get more candy bars.” The tousled haired boy shows no interest in debating and races to their car making engine sounds, ignoring the girl completely.

“I always thought it was boys go to college to get more knowledge,” Christian says, a smirk lingering on his lips.

“Nope, boys go to Jupiter,” I playfully retort. “Kids at my elementary liked to say, girls go to Venus to get more penis.”

“Woah, what school did you go to?” he asks, stopping at the rear of my car, conveniently positioned beside his own.

“A private one,” I explain. “And that was the mild version. The worst one of all involved Uranus.”

He shoots me a strange look, as if I said something funny, unintentionally. I play back what I said in my head, then burst into a laugh.

“You walked right into that one.” He widens his smile.

“OK, yeah, but what are we? Ten years old?”

“Eight, tops.”

Giggling, I perch myself on the edge of his bumper. “You ever wonder how all these kids got to space in the first place?”

He chuckles, reclining against my car with one foot on the bumper. “Definitely a good shower thought.”

“Definitely.” I nod, lifting my boots briefly off the ground.

“I really like that outfit,” he brings up, giving me a more thorough glance over.

“Thanks. It’s a lot of black today,” I explain, placing a hand at the top of my high-waisted pants. “But I like that we match.”

“Same,” he says, scratching the side of his chin.

The parking lights not only emphasize my black attire but also draw attention to Christian's physique, highlighting his muscular arms and torso. He notices my fixed gaze, prompting a blush to appear on his face. The warmth spreading across my cheeks is interrupted by a ding from his pocket.

Concern wrinkles his brow as he briefly checks his phone.

“Everything OK?” I ask.

“Yes,” he reassures me.

“Your face says otherwise,” I indicate softly.

“It was a text from Tess. Tomorrow is her birthday.“

Though his answer stings, I reply with words of encouragement. “You share a birthday month. That’s pretty cool.”

“Yep, and I have no idea what to get her.” He breathes out slowly.

“How bout a Christian original?” I suggest.

“No, too personal,” he confesses. “We haven’t been seeing each other long enough.”

I hold back a smile, relieved to hear him admit such things. “There’s a Target down the street. Just run in there, pick out a few basic things and you’ll be good.”

His faint smile and hesitant nod confirm my suspicion; he's clueless about what to choose.

“I can go with you. If you want,” I emphasize, approaching him with an easygoing stride.

“Ally, I can’t let you to do that. It wouldn’t be right.”

“But I want to help.” I settle my hand on the edge of his tricep, appreciating the warmth and firmness. “Let me do this for you. For buying me dinner and for always being there.”

“It’s not that I don’t want your help.” He playfully brushes a finger down my nose. “But I’d rather avoid any hurt feelings.”

“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry so much,” I convey, firmly squeezing both of his taut arms.

He chuckles softly, and after a reflective moment, finally concedes, "Alright. We can take my car.”

If someone had told me my evening would end with a Target run and my Ex boyfriend, I wouldn’t have believed them. But here we are…