Reading what Garrett wrote me…being privy to his life and thoughts. Knowing that at the end of each email, he still loved me. It soothed and tortured me at the same time.

I never wrote him back, but I didn’t discourage his communications either. And as it got closer to the time for me to return home for my treatments, my mind started wondering what it would be like to see Garrett. I knew I couldn’t, because it would take only one look, one touch, and I’d sink right back into him. I would throw out all of my steel and backbone, because I was still telling myself I was doing the right thing, and I’d let him back into my fucked-up life. I would give in to my own selfish wants and needs.

I decided to return home to Raleigh after staying ten days with my mother. While I very much enjoyed my time with her, I had a yearning to get back to the things that comforted me. My apartment, my job at Fleurish, Stevie and Sutton…Garrett.

No, not Garrett, I remind myself with bitterness.

On the day I flew out of Portland to return home to Raleigh, I eagerly booted up my laptop to read Garrett’s email, which I knew would be waiting for me. He always wrote to me late at night, and I started each morning off with his written words.

I sipped at my coffee as I pulled up my email, eagerly searching for his name.

And there was nothing.

For the first time in a week, he hadn’t written to me.

I checked my spam box, but it was empty.

Loneliness and disappointment surged through me, slapping me with the reality that I had come to rely on those emails. That even though I wasn’t giving anything in return to Garrett, he was still bolstering me by letting me know that I was still in his thoughts.

The mere fact I didn’t have an email waiting for me revealed one very cold truth.

He wasn’t thinking about me last night. And I’m betting that had everything to do with the fact that I never responded to him. He was without hope, because I gave him no hope. He had simply given up on me.

I got on the plane with a heavy heart and a confused mind. I had cut things off with Garrett, so why should this bother me? I should rejoice in the fact he was doing exactly what I wanted him to do…he was moving on.

But I couldn’t rejoice. I was sad and heartsick and completely perplexed over all these irrational thoughts running rampant through my mind.

Maybe, I remember thinking…just maybe something had come up and he couldn’t email me. Maybe it was a one-time-only thing and he would email me the following night. I let that thought lift my spirits slightly on the flight back home, and went to bed early that night, comfy in my own apartment, eager for the next day to dawn.

But there was no email the next morning.

Or the morning after that.

Or even the morning after that.

Pushing my body, I go through the motions of getting ready for my first day back at work. I’ve missed the soothing motions of making an arrangement, the subtle floral smells, and the way a creation comes to life before my eyes. I missed Stevie a great deal, but I’m a little hesitant to see him. He hasn’t said much to me about breaking things off with Garrett, but what little quips he’s dropped…he’s clearly not happy with me. I also know they’ve been hanging out together, not only from Garrett’s emails, but because one night I had called Stevie to talk and he brushed me off big-time. Told me Garrett had gotten him a ticket to the game that night and he was on his way out the door. He never called me back after, and I was stung by the way he seemed to be embracing Garrett over me.

When I arrive at work, Stevie meets me at the front door, his arms open wide and a light sheen of moisture in his eyes. As I step into his embrace, he coos at me, “Oh, baby…I’ve missed you so much. You can’t leave me again for that long.”

And just like that, my bruised ego over his connection to Garrett eases up.

“I missed you too,” I tell him as we rock back and forth, arms wound tightly around each other. When I pull away, I give him a critical once-over. The air has turned cooler since we’re in the last week of November, and Stevie is wearing a long-sleeved black turtleneck with black skinny jeans and black Doc Martens. He’s even wearing a pair of thick black plastic frames and his Mohawk is black.

“You’re looking kind of like a depressed coffee-shop poet,” I tell him with a snort.

“What do you mean? This is what I’m wearing to the game tonight. Cold Fury colors, and I’d rather be shot than wear one of those big, bulky jerseys. So unflattering. Of course, I’m going to wear a really nice silver belt. I’ve got to break up all this black.”

“The game?” I ask dumbly, and Stevie nods at me impatiently, turning away to walk back into the design area.

“Garrett gave me a ticket for tonight. Have to go cheer my boy on, you know?” he says in a singsong voice as he starts pulling the large buckets of fresh uncut flowers from the coolers so he can do inventory.

Something oily slithers through me, and I think it might be jealousy. “Garrett’s your boy now, huh?”

Stevie’s head snaps my way, and his eyes are wide. The tone of my voice was flat and filled with censure, because it didn’t seem fair that I’d lost Garrett but Stevie still had him. If Stevie was still friends with Garrett, that meant at some point I’d run into him, and I didn’t think I could handle that.

“Do you have a problem with me still being his friend?” Stevie asks quietly.

Yes, I want to scream at him, but I don’t, because I immediately feel like shit for wanting to take away Stevie’s friendship.