But I Love Him by Amanda Grace Read Free Book Online

to her when she looks up.
    She just nods, that same empty look in her eyes. The sympathy, the warmth, the friendship, it’s all gone. She simply stares back at me as if I’m nothing.
    This is her send-off for me. This is the way she’ll wash her hands of me. This is how she can let go of me without feeling guilty for doing it. She knows I’m so wrapped up in Connor that we’ll never be best friends like we were before.
    I’ve finally lost her.
    This is the end for us.
    The realization is so strong my knees almost buckle. When this presentation is over, it’ll be official. I have no friends.
    I am alone.
    May 20
    Eight Months, twenty days
    His apartment is silent when I arrive. I stop at the door and think there must be something wrong. It is never silent.
    My shoes echo on the laminate in the hallway as I make my way back to his bedroom.
    When I push open the door, I’m surprised to see that the drapes are open and light is streaming through. Connor is sitting on the ground holding a guitar, leaning over, concentrating.
    “Oh, good, sit down!” He’s happy to see me, like he’s been waiting all day for my arrival, and it makes my mouth turn up in a smile because I remember when he used to do this all the time. It was like he was counting the seconds until I would arrive and we’d be together again.
    I nod and go to the chair.
    “Tell me if you recognize this.” He has picks on each finger and the sounds of his acoustic guitar fill the room, a familiar melody I can’t place.
    He looks at me expectantly when he’s done, his eyebrows raised.
    “Wait … I know it … don’t tell me …”
    He just plays it again, the notes floating on air. His fingers are quick and graceful as they pluck the melody.
    He looks up again. I still can’t place it. I’m desperate, my mind racing, but I can’t place it.
    I see the disappointment on his face as he stares at me. As I come up empty. His blue eyes are filled with it, and I scramble, thinking, trying to find the right song.
    “It’s Forever Yours,” he says, before I succeed.
    “Oh! ” I say, too loud. “My favorite song.”
    “Yes.”
    I smile at him, try to make him see that I’m pleased with his surprise, but he sets the guitar down. I’ve spoiled it. I didn’t recognize my own favorite song. I took away his moment of glory.
    “It took me three hours,” he says.
    “Play it again. Please? It was beautiful. Now that I know what song it is, it’ll be even prettier.”
    For a second he just strums his hands across the strings like he hasn’t heard me, like he won’t answer at all.
    I’m relieved when he nods and picks up the melody again.
    I hate it that every little thing has become so important. I have to try so hard every moment of every day to do and say the right thing, or his mood will turn.
    And my day will turn with it.
    I’m tired of this high-wire act, this balance where I have to be on all the time, where I have to perform whenever the light hits me or risk falling.
    As the notes fill the room again I lie back on his bed and stare at the popcorn ceiling. Connor sits just a few feet away from me, but it feels like miles. There is a cavernous hole between us, and I can never seem to fill it.
    I know that he spent three hours doing this for me, but it’s empty because it’s not what I want. I want him to stop making everything so hard. I want him to smile at me and I don’t want to see the things in his eyes that tell me it’s not real.
    I want him to be whole so I don’t have to try so hard to make him that way.
    I want to not care if I make a mistake. I want this to be easy and happy, and I want to not walk on eggshells every moment of every day. I want to say the wrong thing and see him smile anyway.
    I want him to hang out with me and my friends. I want him to come over for dinner with my mom and I want to be able to leave the room and not worry about what they are saying to each other.
    The longing is so fierce I feel it in my chest,