Once Thanksgiving is over, I'm surprisingly eager to get back to college. And not because the situation at home is pushing me away.
Cleaning out the basement with Mom is therapeutic. Once we've cleared the dust and there's a pile of stuff in the backyard ready for Goodwill, a sense of peace seems to settle over us all. We haven't removed the final traces of Caleb. Instead, with the tartan couch steam-cleaned and the rickety pool table fixed and a new smell of forest pine air freshener, he feels more present than ever.
I don't cry when Dad drops me off at my dorm. For once, I feel like I'm back somewhere I'm meant to be. When we hug goodbye, I hold onto him for a couple of seconds longer than natural, hoping the squeeze conveys the kind of sappy words he hates to hear aloud.
And I'm okay. Despite everything, I'm glad to be here, and once I'm left in the bedroom alone I find myself smiling like an idiot. It's crazy how much difference a few days can make. I'm looking forward to getting back into a routine with my classes; I've already decided I'm going to study harder for these last few weeks. I'm looking forward to taking better care of myself, whether that be eating three full meals a day or maybe even signing up for the gym. And I'm also looking forward to the next time I get to hang out with Fazia, Adam, and Elliot.
The new friends who've quickly become my closest.
I catch the first two in the cafeteria on Monday evening, spotting Adam's long hair and Fazia's floral hijab amidst a sea of other heads. It now feels natural to walk over and slide into the spare seat on their table.
"Where's Elliot?" I ask, when the greetings and How-was-your-Thanksgivings are over.
"Cramming," Fazia tells me. "He's got a big biochemistry exam tomorrow morning. Second day back—he's got it rough."
I try to keep a lid on my disappointment. "So he's not eating?"
"Don't think so," says Adam. "Last I heard, he was woefully underprepared, so stopping here for a slice of cold pizza might actually be the difference between passing and flunking."
Fazia turns her nose up at her plate. "And this pizza is definitely not worth it."
"Yeah," I agree. "Not even close."
I keep a smile on my face, but inside I'm a little deflated. Elliot's absence shouldn't be such a big deal—especially when Fazia and Adam are lively enough company on their own—but I had been looking forward to seeing him for the first time in a while. I would never admit it, but there's a slight flutter of anticipation every time I think about it.
I guess I'll just have to wait a little longer.
After dinner, I head to the library, riding the novelty of my motivation to knuckle down for the rest of the semester. But it's hard to concentrate. Maybe a few days off have taken me out of the swing of things, because even in an almost-empty study corner I can't focus on my laptop for more than a couple of minutes. It's not long before I pull out my phone and start scrolling.
Then, it's even less time before I send the message.
MORGAN: Studying hard?
The speed of his reply is an answer in itself.
ELLIOT: I'm so screwed
ELLIOT: Also kind of hungry
I smile.
MORGAN: Maybe I can help with one of those things...
I've already stood up from the table and am packing my laptop away when my phone vibrates with another message.
ELLIOT: Are you an expert on carbohydrate metabolism?
MORGAN: Carbs are definitely part of what I had in mind.
***
No more than twenty minutes after sending that message, I'm standing outside the main door of Elliot's dorm—and that's after making a vital detour along the way. I balance the stack of cardboard boxes one-handed, using the other hand to slide my phone out of my back pocket and send him another text.
It's kind of like déjà vu.
MORGAN: I'm outside.
ELLIOT: ???
Despite his reply, the instruction is clear, because it's only a couple of minutes later that I see Elliot step out of the elevator and notice me through the glass door. He presses the button to release the lock and pulls it open so there's nothing but air between us.
"Hey," I say, with a smile. Then I hold up the three cardboard boxes. "I brought pizza."
He eyes my offering with intrigue. "Is that...?"
"Carlo's?" I finish for him, referring to the much-hyped pizza takeout on the edge of campus. It's famous in the Davidson sphere and beyond for its mozzarella and garlic stuffed crust, not to mention the huge pots of garlic dip that come free with every pizza. "Yeah. I picked it up specially. Heard you were skipping dinner, and I was worried about your blood sugar."
