Palm Trees

"Why not?" I asked. I was honestly extremely confused.

Matt looked uncomfortable. "Well..."

"Just say it," I said. "It won't hurt me."

"Not like you hurt her, huh?" he muttered. I didn't answer because I had nothing to say to that. I could tell he still blamed me for everything that happened. I waited until he answered. "I'm not actually sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?" I asked, getting frustrated.

"She didn't tell me why. I just know she said it."

"Is this a joke? Some kind of test?" I asked. I leaned back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "Maybe this is all for revenge. Just to mess with me."

"Maybe," he said. He said nothing more, so I glanced at the clock. We'd been sitting here for hours, trying to figure out what you meant. Had I driven all the way here for nothing? I didn't actually find out anything. Other than the fact that for some reason, you wanted to keep me away.

But it made sense. If I were you, I'd probably keep myself away too.

"I have to go," I said, breaking the silence. Matt and I didn't have the same kind of friendship we used to. Everything was fucked up, even though the last time we'd seen each other was years ago. I think it was my fault more than his.

"Already?" he asked.

"It's going to get dark. I have to get home." The last part was a lie. I told Hannah I would be home in a few days, and she would ask me why I came home so early. I didn't want to face that yet. Coming home early and empty-handed would be like admitting defeat, and I wouldn't be caught dead like that. I planned to stay at some cheap motel for a few days, just to save my dignity, when really, it wasn't going to be saved and I would be wasting my time.

"Oh. Okay." Matt gave minimal answers which felt completely wrong. That was another reason I had to get out of his house before I started going crazy.

I gathered up all of your letters and made sure they were in order. I went out the front door after telling Matt a goodbye. "I'll see you later."

"Wait," he said, as I was walking down the front steps. I turned around. He went back into his house and returned with a ripped sheet of paper and a pen. On the paper, he scribbled a single line of writing. It was an address. He handed it to me.

"Thanks," I said, my hopes rising. I couldn't help smiling, but he didn't return it. All he did was nod, wave, and slam the door in my face without another word.