I Will Wait

“So... the limit doesn't exist?” Isadora asked, staring down at our massive assignment for the weekend. The first week of class had passed by smoothly, surprisingly enough. Freddie was in my one astronomy lecture, but it was an elective I could skip if I really wanted to. So even though I didn't want to, I did. As much as I liked his company, I was here to get an education, not to flirt with a boy whose girlfrind would probably smother me with her pompoms if and when she had the chance. My teachers either liked me or had too many students to pay me much notice, which made me feel good. It wasn't too difficult, not yet, and I was almost happy with my decision to stay on the island. At least for the semester. I was testing it out. After calling around a little, I found out that my credits would transfer if and when I decided to go back home to Los Angeles.

Which was good, because I needed a backup plan in case things got to be too much here.

I glanced at Isadora's homework and help her find her mistakes, but she was right. The limit didn't exist... at least, not for that problem anyway.

“God, this is so boring,” she huffed, face falling into her book with a heavy sigh. I laughed, brushing my eraser against the stark white page with a small smile. “I'll probably just get Parker to do this for me when he comes home later.” After a beat, she lifts her head to look at me, propping it up with her fist. “We're going to the movies…”

Isadora and Parker had this thing where they couldn't go to the movies by themselves. They always insisted on going out in a group or with other couples. While I was with Graham and we were visiting, or they were visiting us, it wasn't that big a deal, because it was just like a double date. But now that I'm single, very happily single, I'm not particularly thrilled at the prospect of being the third wheel to the closest thing I have to a best friend and her boyfriend tonight. It's Friday, and while I don't have any plans, I don't want them to include going out with Isadora and Parker.

“Have fun,” I say shortly, hoping she doesn't ask me to go. Isadora whines, nudging me with her foot as she pouts.

“It won't be any fun without you,” she coaxed, batting her eyelashes at me as she sighed. “You know how much your commentary about movies have changed and how vintage films are so much better than modern ones.”

“Because they are,” I say, checking my answer on my calculator. I'm right, both about the movies and my homework. I shut my books with a light sigh, shoving them into my blue backpack. “I have stuff to do anyway, Isadora. I have a paper due on Monday I haven't started and - ”

Isadora yawned loudly, rolling onto her back so that we were pressed together. She sat up on her elbows, eying me with a look I recognized all too well. She was going to end up trying to convince me to go, and I couldn't. I just couldn't. I wasn't ready to go out places again. I was struggling through going to school every day, so I really didn't want to push it.

“Dolores,” she says, tone patient and kind. “You and I both know very well that your paper isn't due until the end of the semester and that you have no plans tonight, or any other night for that matter. Going out in a group of people who care about you won't kill you. Parker and I will stay with you the whole night, okay? It won't be as bad as you think. Scout's honor.”

I stare at her, biting my bottom lip. I know she's right. The paper isn't due until the beginning of December, but I just want to get it out of the way, so I can do... what? I don't have any friends but Isadora (and maybe Freddie but probably not) and there are only so many times I can walk the dog around the island before even she gets tired and wants to go home. Still, the idea makes me feel uneasy. I know, rationally, that it doesn't pose any serious danger - it's a dark theatre where most people will be focused on the film or on each other, and I can just sit there, anonymous and forgotten, until Parker and Isadora decide to take me home, anyway.

“Who's coming?” I ask softly, still digging my teeth into my lip.

“Well... me and Parker, obviously... and I think Lucy and Kent. You'll like Lucy. She's sweet. Freddie and Beth might come. Maybe. Probably not.” Isadora took a breath, then sat up properly. “It'll honestly be so much fun if you come, Dolly. We might go bowling after. It depends on how late the movie ends.”

My fingers pull the sleeves of my sweater further into my palm, balling the fabric up before releasing it, then balling it up again. I would go, just because I do like going to the movies, even if I am nervous. But Beth is going to be there, and she can't stand me because of Freddie. And Freddie is, in and of himself, something novel and unique and someone I can't think clearly around. If I go, she might think I'm only going for him, not because I genuinely want to see whatever film it is we're watching.

Still, I can't live my life scared of some stupid girl who has relationship insecurities. It's not my fault she's having problems with Freddie. And she might not go, anyway, meaning he probably won't go either. I'm also kind of looking forward to seeing him, almost pathetically so, even if nothing can happen between us. As much as I've been avoiding him, I really do sort of enjoy his company. Granted, I might not get to experience much of that company since he'll be with his girlfriend most of the night.

