seems a tragedy

Del was feeling too many things in that moment – she added that to her growing list of injustices. She had spent days, weeks, months, preparing for this day, and trying to cycle through her barrage of emotions in private so she stood any chance of not doing it in public. She wanted to be effortless, and more importantly, she wanted to be brave. Del Rhodes had never been either of those things, even in her most dire moments. She was exposed nerve endings and smiles that only land right at the wrong times. She was a soft lie, because the truth was always too sharp. 

But she wanted his hand in hers, and she never wanted to let it go. Maybe because of that, for the flash of an instant, she held it too tightly. He has a nice smile, she thought, and that seemed unfair, too. The right kind of smile – there was an openness in it. Was that kind of smile for everyone, or was it only for her? For Lena? Still, she felt her features mirroring his, even as she searched his face. In her search, she’d lost his hand, and was suddenly entirely unsure what to do with her own. She watched as the fingers that had so briefly been laced with hers worked something like magic, the brief flicker of genuine incredulity flashing in her eyes. Her smile was earnest as she took the flower, gaze flickering from the thin paper to Sam, already holding it like she’d been gifted someone’s most important possession. Del had always cared too much for inanimate objects, treating them with more care than she ever extended inward. But this was special, and she held it close to her chest like it were a precious thing, because it was. She quickly shook her head as he demeaned his work, smile lingering. “Absolutely not. It’s perfect. I don’t see how anyone could do much better,” she said, managing, for the first time, to sound assured in what she was saying. She knew it then, heard it in her own voice – this was a person she loved. Loved in earnest, loved in all the ways she promised herself to be more open with after Eric. But this was different. If she said she loved him, he would hear it from the lips of a woman who never existed. Del would only ever be the woman who took her. 

She gave a small little nod of thanks before she stepped out the open door, reticent to look anywhere but at Sam, or her flower. She welcomed the winter air, though – the cold felt more a friend than the coffee shop’s heat. “Did she appreciate it?” She asked, head tilted as she reclaimed the hand that she hadn’t wanted to let go of in the first place. It was bold, and it was yet another thing that was unfair. “The girl and the flower. Was it love?” 

He braced at the chill of the winter air again, holding his eyes on Lena in a way that he was sure she could read exactly all his thoughts, happily spelling them out in his smile. Her question caught him by surprise, the hand returning to his only secondary to it. He gave her hand another gentle, approving squeeze, before his thumb idly ran along hers. When she clarified, a light laugh escaped him, and he felt his cheeks flush. His eyes fell to the ground, letting his minor chagrin be the lead he needed to start walking with her, knowing if he didn't he would have been happy loitering just to keep staring, that time looming over him. "She was my first crush," he admitted. "We were boyfriend-girlfriend for a whole three days, before she got mad at me for always playing Four Square at recess instead of with her and her friends, and I said they played 'stupid games'. Not exactly my most shining romantic moment." He glanced back at her, smiling sheepishly at the entire story.

"Not love," he said, a statement that felt easier than anything else. He wasn't sure if he'd really ever felt it, not completely or fully before, at least in that way. Maybe. Maybe somewhere along the way he'd felt inklings for someone else. The type of peripheral thing that you danced around, and that you thought that could settle into you with just a little more time, but all seemed to fizzle or disappear quickly. He loved people, deeply, but he knew it was different. Not the way he loved Lena, not the way that with her, here and now, he knew that he would put those words to with just enough courage, and enough assurance she felt the same. "I think, just that kid infatuation. Like, you think it's love because you see it in movies and you think you're supposed to feel that, even as a kid. Not sure if I really had anything all that much more serious."

He chewed nervously at the inside of his lip, already tearing skin within it. "How did you know when you were in love?" The question fell from him a little too curiously. He wondered if she'd notice, or would catch his own motivation in the question. "Engagement is a big step, especially as young as you were. Clearly you and your fiancé had something figured out. Did you just sort of know with him, or did you have some dummies making you paper flowers only to ignore you for Four Square first?"

With a huff and a wave of her hand, it was now Flora dismissing Sam. She wasn’t going to comment on Tony’s age or his habits but in a way, she got Sam’s point. Not that she’d let him know about that train of thought but nonetheless, she rolled her eyes when he shoved her. “Fine. I guess you’re just being good at your job or whatever,” Flora commented before pursing her lips, nodding as she squinted at the list once more. “Yeah? I mean, unless he meant that in a bring more weed way to which I say…no,” she joked before shaking her head. “Oh no, I think he’d kill that thing so quick and to be fair, so would I – don’t ever buy me a bonsai, Sam. I will kill it and beat myself up for it forever.”

