Andy must have driven off in the wrong direction with the intention of backtracking so he could slip the note under my wiper after I'd returned to the backyard. I don't know why I never really considered him before. It all makes sense when I think about it. The fact that the notes didn't start coming until the day after I'd seen him at his sister's soccer game. We'd only seen each other a handful of times prior to that day, but since then everything seems to have changed. The fact that he tends to leave before everyone else when we have get-togethers—giving him the perfect opportunity without being spotted. The fact that he kissed me. How did I not see it before?
The truth is, I'm not disappointed. In fact, the warm tightening in my stomach suggests I might even be a little bit excited by the prospect. Andy Fletcher? Who would have thought? Maybe I would have considered Andy a lot sooner if thoughts of Mike hadn't kept getting in the way. It makes sense that Mike would consider us good for each other too. We've been best friends for years, we get along well, we trust each other, understand each other.
Hope.
That's the word Mike had used to describe my relationship with my—at the time—anonymous note giver. I get it now. I can see it too. Andy and I are both hurting and wounded, but it's the kind of pain that we can grow together with. We can be there for each other, be that support that the other needs. Unlike Mike and me where I'm completely lost as to how I should handle him.
The strange thing about all this is how secretive Andy's been about it. I've never seen him as a coward. He's the confident one who would rather be upfront and honest and risk looking like a fool then hide the truth from his friends. Even when he's not ready to divulge all his secrets to me, he makes it known that he has them and will reveal them when he's ready. I can respect that. These notes though, they seem a little unusual. Unless he was holding back in case Mike and I managed to make it work. Andy would never be the type to try and stand in someone's way of true happiness.
I drop my gaze back down to the five words scrawled across the page in my hand:
Again, I see the star at the bottom in place of a signature. My eyes analyze the writing, trying to decipher the meaning behind it. I'd originally assumed the star was hinting at the notes being from one of the Starling brothers, but knowing that the notes are coming from Andy allows my mind to open up to other ideas. Looking closer, I find that two of the lines of the star are faded, like residual strokes of the pen that weren't intended to actually be part of the image. Mentally erasing the two fainter streaks, I realize that it's not a star. It's an 'A'. He'd literally signed the note with his initial.
I could slap myself in the head for how obvious it is now that I'm looking at it from a new perspective. A fresh wave of energy washes over me and rather than putting out the fire, I let the smoldering coals offer their last remnants of heat while I settle back down into one of the lawn chairs and pull out my phone. My fingers slide over the screen until I find Andy's number, and without hesitation, I hit 'send'.
Putting the phone to my ear, I listen as it rings one, two, three, four, five times. When it goes to voicemail, I hang up before his voice recording can finish telling me to leave a message. It's possible he's asleep already. I mean, he did leave almost an hour ago. Judging by the last time I found him asleep, I'm already aware that he can sleep through just about anything. But, I also know he has a dangerous addiction that he refuses to disclose to me and that knowledge leaves me restless.
Even after I've put out the fire and readied for bed, I can't stop thinking about him. He could be anywhere, doing anything. My mind watches images of him chugging back bottles of liquor as he stumbles around mindlessly. Maybe his 'water only' standard is just a cover-up for his addiction to booze. Then my thoughts shift to uglier scenarios. I see him rolling around in sheets of silk with a blonde beauty, or tearing glass across his flesh for the freeing sensation of blood pouring from his veins. But none of those feel right.
Rewinding back through the weeks, I try to find anything suspicious about Andy's behavior. Apart from the obvious exhaustion, he's been his typical lovable self. Somehow he lost his job due to his problem, which I'm sure could attribute to some sleepless nights, so his tiredness isn't too much of a concern.
Just as I'm rolling over and snuggling up beneath my comforter, I remember Andy's obsession with being healthy. Could it be something greater than just trying to eat right? Warning signs flare to life and a sense of panic descends over me. I push my blankets back, suddenly roasting beneath their weight. Maybe he's not ready to discuss it yet, but I can't just sit back and watch him wilt away. He needs me, whether he's ready for me or not.