“Dolly?” Isadora is giving me that curious and frightened look, like I'm in the middle of a flashback or something and she's scared that I'm going to freak out in two seconds. I've gotten really good at not doing that lately, so she really has nothing to be afraid of.

“I'll go,” I finally decided, looking over at her.



I regret going to the movies immensely now. For starters, this is something I used to do all the time with Graham, used to cut class all the time to sit in the row all the way in the back with our feet propped up on the seats in front of us. I haven't been to the movies since the great it happened. (It's going to be a year in three weeks. I should be over it by now. I'm not.) Aside from the massive panic attack I feel looming in the distance like a heavy storm at the sight of the movie theatre, I also feel so alone. Everyone who came in a relationship.

Lucy and Kent are even more sickeningly cute than Isadora and Parker, which is honestly saying a lot because they were disgusting - holding hands and kissing and cooing at one another. (Disgusting because they reminded me of what Graham and I had and something which I will probably never have again.) Gemmy and Frank are a bit more subdued, and Isadora and Parker are overly affectionate because they have barely seen each other all week.

And then, of course - Beth and Freddie. Beth is worse than the rest of the girls combined, and Freddie is... decidedly aloof. Cool. Distant. She's showering him, kissing and wrapping her arms around him, making him give her his jacket because she'd had the bright idea of wearing a mini skirt and cable knit sweater and some flats, even though it's supposed to snow later tonight. (Smart.) He doesn't really play into her advances, not really, smiled a little but was still very... distant.

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure why. Are they having problems? It's none of my business, anyway, I tell myself, making a small face.

Beth must have thought it had something to do with me, because she shoots me angry, irritated looks whenever she can. Like I want to be here. A third wheel. Or a... ninth wheel? Whatever. The fact of the matter is that I'm exactly pleased about being here, and she isn't making me feel any better.

I buy myself a bottle of water and a box of junior mints, hanging on the sidelines as everyone else buys their snacks. I know that Isadora meant so well when she invited me. She doesn't want me to spend too much time alone, and after everything, I can't blame her. I wouldn't want to leave myself alone either if I was in her shoes. But still, I muse as I sip my water, why did it have to be on some massive group date? She probably doesn't see it that way, but I'm uncomfortable, and I just want the movie to be over so I can go home and bury myself under my blankets for the rest of the weekend.

We all sit in the back because we've gotten there early enough to be able to afford to do so. I'm going to sit on the end, a few seats away. By myself. Alone. I've grown used to being alone, and don't have any real qualms about it. But Isadora wants me to sit next to her, so I do. I don't notice that Freddie is sitting next to me until I'm taking off my coat and hit him by accident. I apologize sheepishly, and he smiles, and I feel like I'm being stabbed.



I manage to avoid getting roped into going out to eat after the movie. I'm hungry, starving even, but I don't think I can stomach seeing Beth sit on Freddie's lap to feed him, or something. She seems like the type. Instead, I take the ferry home, then drive to Zoe's. She's not home, out with her friends still at the retirement complex a few blocks away. I pick up Iggy and take her upstairs along with a carton of ice cream.

What I'm about to do is stupid. I know that. I shouldn't, is the thing. I should know better, have gone through months of therapy just to be able to say his name out loud without falling to my knees and sobbing, but. There's the operative word. I'm a glutton for punishment, I guess. I don't know. I should know better.

I don't, clearly, because I'm locking the door and setting the dog on my bed with the carton, starting to dig through the boxes I have yet to unpack fully. I throw blouses and pants and dresses in my haste, fingers scrambling to find it. It's a small box. Non descript. It has a big 'G' on it in black permanent marker, taped over and over to keep it from falling apart, to keep me from getting into it. I can still turn back, can't I? Or at least until I find it, fingers finding purchase on the firm, worn surface.

I pull it out, feeling my eyes sting angrily as I eye it. We were happy. Weren't we? I'd like to believe we were, even though I know, somewhere in the rational part of my mind, buried deep beneath equations and rationales and reason, that we were unhealthy. It wasn't good for him or for me. And I shouldn't miss him this much. I'm being stupid. I should hide this box. Throw it into the ocean, let the sand and spray wash it away to the depths of the ocean floor, where it'll be buried and forgotten forever. I should.

Instead, I set it on my desk and force myself to clean up the mess I'd made, folding the shirts, hanging the blouses and pants and dresses neatly. I hope to distract myself. I want to feel better. I want to be better. I'm not. I would like to think I have enough self control, that I've been in recovery long enough to know that this is so wrong and that I'm being stupid, but I don't.

The last few months have paid testament to that.