“Um…it’s hard to explain. I’ll just have to show you later.” My heart races at the sight of this person I really, really like. I can’t imagine not crossing paths with him. Not becoming friends. I can’t imagine my life without the company of Garrison Abbey.
He stares at me for a really long moment. His deep expression practically caresses my cheeks. My chest swells, and I find myself covering my face with my mitten-hands. I feel undone, and we’re just sitting across from one another.
“Hey,” he whispers, his voice low. Garrison stands and brushes off more snow beside me, and then he takes a seat next to me on the lounge chair. Our shoulders touch, but good nerves swarm me.
Nerves that shout, “Carpe Diem, Willow Moore!”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I suddenly say what I feel. Instantly, the bottom of my stomach plunges and I regret every single word.
His features contort, breaking and breaking. Then he rubs his face with his gloved hand.
I hold onto my knees. Lost for words. I can’t look at him, but I feel him drop his hand and turn his head towards me, studying my anxious face and body.
“I’m leaving,” he tells me abruptly.
“What?” My voice spikes, sounding strange. I feel even stranger. Like this out-of-body experience belongs to another Willow in an alternate dimension. Not me. Not here.
Not right now.
Garrison fists the beanie in a hand. “I’m leaving,” he repeats, as though trying to make sense of this too. I dazedly hear his explanation about Faust, his parents, and being forced to finish his senior year at the boarding school in upstate New York.
The news pummels me. I jinxed myself. Moments ago I was thinking about how I can’t imagine not sharing his company, and now he’s leaving? I don’t just need Garrison with me at Dalton Academy and Philly.
I want him.
And I’ve never wanted a friend like this. Never yearned for a person to be next to me. Never slept and smiled thinking about seeing them tomorrow.
The more he explains his fate, in a very dry but hollow voice, I slump forward. My stomach caves, and the avalanche begins to roar down the figurative mountain that is our lives. I shield my face with my hands, afraid that I’ll start crying.
Crying is hard for me in front of anyone, and he needs encouragement. Strength. He needs, it’ll be okays. Not a blubbering, dejected friend.
My throat and eyes burn.
“Willow,” he whispers, his voice raspy.
I inhale deeply and wipe my running nose. “What about Superheroes & Scones? Maybe…maybe you can work the weekends.”
“…maybe,” he says, not entirely sure himself. “It’s not like you’ll be alone.”
My face twists. “What do you mean?” I meet his reddened eyes.
“Ace Davenport? He’s totally into you.” His face is unreadable, and his voice is too flat to make sense of.
My gaze widens, and my face keeps twisting into a wince. “That’s not funny.” I think I might cry now. I quickly rub the corners of my eyes.
Garrison looks genuinely confused. “He always talks to you at work.”
“To tell me how I stock the shelves incorrectly,” I say. “And every day, after I help a customer with comic book suggestions, he makes a comment about how I’m a know-it-all, and that I’m really some poser trying to be cool.” Ace is mean to me.
His nose flares, restraining hot emotion. “Why didn’t you tell me he was a dick to you?”
“I thought you knew.” I swallow the rock in my throat. “You always seemed irritated by him…”
Garrison stares up at the sky, tormented by this news too. “I knew this would happen,” he mutters more to himself than to me.
I shake my head. “What would happen?”
He touches his chest. “I’m cursed…and I hung around you long enough, and I cursed you too.” His voice breaks.
“I’ll be okay,” I try to assure him, rubbing my dripping nose as fast as possible. Pressure bears on my chest so hard that I feel physically sick. “We’ll be okay.”
His tortured gaze sweeps my face. “Then why are you crying?” A tear drips down his cheek at the sight of my leaking eyes. Water brims over my lower lids and scalds my skin.
“I’m scared,” I say the truth so softly. I wipe my face again, and he rubs his bloodshot eyes.
Garrison lets out a staggered breath and then stands up. He extends a hand to me, and I put my palm in his palm. He pulls me to my feet, our boots knocking together.
Very tenderly, he asks, “Willow, can I hug you?”
I nod.
It might be our last hug for a really long while.
Garrison tucks a flyaway hair behind my ear, and then he wraps his arms around my body. I coil mine around his frame, my arms feather-light still, but his embrace carries warmth and extra pressure that dizzies my senses.