———
I usually sleep in an extra hour on Saturdays, but not this time. This morning I'm dressed and fed by seven. Haley's been awake for twenty minutes already, but she's been content in her bed with a rattle for the last ten minutes. Stepping outside, I find my mom tending to the flowers running along the front side of the house and let her know where I'm headed.
"Did you need me to do anything while I'm out?" I ask, pulling my car keys from my purse.
"Just groceries," she says, tugging at a stubborn weed.
"Okay." I swing my keys around my finger. "Haley's up but I already fed her. Just keep an ear out."
"Sure." I watch her wipe her hands on her jeans as she settles back on her heels. "Have fun."
I laugh, though I can't see any humor in what I'm about to do. "I'll try."
Fifteen minutes later I'm idling outside Andy's moms' home. I tried calling on my way over, but again, there was no answer. Since his car is parked out front, I'm assuming he's still asleep and make my way to the front door. His mom opens the door just moments after I ring the bell and greets me with a warm hug and an invitation to join them for breakfast.
"Oh, no no," I decline. "I already ate, but thank you. I'm just here to see Andy."
"He's in the shower," she tells me, guiding me into the house, "but he should be out any minute. Care for some coffee?"
There's a hopefulness in her expression that I can't refuse. I remember Mrs. Fletcher from years ago when I'd spend weekends hanging out with Andy. She was always confident and positive. Now, her skin looks thin and wrinkled with age, her eyes glassy and lost. From what I've heard, the death of a loved one is something that a person never fully recovers from. If the insecure but eager smile on her lips is any indication, she's desperate.
"I'd love some."
Following her into the dining room, I take a seat and wait for her to return with two steaming cups.
"Cream and sugar, if I remember correctly," she says, handing me the milky beverage.
I analyze the color and then nod approvingly. "Looks perfect."
"So you're here to see Andy?" she asks, tone optimistic.
"Yeah," I say, taking a sip of my coffee that's borderline too sweet—if such a thing existed. "Just wanted to chat."
"Oh yeah?" She smiles into her cup and I get the feeling there's an ulterior motive behind her seemingly ambiguous questions. "Can I let you in on a little secret?"
She glances over her shoulder toward the bathroom where Andy must be showering and then turns back to me with an excited gleam in her eye.
"Uh... sure," I answer distractedly when my attention snags on Andy coming out of the bathroom. He's got nothing but jeans on as he rubs his towel roughly through his hair before slinging it around his neck. He doesn't notice me and I'm grateful. Mrs. Fletcher, on the other hand, has her eyes zeroed in on me like a hawk.
"He's been pining for you for years."
Not even the sight of Andy's beautifully displayed torso can keep my attention away from Mrs. Fletcher's words. My eyes snap to hers, my coffee nearly spilling onto my lap when my hand loosens around the handle.
"Wait. What?" I question, watching joy fill the older woman's face. "Years?"
"Oh, yes," she says before leaning forward so that her quiet words can be heard easier. I mimic her movements, leaning into the conversation so I don't miss a single word. "Since high school, I believe. I mean, he never said as much and I don't think even he knew it—he still doesn't—but it was quite clear."
"How?" I'm completely enthralled with this conversation, my nerves jittery with the prospect that Andy's wanted me since before we really knew each other.
"Oh." She waves my question away with an impish grin. "Call it motherly instinct, but I just know. My boy loves you, sweetheart."
"Mom."
Mrs. Fletcher and I both freeze at the sound of his voice. Being so engrossed in Mrs. Fletcher's gossip, I hadn't heard him approach and neither did she. But, from the look on her face and the silent 'whoops' she mouths to me, it's clear she's indulged me too much.
"Hi, Lindsey." His expression is pleasant enough but there's a rigidness to his demeanor that indicates he's far from pleased.
