Chapter Eight : Hands Like Love
"Things with you and John?" Ashley nonchalantly asks into the air between us, giving her attention to everything inside The Bean except for the girl sitting across from her, the girl who just happens to be me, "Things are, uh, going well?"
"John?"
"The guy you're dating?"
"Oh right, John. The love of my life, how could I forget?!" I teasingly draw out, dressing myself in a fake suit of pride. "Things are unbelievable. Absolutely thrilling, really."
She smirks, in a strange way, and sips her coffee thoughtfully, "You are one strange girl, Spence."
"Better than being boring."
Once again, I dress myself in the genuine, hoping she doesn't see my sadness. Hoping she doesn't see that I see the same sadness reflected in that smirk of hers. Hoping she doesn't see how uncomfortable it makes me feel. How unbelievably uncomfortable I feel right now. Because I know what she's doing, it's what she's been doing, and I'm growing more and more tired of it.
She's judging me.
She's judging me and my decisions. Far more than any best friend should.
Just because she has a boyfriend, doesn't give her the right to look down on mine. Just because she dates my brother, doesn't give her the right to dictate how I feel about who I date. But somehow, she does. Maybe she doesn't even know she's doing it. Maybe I’m only pretending she's doing it so I can feel better about myself, about her. So I can believe she cares.
Because I know she's right. I know she should judge. And maybe that's why she's my best friend. Maybe that's why she has absolutely every right to do the things she does.
Maybe it's why I love her.
"So, I'm gonna take a wild stab in the dark here and guess you’re not a big fan of Jack?"
I can't help myself, I need to know. I need to know her judgment, because it means everything to me.
"You mean John?"
My eyes roll, instinctively, speeding this along.
"John, Jack. Potatoes, pototoes."
She laughs, and I can't help but chuckle with her. Finally, we're both not dressing in anything but our bare selves. We're honest, and now I want to see all of that honesty, in everything she’s not saying.
"But really, Ash, your opinion means everything to me so,” I start, so sincerely. “What do you think about him?"
"I think that," She shrugs, passively, as if she really doesn't care either way. But I see through it, I see right through it, and I know she certainly does care. And she certainly doesn't like him, "I think he's a nice guy."
"Ash. Come on, just say it. You don't like him.”
I give her a look that says stop the bullshitting, and she finally does. "Ok.” One coffee cup set down on one coffee table, “I think he's a nice guy, I realy do. He seems like a really sweet guy," Finally she looks at me, "But I think you can do better. I know you can. And I think," She looks nervous, it's that weird nervous look I've seen a million times on her, a million times, and I still can't figure out what it means, I still can't figure out what she hides beneath it, "I think you're wasting your time on someone who doesn't put enough time into you. I think you deserve someone who can't be without you, because if they can, they're morons. Because they have no clue what they could have, what they're missing out on. And this Jack character, he doesn't know what he's missing out on."
"John." I whisper, feeling very flushed and humbled.
"Hm?"
She looks genuinely confused, and I can't help but let a shy giggle dribble out of my mouth. Feeling an overwhelming amount of joy flowing through me, like a river, from her words. Feeling a blazing blush that wants to break through my surface, one I’m doing anything to extinguish before it reveals itself.
"You said Jack, and this particular moron's name is John."
"Oh well,” She smiles a new smile, one I’ve never seen before, and it absolutely fills me up, "Jack, John. Different name, same moron.”
She glimpses down to her hands, bashfully, and I swear I see a blush forming on her cheeks. And when her eyes come back to mine, the room stops. The needle rips itself from the record. No one else exists inside The Bean except for the two of us. The two of us and her blatant honesty. The honesty that is sinking further and further beneath our pink skin.
Her honesty that is sinking further and further inside my already sunken heart.
"Spence, I think you’re...” Her voice, low and gravely, brings me back to her nervous face, her nervous body, taking over her usual strong and brave form, making her look more vulnerable than I've ever seen her, "I think you’re wasting your time on someone who never holds your hand."
The air fills up with tension, so much tension, and the only way to release it, the only way I know how, is to laugh. I don’t want to, I wish I could stop myself, but I laugh.
"Ashley, you don’t strike me as the PDA type."
I do what I do best, I joke. Because something about this already feels too heavy, and I don't know if I can handle it. I don't know if I can hear it. Because I know I actually desperately need to hear it, because I desperately want to know if I actually can handle it.
"I'm not."
"O-kay.” I moronically, nervously, chuckle, trying to keep this all inside the safety of a funny place, “Explain that one to me."
