even if that guy is Logan. I just want you to be happy."
"Tyson." My voice broke.
"You know . . ." He kept talking, "You really broke my heart, Amanda. Fuck," his eyes started to drift shut, "I loved you so damn much. I dreamed about it last night—you and me—what our future would have been like if you'd never met him. I pictured us in an apartment in New York, like I wanted us to be . . . you know . . . before you broke my heart. I always told myself it was for the best, but I don't know anymore. I planned on marrying you. I told Logan that . . . when I told him about what happened to you that summer . . . I told him I wanted to. Maybe it's not right for us to be together, maybe it's timing." He was rambling. I let him. "I hope he was worth it. I don't think your story is over yet. But I really, truly hope he's worth it, Dim. After everything you've been through, everything we've been through, he better be it for you."
7
It'd been almost six months since Tyson left. He calls, texts, or contacts me on Facebook almost every day. I tell him he doesn't need to. Especially now that he’s traveling around the world. He tells me it keeps him grounded, reminds him of home. I wasn't going to complain, Tyson—he was my constant. I needed that. He never brought up what he’d told me that night. Sometimes I wonder if he remembers it at all, or if it was just a drunken rambling. Either way, I remember his words. I'll always remember them.
"So?" Tony pulled me from my thoughts. He was drying some wine glasses behind the bar.
I scrunched my nose. "Definitely not a date?"
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Amanda. Not a date. You've made it very clear the last thirty times I've asked you out that you're not interested in dating, or in me."
"It's not personal," I tried to soothe. "I'm just not ready to—"
He raised his hands in surrender. "I know, I know. I get it. So tonight? It's just a bunch of Twiggy's friends, not the usual college crowd. Come on, it'll be fun. A bunch of hipster stoners? What's not to like?"
I chuckled under my breath. "Fine." I caved in. "But I'm driving, and I'll meet you there." I pointed my finger at him. "Not a date."
"Not a date," he repeated.
***
A few hours later, I pulled up at the front of Twiggy's house. He worked most shifts with me and Tony, and even though he was nearing thirty, you couldn't tell from the way he behaved. Tony and I never knew when he was high or when he was straight; maybe he was just high on life.
The smell of weed was overpowering the moment I opened the door. Bob Marley played through the speakers. I had to laugh at how stereotypical it all seemed.
Tony's voice boomed from somewhere in the house. "Amanda!" he yelled. I spun in a small circle until I saw him jumping and waving his hand in the air. I carefully maneuvered through the people in the living room until I got to him. "You want a drink?" he yelled into my ear. I lifted the bottle of water in my hand. "Okay," he said, then motioned for me to sit on the chair he’d just been on. I dropped my ass on the plastic fold up seat. He left, but came back seconds later with another chair and positioned it next to me. He placed his arm on the back of mine and leaned in close to my ear. "This is exactly what I pictured Twiggy's parties to be like."
I laughed. "I know, right? Bob Marley and everything."
He leaned in even closer. I felt his warm breath on my neck, right before his lips brushed my earlobe. "I know we're not on a date," he said, his voice low. "But you look amazing tonight."
It's nice to be complimented, even if he were nothing more than a friend. I turned to face him to say thank you, but something, or someone , caught my eye.
My heart thumped against my chest.
Once.
Twice.
Thump.
And then nothing.
It stopped beating. My eyes drifted shut. I had to be seeing things.
Tony—he must've taken it the wrong way, because the next thing I knew—his warm lips met mine and he
"Tyson." My voice broke.
"You know . . ." He kept talking, "You really broke my heart, Amanda. Fuck," his eyes started to drift shut, "I loved you so damn much. I dreamed about it last night—you and me—what our future would have been like if you'd never met him. I pictured us in an apartment in New York, like I wanted us to be . . . you know . . . before you broke my heart. I always told myself it was for the best, but I don't know anymore. I planned on marrying you. I told Logan that . . . when I told him about what happened to you that summer . . . I told him I wanted to. Maybe it's not right for us to be together, maybe it's timing." He was rambling. I let him. "I hope he was worth it. I don't think your story is over yet. But I really, truly hope he's worth it, Dim. After everything you've been through, everything we've been through, he better be it for you."
7
It'd been almost six months since Tyson left. He calls, texts, or contacts me on Facebook almost every day. I tell him he doesn't need to. Especially now that he’s traveling around the world. He tells me it keeps him grounded, reminds him of home. I wasn't going to complain, Tyson—he was my constant. I needed that. He never brought up what he’d told me that night. Sometimes I wonder if he remembers it at all, or if it was just a drunken rambling. Either way, I remember his words. I'll always remember them.
"So?" Tony pulled me from my thoughts. He was drying some wine glasses behind the bar.
I scrunched my nose. "Definitely not a date?"
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Amanda. Not a date. You've made it very clear the last thirty times I've asked you out that you're not interested in dating, or in me."
"It's not personal," I tried to soothe. "I'm just not ready to—"
He raised his hands in surrender. "I know, I know. I get it. So tonight? It's just a bunch of Twiggy's friends, not the usual college crowd. Come on, it'll be fun. A bunch of hipster stoners? What's not to like?"
I chuckled under my breath. "Fine." I caved in. "But I'm driving, and I'll meet you there." I pointed my finger at him. "Not a date."
"Not a date," he repeated.
***
A few hours later, I pulled up at the front of Twiggy's house. He worked most shifts with me and Tony, and even though he was nearing thirty, you couldn't tell from the way he behaved. Tony and I never knew when he was high or when he was straight; maybe he was just high on life.
The smell of weed was overpowering the moment I opened the door. Bob Marley played through the speakers. I had to laugh at how stereotypical it all seemed.
Tony's voice boomed from somewhere in the house. "Amanda!" he yelled. I spun in a small circle until I saw him jumping and waving his hand in the air. I carefully maneuvered through the people in the living room until I got to him. "You want a drink?" he yelled into my ear. I lifted the bottle of water in my hand. "Okay," he said, then motioned for me to sit on the chair he’d just been on. I dropped my ass on the plastic fold up seat. He left, but came back seconds later with another chair and positioned it next to me. He placed his arm on the back of mine and leaned in close to my ear. "This is exactly what I pictured Twiggy's parties to be like."
I laughed. "I know, right? Bob Marley and everything."
He leaned in even closer. I felt his warm breath on my neck, right before his lips brushed my earlobe. "I know we're not on a date," he said, his voice low. "But you look amazing tonight."
It's nice to be complimented, even if he were nothing more than a friend. I turned to face him to say thank you, but something, or someone , caught my eye.
My heart thumped against my chest.
Once.
Twice.
Thump.
And then nothing.
It stopped beating. My eyes drifted shut. I had to be seeing things.
Tony—he must've taken it the wrong way, because the next thing I knew—his warm lips met mine and he
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