"Good talking to you, Mrs. Fletcher," I say, ignoring Andy's greeting as I stand. I send a quick smile to the woman in front of me before grabbing Andy's arm in mine and tugging him toward the stairs and into his bedroom.
Andy shuts the door behind us as I flop down on his bed with an exaggerated sigh, the contents of my purse nearly sprawling across the bed with me. I feel drained and the day's only just begun. Glancing sideways at Andy, I find him leaning against the door with his arms crossed watching me intently. I feel like a puzzle he's working to piece together and I'm not sure what it is he finds so complex at the moment.
"What?" I finally blurt, rolling to the side and propping my head up with my palm.
Andy kicks away from the door and takes a seat next to my legs with his back to me.
"You're just going to ignore what my mom told you?" he questions, peering over his shoulder at me before turning to face me completely. Truthfully, he doesn't look ashamed of his mother's confession or worried that my feelings won't match his own. He simply looks confused. Like my reaction is the furthest thing from what he expected.
"Should I be surprised?" I ask in return.
"Maybe..." He scratches his left brow with his middle finger as he watches me. "Do you believe her?"
I sit up completely now, crossing my legs and situating myself right beside him. I would have a perfect view of his profile if his face wasn't turned toward me. Seems he's too curious about my response to miss the chance at reading my expression.
"Maybe," I shrug. His lips quirk up into a smile but he doesn't respond. "I mean, you did kiss me the other night—"
"To prove a point," he cuts in.
"Which would be...?"
"That just because we're best friends doesn't mean we have to shut down future possibilities."
"And you want there to be future possibilities?" I dig, watching his face for any sign that I've hit the truth on the head. His expression gives nothing away. Instead, he smiles before placing his hand on the side of my face and giving it a firm shove. I topple backward on the bed, laughter echoing around his room as I struggle back into an upright position.
"In your dreams, sweetheart," he says, mocking his mother's pet name for me. "Now, what are you here for?" he asks, standing and going to his closet. I watch him rummage through his sweater collection while I figure out just how to bring up the topic, and then I realize we sort of already did. He never denied what his mother told me. Informing him that I know about the notes can't be much worse.
When he turns back to lift an expectant eyebrow at me, I shrug. I have no idea how to respond but as I recall the second letter he wrote me, an idea forms. It'll be like hitting two birds with one stone. It'll be a way of revealing that I know about the letters while simultaneously letting him know how I feel. So with a deep breath, I take the plunge.
"I feel them too," I tell him, tugging my legs to my chest in some sort of strange protective stance. "... the butterflies."
Andy's hands freeze in their perusal through his sweaters and then he's turning with deliberate calm until he's facing me, but his expression is far from what I'd expect after such an admission.
"I really wish I understood what you were talking about," he starts to say, his face cracking into an amused grin, "because it sounds intriguing, but you're going to have to enlighten me on what exactly you mean."
"What I mean?" I repeat, nearly choking on the dryness in my throat.
"Yeah," he nods. "I mean, I get the metaphor in regards to butterflies in a person's stomach, but I can't figure out why you're..." His words fade as realization seems to dawn on him. "Wait," He throws his hands out, shaking his head in astonishment as he comes to join me on the bed again. "No. You definitely need to spell it out for me because what you're saying isn't making any sense to me."
"I mean, that's what you meant when you wrote that, right?" I question, unsure.
"Wrote what?"
Oh geez, not again.
"You haven't been writing me any notes and sticking them under my windshield wipers?" I ask, already aware of what his answer's going to be.
"No," he tells me, smiling sympathetically before letting a soft chuckle escape his lips, "but you're kinda making me wish I had."
---
Seriously Lindsey, learn how to ask guys certain questions without embarrassing yourself. *cringes*
So, what do you guys think?... Does Andy love her, like her, or does he only want her friendship? Lol
Does anyone... besides a certain someone (you know who you are :p) NOT like Andy? Cuz I find him a little bit irresistible! Baha!