"Clearly not worried about my arteries, though," he says, with a grin. "You're so awesome, Morgan. I can't believe you trekked all the way to Carlo's. And... wait, are those—?"
"Mozzarella sticks." I gesture toward the smallest box at the top of the stack.
He lets out an unrestrained groan: one that makes me feel peculiar inside. "You are a godsend," he says, stepping back to let me through the door. "Seriously, what would I do without you?"
As we ride the elevator, cocooned by the tantalizing scent of cheese and garlic, it occurs to me that this is the first time I'll see Elliot's room. That in itself shouldn't be a big deal—but his presence is making me feel all kinds of weird tonight. Maybe it's the time spent apart. I'm buzzing with an underlying energy that feels like, given the right moment, it could jump between us. I don't know whether I should be encouraging it, but I also can't seem to stop myself.
We step out of the elevator, and I hang back in the corridor as he fumbles with his key.
"Here," he says, when the door clicks open. "Come on in."
True to uninspiring dorm design, his room is identical in layout to mine, both this and last year. Two twin-sized beds sit on opposite walls, with two cheap wooden desks between them. One side is pretty bare, with not much to suggest anyone lives there other than faded blue bedding; from what Elliot has told me, his roommate spends so much time at his girlfriend's apartment it's a mystery why he even pays for room and board.
But Elliot's side has much more character. The bedsheets are brightly-colored stripes, there's a laptop and a pile of study material on the desk, plus an expensive-looking camera, and two walls are covered by a collage of photographs. I'm drawn to them instantly. Once I've set the food down on Elliot's desk, I step closer, my eyes darting from one to another with my attention leading the way. Most of the photos are of people: candid shots where they're an unknowing subject, against naturally beautiful backdrops of greenery or lights or striking architecture. And each photo is of someone different. Guys, girls—including separate shots of Fazia and Adam—of all different ages, races, appearances, their personality shining through. The effect of them all together is breathtaking. For a moment, I'm lost on my own in this colorful world—but then I remember Elliot is standing right behind me.
"These are incredible," I tell him. "I didn't know you had them all displayed like this."
He gives me a wry smile. "It's not exactly a gallery exhibition."
"You don't need one," I say. "Not when your Instagram account is already getting so much attention."
Realization crosses his face. "I thought that was you who followed me."
I simply smile and shrug.
"Go on, then. How did you find it?"
Deciding it might be fun to make him wait a little, I move lazily back toward the desk and retrieve one of the pizza boxes. I may have eaten earlier, but cafeteria pizza doesn't even come close—plus, I can always make room for Carlo's. Elliot seems to remember his rumbling stomach too, as he reaches for his own. "One of your subjects happens to live in my dorm," I say eventually. "Word travels."
He takes the first bite of a slice of pepperoni, and this groan is even worse for what it does to my insides. I try—and fail—to focus on my own food. "I'm interested to know exactly what words were used."
"It was the night of that frat party," I tell him. "Honestly, I've blocked the whole thing out of my memory."
"Ah." Elliot nods understandingly. "Yeah, that didn't seem like a great night."
It's the first time we've seen each other since he walked me home, and I'm relieved that we can talk about it without making things awkward. I'm not proud of how I acted, but it seems like the conversation that came out of it may have actually solidified our friendship. Whether we like it or not, Josh's tragic death binds us together in more ways than one—and we can either embrace the overlap or simply let it drive us apart.
Right now, I'm glad it's looking like the former.
"The photos are really good, though," I say, steering the conversation back to more stable ground. "I mean it when I say you're crazy talented."
He chuckles. "Yeah, well. Tell that to the other ten thousand members of the photography group."
"You're really bitter about that, huh?" I say, peering at him with amusement as I bite into a mozzarella stick. "You should consider therapy."