Walking along, Flora let her eyes scan over the various items, leaning over to look over the list. “Nope. No carrots so far,” she confirmed before snorting, covering her face with her hands as she shook her head. “At least he’s creative. I think that would’ve been a better name for lemons. They do look like yellow footballs, he’s not wrong,” she said defensively, picking them up to put them into Sam’s cart. “I think grocery shopping would be more fun if we got something from the dispensary too though. This is tedious,” Flora mumbled, stretching lightly as she suppressed a yawn. “Are we heading to yours after this? Because I got all these snacks and luckily for you, I am in a sharing mood even though you definitely owe me.”

He snorted, a half-hearted laugh as she gave him shit. "No bonsai," he nodded. "I guess I already need to return your next birthday gift, then. Seemed like you were really starting to come around and be nurturing," he said, his tone sarcastic and teasing.

He let out a disappointed whine at the thought, and sighed. "If I would have looked at the list before, I would have brought so much weed for us. Could have had a really good time. Instead, I made you suffer soberly. What a shitty friend." He smiled at her sheepishly. "Yeah, we can hang out there. And I promise you as much to smoke as you would like. In repayment for causing you this mental pain." He paused at the apples, bagging some up for himself, and set them into the cart. "If I ask you to help me do some very, very light organizing back at the apartment first, are you going to kill me? Because, if you are, then ignore that I just asked you that."

"Rock emergency?" His eyes landed back on her, this time with a curiosity and confusion, trying desperately to come up with any kind of example to keep that glimpse of a distraction alive. "I'm sure there's tons of rock emergencies, or where they'd come in handy. I know a rock wouldn't help us, right now, but I would rather be looking at a cool rock. Feels like that'd be better. Do you carry emergency rocks around just to look at?"

It was unfair to call Sam her port in the storm when the skies were falling down around him, too. She would sit for hours with her phone in her hands, willing herself to find her own way to okay instead of demanding someone else hold her hand through it. That’s the moment it really clicked for Del – they didn’t have to give each other shelter. He needed a hand, too, even if both of them were shaking.

She hadn't expected a response until the morning – a look at her clock told her that it was late, even across the country. Her phone was barely out of her hand when it chimed with a response. The question had been an easy one – one that had mattered to her when all she wanted was to talk about her dad. ‘What was your friend’s favorite album?’

A night that had turned to a phone call, playing the album with a ‘1,2,3’ countdown in the background. The ‘tell me about them,’ that had felt like oxygen when she was sure there was nothing in her lungs but water. It’s what she wished someone had done for her in the days when she wanted to scream everything about Eric from the rooftops so it wouldn’t be swallowed by time. She so desperately wanted someone else to keep him, too. More than that, she wanted to be that for Sam. That night was the last time, she thought, it was acceptable to live in Lena. The night she quietly requested Sam share the memories he kept close – the memories he didn’t want to lose. After that night, after so much shared vulnerability, she should’ve been honest. 

Now, looking into his face, barely resisting the urge to reach up and touch him, to keep touching him, she knew it was too late. Selfishly and silently, her regret battled her relief, and she knew which would win. But it didn’t have to right now – it couldn’t. To stop herself from making good on the instinct to once again confirm that he was a tangible thing, not someone she’d made up, she grabbed that empty cup. For the flash of a second, her head was in her throat. In big, sloppy script on the side of the cup read ‘DEL,’ which seemed both an accusation and a reminder. With an almost trembling hand, she turned the cup inward. She offered Sam a smile that was all nerves, she shook her head. “No, no. You’re not late. I was early – too early. And then I thought maybe I’d go ahead and order and be sitting her really cool and composed when you got here. But then I just needed something to do with my hands, and then you were here and...” she trailed off, wrinkling her nose. “Which is a really long way of saying I think another coffee might be the end of me. We can go for a walk, maybe? If you’d want that?” She sounded so unsure, even as she stepped slightly to the side to toss the offending empty cup into the garbage. With it, she felt herself breathe a little easier – almost. She lowered her voice, slightly easier smile curving her lips as she spoke. “I do kind of want to see that flower napkin.” 

