#slomace

“Unless they pay, right?”

Primož quickly glances up, and away from the red, leatherbound book. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Unless they pay for gas and beer.”

Vesna snorts. “Figures. Though, you’d complain about the beer, anyways.”

“Not my fault Novak doesn’t have good taste.” Primož answers as he sticks his nose in the air and huffs. Vesna knows he’s joking, but she also knows there’s a little bit of annoyance towards the last time he trusted their friend to buy him alcohol. “Krešimir is on thin ice.”

“Because he has better taste in wine?”

“Because he has better taste in wine,” Primož confirms with a little nod. He hasn’t moved from his spot by the bookshelf, nor has he let go of that book. Vesna had already moved to another spot in her living room, cleaning off her television stand. She has a variety of knick-knacks, ranging from small stuffed animals she had received as gifts over the years, to pictures of her and her human friends.

Yet, they’re working slowly. They were supposed to have been done by early afternoon, since they had started after an early breakfast and it’s not like her place is very big. They had come up with every excuse in the book to go slowly, from frequent coffee breaks to pausing to look at old stuff she still had.

As Vesna works in silence, Primož curiously opens up the book. The very first page, as he had assumed, was a note from himself to her. It was mostly an acknowledgement--a thank you--for her supporting him with his hobby of writing. She hadn’t made fun of him then for liking poetry, and even gave him suggestions of poets.

The note also contained a thank you for the joy he had when they ran off together. Being around her, as he recalled, was the best time in his long life. For that period of time--for as short as it had felt--he didn’t feel old, he didn’t feel as tired and his creativity had come rushing back to him. He wrote the most then.

In the corner, there’s a little stain of coffee--no doubt it had been an accident. He doesn’t know if he caused it or if she did. That part is blank. Still, it doesn’t matter, he supposes. It just adds to its ever lengthened age.

Primož flips through the pages, stopping every so often. He had tried his hand at romantic poems, some of them were too corny and he finds himself cringing at the poor use of some words. Again, every so often, he comes across different coffee stains.

“Hey,” he finally speaks as he closes the book and holds it up. “Did you get this published?” Of course she did, that’s why its leatherbound and not in its original notebook (were the pages had been torn, where he had scribbled words and doodled in other parts--he remembers complaining that he needed a new notebook because he was running out). 

Vesna looks up and over at him, curious as to what he could be referring to. Her eyes widen for a brief moment.

“Oh! Yeah,” She stands up and stretches a bit. “The notebook was getting really worn down, so I went and had someone publish it into a book. I hope that was okay.”

He had given her the notebook as a thank you gift, so it was hers to do with as he pleased. Primož hadn’t expected her to do anything with it.

“Oh, well. It’s yours.” He says, feeling his face heat up a little bit. “I didn’t think you’d like it that much.” That comes out as a mumble, and he hopes Vesna didn’t hear him say that.

“I think you’re a good writer, and you giving me that notebook meant a lot, so.” Vesna shrugs, feeling as embarrassed as he does. “I just wanted to make sure nothing became unreadable. After I left, I think I read the notebook every day.” She pauses for a moment. “It was a source of comfort, because I missed you. I missed everyone, a lot.”

An easy way to hold onto old memories, he thinks.

“Well, um,” Primož says, a little awkwardly, unable to look at her. What does he say to that? “Thank you.” That doesn’t feel right.

“I still have the original notebook,” she says, quickly. “It’s put away somewhere. All of your drawings are also in that book.” Of course, he feels a sense of pride and flattery, but yet, at a loss for words.

He licks his lips, trying to think. Primož doesn’t just want them to lapse into an awkward silence, especially now that he’s made it awkward. He draws in a deep breath and lets it out. Think, he sternly tells himself. Vesna is already getting back to work, quickly packing away more things.

“Wanna take a break?” He finally asks as he gently sets the book back down on the shelf. She has to be moved out in two days, and the constant breaks won’t help, but they can pull an all nighter. “And get a coffee? I’ll pay.”