This makes him laugh: properly this time, the hearty sound bouncing off the ugly breezeblock walls. It's impossible not to smile along with him. And when he catches my eye again, it only gets wider. "You may be onto something there."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
A blanket of silence descends. As Elliot takes another bite of pizza, his eyes drift slightly out of focus, and I can tell there's something else on his mind. "Hanna Griffin approached me," he says quietly.
I freeze. "She did?"
"You said you guys used to be friends, right?" he asks, to which I nod. "I thought so."
"What did she say?"
One hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. "She, uh... asked if I wanted to take some photos for her magazine," he says. "Said she'd seen my work on Instagram and thought it was cool."
I don't know how to respond. "Oh."
"I said no, obviously," he says, even though it isn't obvious. "I can't imagine what it would feel like to put my name to that, after everything they wrote about Josh. It's just... too personal. Plus, I couldn't do it to you."
"To me?" I echo. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I know you guys were friends. Things between you and her are pretty messy, right?"
"Well, yeah," I admit. "But that's not reason enough to turn it down. Not if it's a good opportunity. Not if it's something you want to do."
"That's the thing," he says. "It's not. And even if it was... well." He pauses, swallows. "I know exactly what you'd say. You'd put on a brave face and tell me it was okay, like you've started to now. You'd tell me to pursue it if it was going to make me happy. But inside I know it would break you—and if I did that, I wouldn't be able to live with myself."
This catches me off guard.
For a second I simply stare, blinking.
His words run too deep for them to be anything but true, and yet and I still struggle to believe him. Because it can't be right. There are a million and one reasons for Elliot to turn down an offer from Hanna—namely the way she's treated his brother, who happens to be the only real family he has. That in itself is the ultimate act of betrayal.
But apparently there's more. It's not only his feelings on the line here—and I play a bigger role than I could ever have expected. For weeks now, I've wondered why I get this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about Elliot, and maybe this has something to do with it. It's more than friendship, because as much as I love Fazia and Adam, I certainly don't feel this way about them. He knows me better than should be possible in the short time we've been friends. He can comb through my tangle of conflicting thoughts faster than I could ever hope for.
And to top it all off, he's nothing like Josh.
"How do you manage to figure me out so easily?" I ask. My voice is quiet, like the fragile moment might shatter if I speak too loud.
The pizza on the floor between us lies forgotten.
"I don't know," he says, just as quietly. "Maybe it's a talent of mine."
Then it happens. It's not clear how; all I know is the magnetic pull gets the better of us, and our heads draw closer and they don't stop until our lips have collided. It feels like it's been a long time coming. I know in reality it's barely been any time at all, but right now it's like every other moment has been leading up to this. I couldn't wait a second longer if I tried.
Elliot's lips are soft, his movement timid—as if he's scared of going in too hard or too fast and ruining the chances of everything beyond. But I don't want him to be scared. I want him to know that this is exactly what I want too, despite trying to convince myself otherwise, and neither of us should have to feel guilty about it. So I lean forward and press myself against him more insistently. One hand trails to the back of his head to pull him in even closer.
It's fast and breathless and fueled by pure adrenaline, but I can't imagine it happening any other way.
And yet it's over as quickly as it started.
Elliot is the first to pull away. Instinctively, I lean further forward, my lips chasing his across the empty space before I realize they've retreated too far. When I open my eyes, he's staring back at me like a deer caught in headlights.
"That wasn't meant to happen," is the first thing he says.
"Elliot—"
"That seriously wasn't meant to happen." He reaches up to run a hand through his hair, looking so panicked he might tear it out. "I don't... I don't know what came over me—"
His alarm is contagious; I can feel it seeping into the room, melting away the pleasant warmth of just a few moments ago. Frenzied, his eyes dart from me to the floor to the backdrop of his room before repeating the whole cycle again. "I'm sorry," I say, desperate to make this stop. "That wasn't—I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."
Elliot's now shaking his head. "You didn't," he tells me. "And that's the whole problem."
