Page 27 of Run To You
We settle on the couch, close but not too close, and for the first time in months I feel almost normal. Like maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to do this, to be here and not totally fall apart.
Eden clinks her paper cup against mine in a mock toast. “To cookies and questionable life choices.”
“To friends who show up anyway.” I smile.
And I mean it.
9
Eden
Everything feels new and yet so familiar. The smell of Sloane’s shampoo, and the way she bites her lip. It took a lot of vodka and friendship therapy last night to fully process the past few days. I was still spinning out about Sloane’s lack of text message reply when I got back to the apartment.
Bella took one look at me, rolled her eyes, and set about pouring us both drinks. Becca joined us and together we got slightly hammered whilst having our mutual session. Becca needed time to digest too. She was just as shocked as me that Sloane was back, but she certainly wasn’t havingthe type of crisis I was having. Past tense because after my alcohol-fuelled session, I came to a decision.
I want Sloane in my life again. I’d be cutting my nose off to spite my face if I tried to live any other way. I’ve loved the woman since high school, and if the past few years are anything to go by, I never stopped and won’t ever get over her.
I have the same attitude towards us as I did back in Holcroft. Yes, we’re young, but that doesn’t mean we don’t know our hearts. Sloane hasn’t told me she wants us to try again, and I’m not expecting her to just yet.
However, I saw it in her eyes. I know her…possibly not as well as I used to, but the foundations are still there. I know her facial expressions and the hidden meanings behind her eyes. She was scared I’d run away when we bumped into each other, but once we got talking, she was also scared I’d stay. That’s why she didn’t want me to be nice to her. She didn’t want me to forgive her because once I did, we’re moving into new territory.
For a long time now, we’ve both been living in a very similar state of bullshit. Hurt, sad, guilty. I think we both wear it like a second skin now. But I don’t want to live like that anymore. All I’ve wanted was to see her again, and here she is. I know we’ve got loads to talk about andI’ll have moments where I’ll want to run away because Sloane could hurt me again. But the chance I’ve been begging the universe for is here, presented to me on a lovely, blonde-bobbed platter.
Becca has every intention of diving right back into the best friend role, and I plan to step into the role offriends for now, until we’re ready for more.
So here I am, sitting in Sloane’s new abode. I can’t recall ever being in the Bishops’ pool house before, but I’ll hazard a guess Sloane’s parents had it renovated for her return home. It’s really nice, and having a pool literally outside the front door is pretty great. Bella and I only have a puddle that forms in heavy rain outside our place.
Sloane looks lovely. Although I’ve always said she could wear a trash bag and pull it off. I love her new haircut. It makes her look a little older and makes her eyes stand out more. Her beautiful blue eyes.
Alright, chill out, Eden. Fucking hell, this ain’t a period drama.
We drink our coffees in silence as we settle into what is a weird as fuck situation. I don’t want Sloane to sit here and apologise again. Of course, I want to know how she is and what’s been happening with her, but I also don’t want her to feel like she’s having to justify herself to me or tellme things she’s not comfortable telling me. Maybe I should start with my life? Something light.
“Hey, guess what?” I blurt.
Sloane jumps slightly, sloshing her coffee. “Shit.” She chuckles, wiping her chin.
My brain is laser-focused on the movement of her tongue. I’m fucking tragic, I swear. “Sorry, my bad.” I laugh, hoping to cover any residual tension. Inside my mind, I’m already sketching out a painting of Sloane licking her lips. I wish I had some paper and a pen.
“You look excited.” Sloane smiles. “Are you going to finish telling me your news?”
“Right! So, my gran got me a gallery space…in London!”
There’s a beat, like the news crosses the equator in Sloane’s mind and needs to clear customs before arrival.
“Wait, like, an actual gallery?”
“Yup.” I slap the coffee table for effect, nearly spiking my cup onto the floor. “Not a closet in the back of a dry cleaners or something equally starving artist. An actual, for-the-public, space in London.” I whistle, still in disbelief myself. “I did a piece for this really posh lady, and well, she had a friend who owns a gallery and bish bash bosh, poshlady shows my work to her mate and he wants to showcase it!”
Sloane’s smile forms in slow motion, full of shock and then pride. “That’s…Eden, that’s fucking amazing.”
Now I’m blushing. “Yeah, well, it’s a start. It means I actually have to start acting like a serious adult.” I laugh.
She looks at me with this dorky sincerity, and there’s so much familiarity in it. “You deserve this. Especially after the last couple of years.”
I almost make a joke and say, ‘Yeah, nothing like using trauma as an artistic launch pad,’ but I don’t. I hold her gaze instead. It’s weirdly tender, honest. God, I missed this.
Sloane clears her throat, snapping herself out of the trance. “Will you have to go to London?”
