More Than Friends (4 page)

The next morning, they’d talked and decided that, though they’d both enjoyed the previous night’s activities, they had no interest in dating one another. Jennifer was hot, but she was a control freak, and Evelyn didn’t want to be micro-managed. Her pride had only stung a bit when Jennifer told her that she liked her women more femme. She wasn’t that butch, but she’d never be described as girlie either, rather somewhere in the middle. Regardless, they had resumed their friendship with very little effort or awkwardness, just a shared memory of a good time.

“Seems like you’ve got a thing for women and bicycles,” Melanie said.

“Purely coincidence,” she said.

“So it’s not going anywhere with Tiffany?” Kendall asked.

She shook her head.

“Do you think she feels the same way?”

“Yeah. She said she liked me but couldn’t see us together long-term.”

“Could you?” Melanie asked, her face soft with compassion.

“No.”

“Hey, it’s her loss,” Kendall said with a dismissive wave. She’d known after watching Tiffany and Evelyn interact during the football game Sunday that her latest fix-up wasn’t successful. “She was a ditz anyway.”

“I appreciate you saying that, but she really isn’t. I’m not upset about Tiffany. I mean—not her specifically. I just want—aw, hell, I want what you guys have.”

Ouch.
Kendall lifted her gaze and, even in the dimly lit room, she saw her own grimace mirrored in Melanie’s features. Kendall hadn’t revealed their relationship problems to Evelyn, and she didn’t think Melanie had either. It wasn’t that she
couldn’t
talk to Evelyn; they shared nearly everything else. But she didn’t display her feelings readily.

Besides, she didn’t want her own frustrations to color Evelyn’s friendship with Melanie. Rather than put Evelyn in the middle, she kept her concerns about her future with Melanie to herself.

“Ev, no relationship is perfect. And you certainly shouldn’t idealize ours.” Melanie’s voice carried a heavy weight of sadness and maybe a little regret.

“You know what I mean. I want forever. I want to be deliriously happy.” She chuckled. “Who doesn’t, right?”

“Yeah, who doesn’t,” Melanie murmured.

Kendall’s heart ached, knowing that she no longer made Melanie deliriously happy, assuming she ever had. She could vow once more that things would be different, say that she would try harder. And she wanted to. She wanted to believe she could change what she now dreaded was the inevitable. Someday, possibly soon, Melanie would break her heart, because she couldn’t bear to do it herself.

Chapter Three

Melanie rolled over and looked at the clock for the third time in an hour. She sighed and flopped onto her back. Beside her, Kendall stirred, mumbling but not waking. She could sleep through the house falling down around them.

Melanie lay there for a minute more before she decided she wasn’t going to sleep again. She folded back the covers and slipped from bed. She didn’t need a light to navigate around the bed, across the room, and into the hallway. When she reached the living room, she clicked on a floor lamp in the corner.

As she looked around the room, she studied each item she and Kendall had purchased together. That vase, the photo frame made from reclaimed barn wood, the collection of DVDs. The thought of disentangling the history they had here made her sad. How would she know when it was time to let go? She’d been waiting—for what she wasn’t sure. A sign, maybe, some moment of clarity. Was the flash of guilt she’d felt when Evelyn said she aspired to a relationship like theirs enough? If only Kendall had cheated or lied, her decision would be easy.

She laughed, short and harsh, at the direction of her thoughts—wishing for infidelity so she could be spared the hard choice. But she wouldn’t be granted an easy out. Yes, they had problems, but she never questioned Kendall’s loyalty.

So how long should she wait? What could prompt her to take the next step—the one she’d been dreading, the one she’d been putting off? Kendall’s parents had split up when she was seven years old, and she had never forgiven them for giving up on each other. And though she and Kendall didn’t have any children together, Melanie knew Kendall’s strong commitment to their relationship was connected to her disjointed childhood. She wouldn’t be the first to surrender. Though she was certain Kendall knew—had known for some time—that neither of them was happy, she would most likely place the blame on Melanie’s shoulders, at least initially.

“What are you doing up?”