A sigh of relief spilled from Sam as soon as she proposed the walk. He was all nervous energy, and the idea of occupying some of their attention, without the added caffeine felt better than sitting there trying to force conversation until they'd fully broken the ice. "A walk sounds great, actually," he affirmed. He felt a heat in his cheeks at her smile, and nodded, already running through his head trying to remember the proper steps of making the promised napkin flower. "One condition. You don't get to make fun of me if I mess it up." As if it had been a worry that she would, or that he would have even cared if she did over something quite so corny to be offered. He reached out, his hand gently taking hers. An act that he almost regretted, because he knew he would feel the loss in his gut when he did have to drop it, just as he had when she pulled away from that initial deep hug. The emotional tether they’d created between them finally being physical, he didn’t want to let that go. He gave her hand a friendly squeeze, before leading them back towards the entrance. Despite his own mental protest, he dropped her hand as they came up to the bar near the door, and slipped a napkin from the dispenser. "Two seconds," he said with a wide grin.

It was telling, or at least he thought it was, why he'd hitched his boat to Lena. From their first few private messages on their grief forums to the first phone call that Lena had asked such a personal thing. Sam hadn't listened to that album for months, too scared to put it on, and too afraid that if he didn't before it was too late, it all would disappear. But, she’d managed to make him finally give in. Everything felt ephemeral and fake until the first time that Lena and him had gotten on the phone, and awkwardly found their voices with each other, that turned into hours long mix of tears and gentle whispers about their shared grief until the night had stretched well past reasonable hours to still be awake, his eyes fighting every urge to fall closed and seal from the salt of the tears he'd shed. He hadn't realized how much he wanted to share until it was pouring from him, and how much he wanted to hear back about Lena's own in return. No one else had been allowed to see him cry, no one had really heard him speak in months, and suddenly, she had him talking more than he had in years. She was the exception, and she remained that for years. Always his exception. The person he’d drop everything else for. He knew he told on himself every time he snuck out of a bar or cancelled plans last second to take her call. And, even as the two of them stood there, she was still exactly that for him. The one to drop any façade, the one that got to see him in his truest form, and who he would give exactly that. Subtlety hadn’t exactly been his strong suit, as it was, but with her, his hand was on full display.

He unfolded the napkin fully, before he folded just enough for what would be the actual flower over again. He rolled it, quick to twist and tighten what was ending up as the stem, until it was tight enough to hold on its own. He turned back to her, and smiled, one that was full of something that hadn’t really been explicitly spoke between them, but all other denial of it was flimsy at best. "For you," he presented what vaguely resembled something like a sad impression of a tulip or, if you really squinted, a rose, all brown and cheap paper. The small flash of his own disappointment at how it had turned out passed, though. It felt sort of fitting in its own way. “I’ll, uh, make sure to do better next time.” Next time. It was a stupid assumption, but he bit his tongue to dwell too long on it. He stepped around Lena, turning his body to keep facing her as he moved and continued to speak. He blindly reached for the door, and held it open for her. “I think my fourth grade teacher taught my class that for Valentine’s Day. I think I made fifty trying to get a perfect one for one of the girls in my class. But, my napkin flower making days have been long in the rearview before now.”

At the final enlightenment from her friend, Flora couldn’t utter anything more than: “Wow.” And with that, her brows furrowed once more. “Again…I worry about our boy Tony,” she told him with a mock-serious expression. “You should definitely take care of it yourself if you want some actual food on your table, I think.”

She watched Sam grab a back of chips and shrugged, going right in after he’d put it into his cart to get one for herself, a cheeky grin on her lips when she noticed Sam’s expression. “What did you do, Loftgren?” She asked, her tone accusatory but in a way that Sam should be used to at this point. Not quite meaning it but maybe meaning it a little bit after all. The answer was quick to come and Flora clicked her tongue. “I knew it!” She announced rather loudly, clasping her hand over her mouth, though her eyes narrowed for Sam to see. With that, she reached for the bag of chips and gummies she’d just put into her cart to move them over into his, grabbing another bag of whatever snacks were in reach. “This is for your poor roommate. You owe him, too,” she teased before pursing her lips, huffing out a breath. “Alright, next up is…little green trees. At least he stuck to a theme?”

He laughed, a sort of teasing defense. "He's like 36, if he can't handle his weed, I feel like that's a him problem. He asked me to, and I am nothing if not generous with the dispensary's supplies." Sam gave Flora a playful shove, before giving the next item a moment of thought. "Broccoli? That has to be it, yeah? Unless he's like wanting a bonsai tree, and no offense to Tony, but he's never been the miniature tree, 'inner peace', zen type dude as long as I've known him."

He grabbed the cart, and started heading to the produce section. "Is there anything else that looks like produce? Is there anything like 'crunchy orange sticks?" He scanned over the produce stands in the section for any other guesses, as he grabbed a bag of pre-cut broccoli. "There's something on there about yellow footballs, yeah? Lemons?"

