Dichotomy.

“When are you going to bring Kellie around again?”

I exhale impatiently under my breath.

“She’s been really busy, Mom,” I lie immediately.

“Oh,” she replies, before continuing on about never seeing her anymore.

The truth is, Kellie’s all surface.

My parents love her, my friends like her, and my siblings tolerate her.

But they’d have second thoughts if they knew her like I did.

The truth is, there’s no depth.

To her, to our relationship.

And deep down…it’s shallow.

“…you should bring her to visit when you get back from your tour,” she suggests. “We’ll go out to dinner…”

I just nod amicably to placate her, but I’m really thinking of tour.

“I just remembered,” I interrupt. “I have a few things to get out of the way before tomorrow,” I excuse myself. “I’ll be back in the morning to say goodbye,” I promise.

Without Kellie.

Twenty minutes later, I park in front of what I think is the right address and ring the bell.

There’s no answer, but I hear music emanating from the inside so I push the door open anyway.

“Hello?” I call out, in time for something small to dart past my legs.

“Did you let him out?!” a worried yell comes as she comes into view.

“I’ll get him!” I hardly have time to process what I’ve said before I’m out the door, chasing after her tiny dog.

Thankfully, she can’t get very far on her short legs, and I overrun her less than half a block away.

Tina looks genuinely concerned when I bring the dog back to the front door, keeping a tight grip because she’s squirming in my arms.

“What’s her name?” I ask, handing her over.

“His name,” she corrects, shooting a brief glare at me. “He could’ve been hit by a car, you know.” The dog’s stopped struggling in her arms as we step inside. She closes the door behind us and sets him on the floor.

“Sorry,” I reply, somewhat annoyed. I want to ask her if I should’ve known her precious pet would run out.

Sarcastically, of course.

“It’s okay. His name is Rigby,” she offers, answering my original question.

“As in Eleanor?”

“Exactly.” She’s grinning in slight surprise when she looks at me next, and I’m startled. “It’s one of my favorite Beatles songs.”

Then I realize I’ve never seen her actually smile before.

I smile back instinctively.

“They’re kind of depressing,” I comment, just for the conversation. “The lyrics, I mean.” She shrugs, leaning against the counter.

“Well, yeah, but…the string arrangements!” she interjects. “I mean, have you listened to them?” she all but demands. I let out a short laugh at her enthusiasm.

“We used to cover it,” I inform her. “Awhile ago.”

“You’ll have to sing it for me then,” she challenges, raising an eyebrow. “So I can see if you can still do it justice.”

“Anytime,” I reply lamely.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

It’s then that I notice she’s only wearing a thin tank top paired with shorts, and maybe my gaze strays for longer than necessary.

She coughs slightly, a frown on her face when my eyes meet hers again. Her arms cross over her chest self-consciously.

“Uh…why are you here?” she asks, completely throwing manners out the window by now.

That is, if she had any to begin with, which I’m legitimately unsure of.

“Oh! Right,” I exclaim, accidentally startling her. “I was in the neighborhood…”

The truth is, when someone says they were “in the neighborhood,” 9 times out of 10 they’re liars.

Including myself, of course.

“I brought yours and Tom’s plane tickets for tomorrow. We’re all meeting around noon; the flight’s boarding around three. We figure we’d get there extra early,” I explain in one breath.

“Mm…” she murmurs noncommittally. I place the envelope on the table. I automatically start to rock on my heels, searching for something to say.

“Uh…so... Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I excuse myself, already making my way across the kitchen and out the door before she has the chance to respond.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“Where’ve you been all day?” she asks, an edge of annoyance in her tone as I let her into my apartment.

“I had band stuff to take care of,” I answer.

“I wanted to spend the day with you,” she informs me, annoyed and pouting. "You're leaving tomorrow and you act like it's nothing. Are you even going to miss me?"

The truth is, I probably won't, not deep down, at least.

“Sorry,” I answer.

Because what I’ve learned is, when a girl is mad, you say sorry whether you mean it or not.

“It’s fine,” she answers, softening up. She walks over to me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

It’s that easy.

Maybe it’s just her.

“Mind if I stay the night?” she murmurs in my ear.

The truth is, I don’t care either way, but I still follow her to the bedroom regardless.

And afterwards, as I’m trying to fall asleep while she’s clinging to me, I’m wondering why she puts up with my shit.