Given the path of her thoughts, hearing Kendall’s familiar voice sliced through her heart. “I’m sorry if I woke you.” She turned. Kendall’s hair stuck up except on the right side, where she usually slept; there it had flattened against her head. She looked adorable, like the woman Melanie had fallen in love with seven years ago. That realization made it even more difficult to admit those feelings had faded to friendship.

“You didn’t. But I rolled over and realized you were gone.”

Melanie’s stomach twisted. She didn’t think Kendall intended her words to have a double meaning, but she felt their foreshadowing keenly.

“Kendall, I…”

Kendall tilted her head to the side, confusion then concern sliding across her face. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Yes.” She drew a slow breath as Kendall crossed to sit beside her. What was she waiting for? There would be no perfect time, only the ever-growing knot in her stomach and a million reasons to put off what she should do, for both of them. She closed her eyes, unable to look at Kendall when she forced out the words. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?”

She didn’t repeat herself. Kendall’s inquiry was only a stall—her brain trying to delay the pain for her heart.

Finally, Kendall shook her head. “We’re just in a slump—”

“No, Kendall. We’ve been saying that for too long. It’s not a slump anymore. Something is wrong.” She opened her eyes, but when she saw the heartbreak on Kendall’s face, she wished she hadn’t.

“Maybe we just need more time.” Kendall’s eyes filled. The veneer of Melanie’s control threatened to shatter. “I can’t, Mel—you’re my best friend.”

She wanted to take it back, pretend she hadn’t said it. They had been hurtling toward this moment, but somehow that knowledge didn’t blunt the blow. Instead, she said, “I know, honey. But we deserve more.”

Kendall lifted her eyes to the ceiling as if she could find some solution there.

Melanie took her hand and their fingers naturally intertwined, as they had been doing for seven years. Tears stung her eyes when she realized that this might be the last time they touched each other this way. “It’s time, Kendall.”

Kendall nodded slowly. “I know.” Her voice cracked and she coughed out a sob.

“I’m so sorry.” She moved to gather Kendall in her arms, but she jerked away and stumbled to her feet. She fled down the hall toward the bedroom.

Melanie stayed on the couch, uncertain what to do next. Would Kendall try again to convince her that they could work it out? If she did, could Melanie stick to this decision? She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, fighting her rising panic. She’d been barely twenty-six when she and Kendall got together. If she’d had any idea who she was back then, she certainly wasn’t the same woman now. Now, her identity felt so wrapped up in who she was with Kendall. Who was she without her?

*

Kendall paced the bedroom, fighting the suffocation rising in her throat. Melanie’s words played on a loop in her head.
I can’t do this anymore. Something is wrong.
She’d had similar thoughts but always had been able to excuse them as the growing pains of a long-term relationship. Hearing Melanie say the words with such resignation and finality ripped something inside her.

She drew short panting breaths, nearly hyperventilating. What was supposed to happen now? Certainly they’d had fights, but she’d never actually envisioned them
here.
She couldn’t think, couldn’t even find room to
feel
while surrounded by the home they shared. She grabbed a backpack from the closet, jerked open a drawer, and shoved a fistful of clothes into the bag.

As she strode down the hallway, she steeled herself against seeing Melanie. But the pain hit her like a two-by-four as she descended the stairs and saw Melanie sitting on the couch cradling her head in her hands. She summoned anger in order to resist the urge to comfort Melanie, when what she really wanted was to hold her and tell her they could fix whatever was wrong. This situation was Melanie’s fault and she refused to feel sympathy for her.

She looked away in avoidance but in her periphery caught the motion of Melanie raising her head. She shoved her cell phone and wallet into her pocket, then picked up her keys.

“What are you doing?” Melanie stood and moved toward her. Kendall forced herself to concentrate on frosting over her pain before she raised her gaze. She guessed she was successful when Melanie flinched and took a step back as their eyes met.

“Leaving. I’ll come back for more of my things later while you’re at work.”

“You don’t have to do that. I—I can sleep in the guest bedroom and we’ll figure things out in the morning.”