My cover up hides the rapid beating heart inside my chest. The one that feels like it's about to burst through my chest. She's not keeping anything under shits and giggles. She's throwing herself out there, she's throwing herself so far out there, I almost want to grab her and pull her back down. And, suddenly, she looks unsure. Suddenly, she doesn't need me to pull her anywhere, cause I've already pushed her away. I’ve already made her back down all on her own.
"Nevermind."
And it’s heartbreaking.
"No. No, tell me, please. I really wanna know."
My tone is sincere, and somewhat desperate, because I know what an idiot I’ve been. I've never wanted to know something more than I do now. Because she intrigues me more than anyone I've ever known. Because every word out of her mouth is the most fascinating thing I've ever heard. And I know if she doesn't tell me whatever she was going to, I'd be missing out. I'd be missing out on so much that I’d become just another moron.
I'd be no better than the "boyfriend" I carry around, who's name I don’t care enough about to even remember.
She looks at me, contemplating for one more beat, before she smiles. "I will tell you, Spence." A breath of pure relief leaves my lips, before I suck it right back in, "Someday."
"Someday?" It practically squeaks from my body.
"Someday." She firmly assures, and my face falls solemnly. So antsy to know what she was going to say and beyond miserable believing I’ve missed out on it, when I’ve already missed out on so much. But I let it go, because I have no other choice. Because I'd never pressure her. Because I'd never make her do something she didn't want to do.
Because, someday, I know she will tell me. And I know I can wait. I can wait forever.
So I start waiting, with a wise ass grin and throwback. “Someday, huh? You are one strange girl, Ash."
A knowing smile forms over her beautiful lips, ready to play along. “Better than being boring."
“Hey, stop stealing my lines! You may not be boring, but you’re so not original!”
“Uh, I seem to recall you started the unoriginality by stealing my line first!”
“Oh, whatever.”
Obnoxiously, but absolutely adorably, she pokes her tongue out at me, and the air lifts. Lifts so much, that I can’t stop the smile spreading over my lips. Spreading and shining right toward her, because I realize I can't be without her. Because I realize I'm not a moron. And maybe I have missed out on somethings. Maybe I’ve missed out on things I shouldn’t have. But it doesn’t upset me. It doesn’t bother me.
Because when she looks at me in the way she's looking at me right now, I know, more than anything, I'm not missing a damn thing.
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Rain pitter patters on my windows, blanketing the warm silence in its consistency. Its regularity. Its perfection.
And it is perfection. It’s beyond perfection.
“I’m sorry I left last night.”
Ashley’s fingers pick at my white down comforter, scratching at the sea of space between us. Lying face to face, on either end of my queen sized bed. So far from one another, but never feeling closer.
“It’s ok.” I quietly assure her.
“No, it’s not.” She takes a deep breath, still watching her fingers working away at nothing. “When you - when you said all that stuff,” She sighs, like she feels defeated, like her words are just too much to bear, and she doesn’t know how to get rid of them. I want to reach out and help her, but I know I can’t. She needs to do this on her own.
“When you finally said all those things, Spence, things I’ve been wanting you to say for so long. Finally, hearing your honesty about everything going on inside you, it was like I couldn’t take it or something.” Her hands begin to cradle the empty space between us, eyes a million miles away, as if they’re running through every moment we’ve ever shared together, “It’s like that phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’, you know? I got it, I got so much of what I’ve wished for and it was too much. It was everything, and I didn’t know how to hold onto it, I didn’t know how to wrap around it, because how does a person wrap themselves around everything? So I ran from it, from you, and every step away kind of killed me, because all I wanted,” She stops, abruptly, taking in such a deep breath before continuing in the softest voice ever, “When all I’ve ever wanted is to wrap myself around you, because you are everything.”
Wow.
I gulp, literally, something lodging itself in my chest. In my throat. In my heart. Something so big, so important, so life changing. Because I’m pretty sure she just changed my life. Changed it on an already life changing night. And what do you say to that? What do you say in return to something that’s divided your life?
Well, if you’re me, you stutter hopelessly for a few minutes, before you breathe out. Exhaling the one name you've been breathing for years now. “Ash.”
“I know. It’s ok, Spence.” She quietly, but firmly, says. Letting me know she feels it too. And all I can do is smile. All I can do is shuffle closer on the bed without realizing it. Like her pull is magnetic, and I could never fight it.
Because I’d never even want to.
“Yeah, it is.” I quickly glance down at her lips, eyes with a mind of their own, “It is ok.”
We’re now wrapped up in everything together. This moment, these words. The rain outside, falling down on the windows, painting everything clearer. Everything makes sense right now, everything that will not make sense in the morning, everything that will surely blow up in our faces, is not the same everything we’re sharing now.
This everything is relief. This everything is breathing in and out. This everything is our ends of the bed, and the small space between us. This everything is the hand she just stole from me, cradling it as if it were a new born between her delicate fingers.