She couldn’t hide behind Lena when they were face to face. She didn’t have the buffer between them that had once been more than two thousand miles wide. She didn’t, as she stood, even have two feet. She opened her mouth to speak, willing that tiny, detrimental word to come out. Instead, she heard herself say his name. Heard it as she heard the door chime again in the distance, heard a chair scrape against the floor somewhere behind her. A distant thing, from someone and somewhere else, under just under the quiet ringing that started in her ears the second she locked eyes with him. She wished there had been some composure in her voice – wished it had carried any sort of strength. Instead, it was weak and watery. The reluctant intersection of a whisper, a question, and an answer. For the second, she acted against her own intentions, her arms around Sam in a hug she’d desperately needed for the last eight years. The hug she wanted to give him from the first ‘yeah, me too.’ It felt desperate – but so did she. Because he was here, he was tangible, and he was real. But you aren’t, she reminded herself, that tiny voice being the only thing in that second that could make her let go. So she did, her smile apologetic, and her cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of feeling so irretrievably outside of her own control.

“Sorry, I just,” she stammered with a soft shake of her head, still standing, her gaze flickering to her own cup of coffee. She didn’t need to really inspect it to know it was down to the dregs, not with the way the caffeine had coupled with her nerves in the soft shake of her hands. “Hi,” she managed, the word sounded too soft – and not anything like the ‘I have to be honest with you,’ she’d planned. “It’s just... it’s really good to finally see you.”

He shook his head at the stammered apology. "Hi," he responded. Sam didn't want to sit, he felt too suddenly restless to do so, but he didn't want to stand either, his legs feeling like they'd give out at any second from under him. A million mental back and forths keeping him wired. There were plenty of things that he wanted to say, and so many others that he had said to her without any second thought. A careless expression of feelings was different when you weren't just a voice or a blue message bubble. "It's really good to see you too." It was all he managed out, still taking the entire situation in.

After a beat, his eyes followed hers to her cup, and immediately felt bad. Had he been that late? He internally chided himself, and then glanced up at the counter. "Um," he stammered out, finally meeting her eyes again. "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting. I woke up late, and tried to hurry. Honestly, I thought I'd still manage to beat you here, and have a coffee waiting for you, or something. Maybe make a flower out of a napkin, pin it to my shirt or something. Keep it as cheesy and weird as possible." It all came streaming out in one quick breath, suddenly realizing he'd thrown a lot at her. He pointed to her cup. "All that to ask, do you want another?" He knew caffeine wasn't going to help him, he already felt jittery in all of this, but they were here, weren't they? Coffee was expected, and he wasn't going to miss an opportunity for some sort of chivalrous act of buying her a $5 coffee. "Totally my treat."

With: Sam Loftgren Where: Any coffee shop

A part of Del wanted to throw her hands up and complain that it wasn’t fair that her most honest relationship – her most trusted relationship – was predicated on a lie. But that part of her fell silent, because she was the one who had built an entire foundation from nothing at all. Little truths ensconced in big lies, big truths only finding their way forward because it felt like someone else was saying them. In the last eight years, Del had found so many ways to justify herself – so many things that rang hollow, even to her.

Two weeks in Pennsylania, two weeks pretending she was still in Boulder – a place she’d never been. One month since she’d fired off the text that she was going to be in the area for work, would it be okay if she stayed in Philadelphia? Now, her name was on a lease, and she was pretending this whole situation was fair more temporary than it was. One month of learning that a moment of courage doesn’t negate a lifetime of a cowardice, and it certainly shouldn’t have been enough to send her across the country and setting her life on entirely new trajectory. It was the final thought that propelled her to send the text that she’d meant to fire off before her obscene dose of melatonin could pull her under.

Finally in the same area code – got time for that coffee tomorrow?

The message was too casual – overcompensated to hide the quiet desperation in hoping for both a yes, and praying for a no. Throwing her phone into airplane mode hadn’t stopped the text from going through – she watched in tired horror as the bubble flashed blue. Even in her first run at real honesty, she dug her heels in on another lie. She wanted to take it back – wanted to unsend the message, wanted to pack her bags and leave the state. Lena Rivers could have it, because Del Rhodes maybe was only a girl who was never going to be meant for anywhere but Hilltop, Ohio. But she didn’t. Instead, she found herself with tired eyes (the melatonin, as it turned out, had no power against the weight of her own conscience and terrible decision making) and as many shots of espresso as the barista thought she could legally give her. She was just going to scope it out, she justified. Maybe Sam wasn’t Sam, either – that notion felt both cruel, and like a relief. She’d left her phone in her car, making good on the airplane mode she should’ve utilized the night before. For someone who had spent the better part of a decade lying, she wasn’t particularly good at it – not when she had nothing to hide behind. Her eyes flickered to the door with every chime of the bell, as though she wasn’t half an hour early. Somewhere between the first and fifth patron, her mantra shifted from ‘you can do this. just be honest,’ to ‘it’s not too late to get up and walk away, no one ever has to know.’