"Is this about Josh?"
"Of course it's about Josh." The more he looks at me, the more it feels short-lived, like any minute now he's going to start physically backing away. All this after getting closer than ever. "God, what would he think if he could see me right now? He'd be disgusted. Lost for words. And it's hardly surprising. Not even a year, he's been gone, and what am I doing? Sitting here like a complete traitor and taking advantage of his goddamn girlfriend."
This lands as hard as a slap in the face. "Elliot," I say. "You're not taking advantage of me."
"Yes, I am. Of course I am. You miss him, and you're grieving, and the only thing I was supposed to be to you all this time was a friend. That's what you needed. Not some sleazy guy with an ulterior motive who makes a move on you at the first opportunity. What was I thinking?"
"It's nothing like that," I insist. "I kissed you because I wanted to. Because in the moment, it felt right. Because I started to realize that maybe I want you to be more than my friend."
It's supposed to be the answer, the line of truth that rights this wrong, but I haven't even finished my sentence when I realize it hasn't changed anything. Elliot looks downright repulsed by his actions, regardless of whether he or I started it. If he could turn back time and erase this moment entirely, I know he wouldn't hesitate. And once that kind of regret has set in, there's nothing I can do.
"That can't happen, Morgan," he says. "It just can't."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not fair."
"Not fair on whom?" I challenge. "On me, or on Josh? Because I've already told you this is what I want, and if it's not that, the only other person standing in your way is gone. He's been gone for months now. And, you know what? He wasn't even the person we thought he was when he was alive. In a way, he was lying to us both. So why the hell should we let him have any power over us right now?"
My words make way for silence; there is nothing to mask my shaky breath. I don't know where this defence, this certainty, has come from. The way I feel about Elliot—my dead boyfriend's brother—is a gray area, straddling the line between morally acceptable and reprehensible. There's a reason my mind has been so keen to push those thoughts way. It's not right, but it's not wrong either—and the space between the two is what holds all manner of possibilities.
Yet here, I've chosen a side. I've taken my pick, albeit subconsciously, and the reasons come easier to my lips than they ever have to my head.
They just have to be strong enough to convince Elliot.
Because if they aren't, this will all be over before it's even started.
He looks at me. Pauses long enough to raise my hopes. Then ducks his head. "We just can't," he says, and there's a note of finality in his voice that tells me not to argue. "I'm sorry."
What good is sorry, though, when I've already begun breaking into pieces?
"I think I should go," I say, already gathering to my feet. Because I may not be able to think straight, but I do know I need to get out of here. I step over the boxes of almost untouched pizza and feel my stomach tie itself into a knot. "I just—I don't think it's a good idea for me to be here right now."
Elliot reaches out a hand. "Wait, Morgan, I—"
"I'll see you later."
I don't know whether this is true, but I don't give myself or him time to dwell before I've pushed through his bedroom door and am hurrying down the hall. I half expect a voice to follow in my wake. Any moment now and he'll be at the threshold, calling my name, pleading with me to stay so we can figure this out. Because our friendship is surely too precious to end like this.
But nothing comes. Silence follows the closing of the door, and it stays with me until the elevator arrives and I step inside. By the time it reaches the first floor, and I step out into the bustling lobby, I'm certain that no one is coming after me. It's a strangely comforting thought to know I'll be alone, undisturbed, with my thoughts all the way home.
In the past, I may have had tears in my eyes, but there's no danger of that tonight.
I could say I've changed, but that's not the whole truth.
There'll be no crying—because if Josh really is out there somewhere, watching me right now, I don't want to give him the satisfaction.
----------------------
Um... so I guess I'm back with a bang?
It's been a while since I wrote this scene and proofreading it now I am SQUEALING inside, so I'm dying to know what you guys are thinking. Was Morgan right to give into temptation? Are her and Elliot a good pairing? Or was this whole thing doomed from the start...?
I *need* to know. Drop a comment below and let's talk!
Until next time...
- Leigh