“I absolutely love hands.” She twirls mine between hers, examining it, almost like she’s engraving each line inside her memory, “Did you know that?”
Something ignites in my own mind; a memory sparking brighter and brighter.
(“I think you’re wasting your time on someone who never holds your hand.”)
Before I can blink, I'm leaning closer. Listening with every fiber of my being. I’ve never wanted to hear the words that are about to leave her gorgeous lips more. Because I have waited, and Someday is finally here.
“No, I didn’t.” It’s sweet and patient, never rushing her. Never rushing anything on a life changing night that’s given us all the time in the world.
“Yup.” Her eyes shuffle between my hands and my eyes, not showing any sings of recalling the Someday memory, “I’m not big, I don’t know, I’m not big on anything really PDA -- no surprise there, I know -- but, and this is pretty embarrassing, so I trust you won’t call up page six first thing in the morning, right? I mean, I know you wouldn’t because I trust you big time, little girl.”
She smiles adorably, tapping my nose, and I can’t stop from smiling, giddy with excitement. Like the biggest geek in the world.
“So, when I was in grade school, I judged my boyfriends on the ones I’d hold hands with. I know, so lame and cheesy and just really -- lame," She laughs, nervously, and I squeeze her hand tighter, letting her know it's ok, letting her know I'd never judge her, and I think it works, because she keeps talking, like she's so much more sure of herself, and all I can do is smile wider, "You know, it actually worked. Like, take Anthony Rizzi in fifth grade, for example. Oh my god, biggest hands ever. Like clammy and always sweaty and just -- Ew. I totally couldn't date him, because I’d never hold hands with him. I’d never grab his hand at Salernos, the pizza place down the street, because who wants to eat with a furnace in their hand. And then there was Lee Hardy, in seventh grade. My God, he had the longest, thinnest fingers, and just -- Gah, they were so creepy.”
She visibly shudders and I bite my lip to hold back the laughter. “Creepy fingers, Ash?” Voice questioning, eyes skeptical, “Seriously, fingers can be creepy?”
“Uh, yeah.” She looks off into the distance, something she always does when she can’t believe I’m not picking up what she’s putting down, “Haven’t you seen Lord of the Rings. My precious?”
“Oh, God. Stop. You know I have and you know how much that creeps me out.”
She chuckles wildly to herself, knowing how much it does creep me out, knowing how well she’s done. Through her little giggling fit, she’s managed to roll closer to me on the bed. And I feel it.
Oh, how I feel it.
The room becomes quiet again, peaceful, and I remember the memory and the story, still not seeing the bridge. So I bring it back up again, hopeing she'll keep building so I can eventually see the connection I've been dying to see for so long.
"So, whose did you hold?”
My hand still grasped between hers, she smiles into my eyes, while her eyes smile into my mouth. Her eyes don’t even move when I catch them staring straight between my lips.
“Hm?”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Hands. You’ve given examples of whose you didn’t want to hold, so now tell me about the ones you wanted to. I want to know what Ashley Davies qualifies as the perfect hand to hold.”
It’s strange, my tone was completely humorous, my voice was soaked in playfulness. But, suddenly, nothing is playful about the mood. Nothing is playful about the way brown bores into blue, and suddenly our linked hands break the stare. Our linked hands held between our practically linked bodies.
“Well, that’s the thing, I’ve been searching for that hand for a long time. I’ve been looking for that one hand that I’d want to hold no matter what. For that one hand that would make me forget about PDA, about people watching, about showing affection outside of a sacred place. Because I’ve always known that that hand is out there. I’ve always known that that person is out there, whose hand I’d never hesitate in grabbing, because I couldn’t not hold them. Because I’d have to always be connected to them. Always.”
Her lips turn up into a heartwarming smile, and it burns straight through my chest. It burns through everything I am.
"Because that person is someone I can’t be without. Because I know it. Because I feel it and I'd be a moron to not let them know it. I'd be the biggest moron if I didn't show it. Show them what they mean to me. Always.”
I can hear the memory replaying in my mind, I can hear her words replaying over and over. Setting my insides on fire.
“So, have you? Found it, I mean.” I whisper in a voice so husky, so outside myself.
And she just holds our hands impossibly tighter together, so together, sliding them right against her chest.
"Yeah, I think...” Voice choked and full of emotion, with the biggest Ashley smile on her face, she pauses, ready to take a leap, ready to throw herself out there, and this time I won't pull her back, "I think I just did."
Because this time, I'm throwing myself out there with her.
Hugging her hand in mine, I'm holding onto the one thing that means everything to me.
Silently vowing to never let it go.
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Chapter Nine :: Only Brave Enough