But, when he’d gotten the text that she was finally in town a full month later, it was suddenly too real. He’d stared at it for too long, he thought. An anxious flutter in his stomach at the thought. He’d ran through every thought of what that meant of finally meeting Lena. It was something different than just a pop in from an old friend. They had left their friendship totally in the realm of text or phone calls, and for every time they ever mentioned maybe properly meeting one day, came 5 excuses why they never would. But, this meant something else entirely. He didn’t want to get out of it, he didn’t want to let an opportunity for them to finally be face to face to pass when they’d already spent eight years sharing their deepest shit to each other, shit he didn’t tell his best friends in the city. They deserved this chance to finally have that final bridge crossed, didn’t they? 

It took two hours, and a high that left him nearly non-functional before he’d finally figured out what felt like the perfect, relaxed response, and sent it out without any more thought.

Always got time for coffee. Can’t wait 

Waking up the next morning, he’d scrambled. All the anxiety of receiving the text that he’d manage to mute with weed rushing back the second he’d fully processed the situation all over again. He’d put on his best shirt, a fact that he was suddenly embarrassed about, and grabbed his jacket and was out the door. The entire way over to meet her, he ran through every scenario. Deciding, despite knowing her voice, that she was secretly a weird old dude he’d been talking to that was going to harvest his organs. He figured, a quick scan of the cafe, and if he saw any sketchy looking dude holding a knife, he’d slip back out and haul ass out of there. A repeated ‘you know her better than anyone. it’s going to be fine’ as he paced the sidewalk back and forth from the corner and the entry of the cafe.

The bell above the door brought him to reality, and he scanned through the seated patrons, pleased to report that none of the handful of people sitting in looked particularly threatening, or interested in a new presence stopping in. Except for one. He’d locked eyes, and he almost turned heel and left. Suddenly self-conscious of what he was presented with, deciding that maybe he would have rather this all been some elaborate scheme and had been out to harvest his organs, than someone he was going to suddenly nervously stumble through his words with when he’d never really struggled to find them with her before. He gave a nervous smile, and waved, before slowly walking over, forgoing a coffee, at least for now. “Lena?” He asked, half expecting her to say no, and ready to tuck tail and head back home to let his hurt pride send him spiraling in private.

Although he had never been the most outgoing but he always did his best to keep up with the friends that he did managed to make. That had been harder in recent months due to the unpredictable nature of grief. Some days it felt almost bearable and he was able to come up for air. And others he was drowning in it, unable to figure out which way was up so that he could surface. Thankfully most people in his life seemed to understand, at least to some extent, that any distance that might grow between them probably wasn't personal or intentional. But that was as much as some could do - simply sympathise and give him some grace. It wasn't as though he was ungrateful for that, quite the opposite, but it was still a relief for him to have friends that he didn't have to explain himself to. There were times he still felt it was necessary and an apology was always given but there was always that sense of ease that they could fill in some of the blanks themselves.

With Noah at a playdate, Oliver had found himself at a loss for a few hours and had taken the opportunity to reach out to someone he felt as though he'd neglected in recent weeks. The holidays had been hard for him. The first without his brother and Kirsten, not to mention that other family memories were wrapped up in them. "My mom always loved Christmas. Her birthday was the 22nd so we used to just roll it all into one big celebration." It was a soft and simple confession that he hoped would go some way to explain his recent withdrawal. "I think it went okay though. Or as fine as it could be. For Noah at least."

There were so few things that needed explanations, and life and grief were ones that never needed apologies or explanations. But, for as much as it was unnecessary, he wasn't going to keep Ollie from getting out what he needed to say. "The holidays are the hardest time to get through. Still have a struggle to get out of bed when it gets to be this time of year. I get it, man." He immediately hated the taste of his own vulnerability on his tongue, quick to swallow it down with a sip of his own drink. "I'm glad Noah's doing as okay all things considered. How are you holding up, though? A lot of big things right in a row, takes a toll. You taking care of yourself?"