“Want to get some lunch?” he suggests, pointing over to one of my favorite diners, ‘Happy Chef.’
“Okay,” I agree. We walk over and get ourselves a booth toward the back.
“Sy, what’s up?” I ask again, wondering if I’ll get an actual answer this time. The waitress hands us our menus and leaves us to look them over.
“Not much. What’s up with you?” he asks, looking at me over his menu.
“No seriously, what’s going on?” I demand when he goes back to studying our meal options. I don’t know why he thinks I will just go along with this little charade. I’m not sure what has changed with him, but this new friend business is starting to freak me out. What’s worse, is every time I see him, he reminds me of the baby, but at the same time, he makes me forget. How’s that for a contradiction?
“I wanted to see you,” he says straight out. No games, no lies.
“Okay, why?”
“I don’t know why.” He places the menu down. “Fuck, Holly. I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve tried not to want to see you, tried to go back to ignoring you, but I can’t.”
“Why?” I find myself asking. “What’s changed?”
“I don’t know,” he repeats like the thought annoys him. I don’t know what to say, how to respond. The two times we were together were intense; I’ll give him that. But he showed no sign of wanting anything more.
“Sy, I’m not ready for this. I’ve spent the last few months reliving that nightmare, and I’m getting there. I promise you I am. But this,” I gesture between us, “this isn’t going to happen,” I confirm, and I hate myself for it. I don’t know if he thinks he owes me something or what, but the last time we spoke before the shooting, we had no plans to start a relationship.
“Fuck, Holly, I’m not asking for anything. I just…” He takes a breath to gather himself. “I’m not labeling this. I’m not talking about what this is when I don’t even understand it myself. But when you walked out of that clubhouse that night of the barbecue, I knew I wanted more. I might not have admitted it, might not have showed you that, but you had gotten under my skin and nothing I did was getting you out. I was so close to following you, but I held off, and I wish I hadn't. Then that shit with Zane went down. I nearly fucking lost you before I ever had you. I can't even tell you what I was feeling then; it fucked with me, Holly. This, right now, is what this is about. I get that this is hard for you, but it’s the same for me. Don’t make me label it. Don’t make me explain it. Just let this be what it is,” he says, holding my gaze.
“You guys ready to order?” the waitress addresses us, breaking the moment before I can answer him.
“I’ll have a club sandwich and a diet soda, please,” I order and wait for Sy to place his.
Just let this be what it is. Can I do that?
“So, we’re not going to talk about what this is. I’m just going to put up with you randomly showing up at my workplace and being my friend?” I surmise when the waitress finally leaves us.
“Yes, and you’re going to do it with a smile,” he adds.
“And what happens when—”
“We’re not talking about when, why, or how,” he points out.
“You know that sounds ridiculous?” I ask.
“Don’t give a fuck,” he shrugs.
“Okay…” I tentatively agree, still not feeling okay with this situation at all. Whatever is going on between us can go one way, or another. I know that right now I’m not looking for anything more, but I can't help that feeling of knowing that whatever is going on between us could be destroyed with my secret. Part of me is telling myself I should tell him now before it’s too late. But then the other part is telling me I’m not ready to get into it. I just wish it wasn’t so hard. I wish I didn’t have this secret to keep. Maybe things would be a lot easier if I tried to forget about it.
***
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sy’s deep rumble comes from behind me as I check in for my daily workout.
“Wh…what are you doing here?” I stammer for a moment wondering why Sy just walked into the gym. My gym.
“Working out,” he says, checking in using his electronic card. Shit. Sy works out here?
“You work out here? I’ve never seen you here,” I accuse, thinking this is one of his setups.
“Been working out here for the last three years, Holly,” he informs me as he walks to the locker room. Well, shit, how did I miss that? I follow behind hesitantly, not looking forward to working out in front of him. After our two dinners last week and lunch this week, I’m not sure how I feel about what is happening, but at the same time, each moment I see him in this new light makes me want to be better. The whole situation is strange. Before the shooting, he wouldn’t give me the time of day. I knew he was struggling with something, and now all I can think about is what has changed. If I weren’t so worried it would bring up questions of what happened with us, I would ask.
I go about my business, storing my belongings in a locker and pull my hair up in a small ponytail. I started using the gym two weeks ago when Dr. Elliot suggested it would help with the anxiety. I had never stepped into one before. I’ve always been one of those people who could eat what I want and never pay the price. When she prescribed it one session, I never thought I would enjoy it as much as I do. I never knew actively going to the gym would help clear my mind and help center me for the day.