She shook her head. “I need to get out of here.”

“Kendall, it’s,” Melanie glanced at the mantle clock, “three a.m. Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”
What do you care? Does it matter anymore? Do
I
matter?
She wanted to fling the words at Melanie as if she could also hurtle the pain away.

“This is as much your home as mine.”

“I can’t be near you right now,” she snapped. Melanie flinched again, as if she had struck her. And for a moment she wished for the relief of such a physical reaction. But, dark as her emotions might be, she would never raise a hand to Melanie.

Instead, she headed for the front door. When Melanie whispered her name, she froze and let the soft cadence of Melanie’s voice wash over her, allowing herself this one last bit of warmth. She wanted to turn and run into Melanie’s arms. But sadly, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d sought shelter there. They’d grown further apart than she’d even realized.

Straightening her shoulders, she made herself move through the door and took a tiny bit of pleasure in slamming it hard behind her.

*

Evelyn stepped out of the shower, toweled off, then slipped on a thick, white robe. She wound her hair up inside another towel. She’d watched the sunrise while running five miles. In the early hours, autumn gave ground to the impending winter. Later the air would be warmer and humid, but as she ran, she pulled the crisp, cool air into her lungs. She liked starting her days with the endorphins from a good run still pumping through her system.

Ever since middle school, she’d risen early, often before her parents began getting ready for work. She would shower and dress for school, then go downstairs and pack a lunch for her father. Later, she’d discovered that he didn’t even like peanut butter and jelly, but he had dutifully carried that brown paper sack out the door every morning, stopping to kiss her before he went.

During high school, she joined the cross-country team and dedicated her mornings to training. No matter the weather, she logged several miles, followed by a quick session on the weight bench her father set up in the garage. She’d reached an age where time with her friends replaced time spent with her family. She wouldn’t have admitted it then, but she enjoyed the mornings when her father joined her for her workout.

The current state of their relationship made the memory of those mornings even more valuable. She loved her father. But it had been many years since she’d been able to enjoy the simplicity of her childhood adoration. These days, her family and professional lives intertwined more often than she would like, and she and her father were always on opposite sides.

Her morning ritual no longer included sloppily crafted PB and J. She lifted the protein shake from the counter beside the bathroom sink and took a large swallow. The thick, strawberry-flavored liquid washed away her nostalgia.

She loosened the towel and tugged a brush through her damp hair. As she crossed toward the closet, she heard the doorbell. She grabbed some sweats and a T-shirt and pulled them on as she headed for the front door.

She glanced through the peephole, then swung the door open. “Kendall? What are you doing up and about so early?”

“I—I’ve been driving around.” Kendall’s monotone response and the unfocused look in her eyes caused Evelyn to study her more closely. Her hair was disheveled and her worn sweatshirt didn’t really go with her khaki slacks, as if she’d thrown on her clothes with little regard for style.

“Come in.” She stepped back and waited until Kendall moved inside. She took her arm and steered her to the kitchen table. “Coffee?”

Kendall nodded numbly.

“Did you sleep last night?” Kendall looked ready to crash. Evelyn opened her single-serving machine and popped Kendall’s favorite-flavored coffee inside.

“Not much.”

“So, what’s going on?”

“Melanie and I are splitting up.”

“You had a fight? What about?”

“We didn’t really fight. She just told me she wanted to break up.”

“You should apologize, even if you don’t think you were wrong.”

“I’m serious.”

“Whatever it is you’ll work it out.” Melanie and Kendall didn’t have a tumultuous relationship, but any long-term couple had their little blowups.

“It’s beyond that.”

Evelyn studied her. The agony etched on Kendall’s face backed up her words. “What happened?”

Kendall shrugged, but the nonchalant gesture contradicted the quiver in her chin. “She said it was time.”

“What the hell does that mean? Something specific must have happened to spark this.”

“No. Nothing.”

“You fought—”

“No.”

“What was she pissed about?”

“Evelyn, no,” Kendall barked, then took a deep breath. “She wasn’t pissed. She was—resigned. This has been coming on for some time now.”