+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +
VOL. 1: CHAPTER FORTY

     This night seems as long as any other night, with me finding a comfortable seat on my families couch in the living room, and inviting Rick over for pizza and horror movies. He almost instantly agrees, saying that he'd be in here in fifteen to twenty minutes. I wait patiently for my cellphone to alert me that he's arrived.

After Spencer had dropped me off at home, and we'd had our conversation—if you could even call it that—I'd felt lighter, for some reason. Like I didn't have to lie to myself, anymore. I have been spent these last few weeks trying to convince myself that the right thing to do is get over Elijah. Especially now that he's apparently started dating again.

But it was much easier said then done.

The best thing I felt I could do for myself, was take in all of these feelings I'd been harboring for him—and simply let myself feel them. Because maybe that would help some. And it was definitely better than denying all of those feelings altogether.

Spencer was a better guy than he gave himself credit for. I saw this when I realized how understanding he was about the entire Elijah situation. Because I'm pretty sure any other guy would have thrown a fit. Not that I would blame him, if he would have.

As I sat in the sofa, both legs curled into my side, and my mother's throw blanket tossed over them, I was more than excited to have a friend like him. Because it seemed like he needed more friends, too. Whenever I saw him at school, he was always by himself. Which was something I still couldn't wrap my head, seeing as he's pretty much the nicest guy in Chicago.

Just as my head was beginning to get caught in a whirlwind, my cellphone chimed with a text message from Rick, telling me that he was here. I jumped up from my seat, and practically sprinted towards the door.

I pull the door open towards me, and watch as Rick's shiny, blonde head comes into view. His lips spread into a wide set grin as he seems to be holding up a large bag of fast-food. And in his other, is a hefty cup of soda.

Reaching forward for the bag of food, he jerks it away, his familiar blue eyes narrowing. "Excuse you, can't a guy get a hug first?"

I roll my eyes, stepping back to widen the opening of the door, so that he can make his way through. "Oh, please. We hug more than enough. What did you bring?"

We walk through the shortened hallway that splits between the dining room and the living room, darting for the dining room table. Rick places the bag down, pushing the drink toward me. I take a sip, as I watch him take a seat at the table.

As he unpacks the bag, he pulls out two burgers, and two packets of fries. I rub both hands together happily, taking the seat beside him. "You spoil me."

"Yeah, well you owe me after this." Rick chuckles, pulling out his cellphone and lying it down on the space beside his French fries.

     "Deal," I agree, "as long as you tell me where the hell you've been these last few days." My words are said playfully, yet steady so that he understands that I'm genuinely curious about where he's been, and what's been going with him.

     Rick goes quiet for a few moments, setting down his burger that was held in his left hand, the other scratching the surface of the dining room table. My eyebrows raise, as I was not expecting for the room to become so quiet all of a sudden. I wasn't actually expecting that something serious had happened—rather than the fact that he just didn't feel like hanging out.

     I set down my cup of Coca Cola, eyes searching his for something. Anything he may want or need to talk about.

     "Rick? What's going on?" My words are whispered. So that if my parents just so happen to still be awake, they don't overhear Rick and I's very private conversation.

     My hand reaches out for his shoulder, clasping it tightly while waiting patiently for him to begin speaking—if he ever will. His posture visibly loosens and begins more vulnerable as I can tell he's working up the nerve to tell me something. Something important, it seems.

     His usually happy and shiny light blue eyes are now saddened. And now that I've looked closely toward his face, I can see that he's got bags under his eyes, and the brim of them are red from what seems like him rubbing too harshly. "Rick, come on man, you can talk to me about whatever's going on."

     His lips part in hesitation, hands tightening into fists. "I," he begins carefully, "my dad met someone. Another one of those girls he's always throwing money at and buying expensive shit. But I-I think time is different b-because we're . . . we're . . ."

     My stomach is clenching in anticipation as I wait for him to conclude whatever he's got to say.

     "You're what?"

     He looks over toward me, leaning into the back of his dining chair and taking a deep breath. "We're moving." After the words have left his mouth, his eyes search mine for any ounce of emotion. And I'm not sure what he's expecting because the look on his face says he's almost afraid of me becoming angry at him.

     "You're moving," I say, more conclusive rather than questioning. "When?"

     Rick shrugs, popping another loose French fry into his parted mouth. "Sometime later this month. And I was waiting to say anything about it because things weren't really set and stone until last week when my dad comes home after work and just says that he's proposing and that she wants to move back home.

     "Which is in fucking New York, and you know how I feel about New York—especially Manhattan—and who the fuck just decides to uproot his entire life because a girl? Not a woman, Gage, a girl. A party-going twenty-three-year-old girl with a fucking nose piercing." After he's finally taken a breath, a reddish color is covering his usually pale cheeks.

     Which isn't entirely surprising because of how flustered rambling can make someone as pale as him. "Also—fuck him. Fuck him because since I can even remember, he's always talked about how he'd never marry again and how the two of us was all he'd ever need—fucking asshole.

     "And get this," he continues on with his rant, "The two of them are going to Rome for their honeymoon—Rome, Gage. For two fucking months. My dad and I haven't spent more than fifteen minutes alone together in years." My heart clenches when he says this. He'd always made it known that he and his father didn't have a good relationship.

     But I had no idea it had gotten this bad.

     I simply nod my head, not wanting to interrupt him. But when he turns his head back toward me, eyes searching mine for a response. "Rick, dude everything's gonna be fine. We'll still see each other all the time—"

     "It won't be the same." He murmurs beneath his breath, arms coming to rest atop of his chest, as he pouts absentmindedly.

     I lean my elbow onto the edge of the dining table, and lie my chin into the palm of my hand. "It will, I promise you. And think about how much fun you'll have in New York. It's New York, man, the city of hearts or something."

     "The city of lights."

     "Yes, yes, the city of lights." I send a reassuring smile, even though it feels as though my insides are being torn apart. My best friend was leaving, and I was going to be completely alone.

     But right now wasn't about me. Right now was about my best friend who was seemingly terrified of leaving behind everything he knew. And I needed him to understand that he was going to be okay. Even if his dad married someone too young for him, and they lived right smack in the middle of a city he hated—he'd be okay.

     "Can I take your signed baseball when I go? The one from that Dodgers game last year?" His eyebrows are raised expectingly.

     "Dude come on, you know how much I love—"

     Rick's genuine blue eyes turn downwards, a saddening grin returning to them. "Fine, you can take it."