Page 44 of A Lot Like Lavender

I don’t answer, giving little away aside from a shrug and a close-lipped smile, but I can’t help but feel curious to see how she’ll react.

“A life of crime… tampering with roadkill. Covered in tattoos. Golfing with PTA dads and puppy holding. Who are you, Jordan Love? What happened to the clean-cut, slug-eating med student I knew?”

I pull in front of the house, put the truck in park, and lean my head against the seat before answering. “I’m still that guy,” I say quietly, though I think it lacks conviction.

I remember him, and sometimes I do still feel like thatversion of myself, but so much has changed. My best friend died. My world shifted. My dreams along with it.

A different career. Various zip codes. A broken engagement. A path I didn’t expect but am more than grateful for. All leading me back here. Home.

“You are, but you’re not.” Emory unstraps and turns, bringing her knees to her chest and feet to rest on the seat.

“I know,” I answer, pulling one of my legs onto the seat and leaning my back against the doorframe. “You’re different, too.”

She nods but still says, “Tell me how.” Her fingers tap one by one against the sides of her legs, and rather than reach out and take hold of them, I let mine trace the stitches in the old leather of the seat.

“You cry less…”

Scoffing, she pauses her fingers. “I cry less? Seriously? In ten years, you think the biggest thing that has changed about me is I’m less emotional?”

“No, Red. I said you cry less, not that you're less emotional.” I know the disbelief in her tone is lighthearted, but I’m in real danger of telling her everything I’ve noticed in the last few weeks, alone, and that level of detail will only confirm that I’ve studied her for far longer. “You cry less now, and you also laugh less.”

She swallows but doesn’t argue, so I continue, “I think you try to convince yourself that you feel less than you do because more means… more everything. Good and bad.”

She shifts abruptly, reaching for the door handle.

“Wait,” I beg. Even though it’s foolish and gluttonous, I want her in this truck for just a minute longer. Greedy for any time I’m given. “In ten years, I’d almost convinced myself that you were less magnetic than you are, but it was all a lie. Because those pieces of you have only grown moreintense. And somehow, you’re completely oblivious, which only makes you more astonishing and insanely more captivating than I let myself remember.”

“You…” She grabs the handle and pushes the door open, slamming it shut before rushing up the stairs.

Following with my tail between my legs—because no way am I going to leave her while she’s upset, and I’m the idiot who caused it—I shut my own door and only reach the steps before Emory barrels back down them, rearing back her hand to slap me. Again.

I grab her wrist in time, though, stopping the reflex mid-flight. “Please don't, Red.” I more than deserve all of her ire, but she’ll only be angry with herself if she acts on it.

“Why did you leave?” she says through tears. Her hand’s frozen, midair between us like she’s keeping one ready in the chamber for when I release my grip. I slowly drop my hand, proving she won't.

“I… I…” I stutter. She didn't make contact, but the question I can't fully answer stings enough.

“I needed you, Jordan. You were his best friend. I thought you weremyfriend. And suddenly James was gone and so were you, and I guess I still just don’t understand. Help me understand, please,” she begs.

When I take her wrist in my hand again, pulling her into my chest, she lets me. “I was a coward, Emory.” Her quiet sobs wrack my chest, splitting me wide open. “After that morning…”

On that terrible morning, when Emory called, frantic, after contacting medics and her sister, she was unable to even clearly articulate the words I never thought I’d hear.

“James died. He’s gone,”she’d said.“He’s gone, Jordan. He’s gone.”

The memory of her voice—of Emory repeating thosewords—on the other side of my phone is the sound that’s replayed in my nightmares for years. It’s the one that I’ll never forget and will always wish I could.

“I couldn’t look you in the eye, Red.” She was so incredibly strong, standing with Dinah at her side, allowing everyone at the memorial to offer their condolences. Hugs. Tears. Yet she didn’t flinch a single time. Not when they asked for details, or reassured her that God had a plan, or when they placed their hands on her swollen, pregnant belly and shook their heads as they walked away.

What a shame. He was so young. He’ll never meet his baby girl…

And all I could think was,How dare they talk about my friend as if he were a memory… as if they knew him best… as if he were really and truly gone.

How dare they mention a good plan from God, when I knew the plan was never for a twenty-four-year-old to go to sleep and not wake up. To not know his child or grow old with his wife. That wasn’t the God I believed in. It was a tragedy. He could and would use it, yes—truth my parents reminded me of during countless conversations afterward—but I didn’t understand how it could ever possibly be good.

“I was just so angry and in denial and…” She hugs me tighter. My arms echo hers until we’re holding each other up. “I was the weaker of us, Emory. James was… He was so strong. And…” I have to pause when my voice breaks, tears brim, then trail down my cheeks. “I didn’t think you needed me here when you and Molly… You should have had him. It was always supposed to be him.”

“But I did.” Emory’s voice trembles. “I needed my friend. I needyou.”