Page 26 of Friends to Lovers

chapter sixteen

I wake up the next morning in the same position I fell asleep in, an indication that I actually slept . I stretch my arms above my head, then look down to find the floor bed empty.

I locate Ren on the front porch, sink down into one of the chairs next to him as he hands me a mug of coffee.

“I can’t get over how beautiful it is here,” I say, warming my palms against the ceramic. The sky stretches blue over the trees around us, everything hushed like the world has stopped spinning for a moment so we can take a beat to appreciate it.

But my mind is stuck on Ren, who smiles over at me but doesn’t say a word. I’d hoped this morning things might be normal between us again, and a pang flits through me at the thought that I don’t know how to fix it.

After a quiet half an hour sipping coffee out front, my parents swing by our yurt on the way to the goat farm, and Ren and I get ready quickly before heading there with them.

We meet Donna, owner of the farm and our unofficial tour guide, in that she doesn’t actually give tours but is easily talked into it upon learning not a one of us knows a single thing about goats.

“And this,” she says, holding a brown flop of a thing aloft at the end of her admittedly short tour, “This is Baby Yaya.”

“Oh my god,” I say when she plops the goat into my arms and it rests its head on my shoulder.

After hours of working on puppet animals, cuddling a real, breathing one makes me feel connected to the world again, like I just needed to touch some grass or, in this case, a baby goat.

Baby Yaya nuzzles her soft chin against my skin, settling in.

“I think this is my peak. It’s all downhill from here. ”

I perch on top of a hay bale while my parents follow Donna to a separate goat pen. “Do you see this?” I say to Ren, who’s hovering nearby, as I run a hand over Yaya’s head. “I don’t think anything has ever been this tiny or perfect. Do you?”

It takes me a minute longer to look up than it should, because I’m still riding the high of quality sleep and this adorable goat in my arms. But when I do, Ren’s brow is furrowed as he types out something on his phone.

“Ren,” I say.

“What?” His gaze slowly moves up to mine.

I force a smile and proffer Yaya in his direction, hoping she might bring him back to the present.

But he just holds up his phone. “Amanda just asked me to call her. Two seconds?”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” I wave him off, watch him shut the pen gate behind him, phone to his ear.

I gingerly set Baby Yaya to the side, pull out my phone and take a picture of her curled up in a ball.

Hey! I send to Collin, and attach the picture of Yaya. This is what you’re missing.

When he doesn’t respond right away, I set my phone down, tuck my hands under my legs. I glance around the empty goat pen. I’m alone, on a hay bale, wearing shorts overalls over a vintage Bob Dylan T-shirt, Birkenstocked feet swinging. I’ve never felt less cool than I do right now.

My phone dings with Collin’s reply.

Nice. The three dots appear, disappear, and then promptly die as he sends, Goat alive?

Ren walks back in at that moment, eyes glued to his phone.

“Man, really giving our generation a bad name,” I say jokingly as he ambles toward me. When he doesn’t even look up, I try, “You’re giving a whole new meaning to the whole you hang up first thing.”

“What?” Ren says.

Frustration flares through me. The whole point of this plus-one tradition was to spend time together, not just exist in the same place.

If I’d known that this was what it would turn into, I would have considered staying in New York with Stevie this weekend, when our parents told us we didn’t really have to come.

But, on top of loving Charlene, I’d wanted to see Ren, had assumed this tradition still mattered.

“I didn’t realize you were one of those people whose entire personality would disappear just because you have a girlfriend,” I say before I can stop myself.

At this, his head jerks up and he flinches. He pockets his phone. “I’m putting it away,” he says as the gate creaks open and my parents come back in.

After my parents take a few photos with Baby Yaya, Donna points us in the direction of the neighboring co-op, and we mosey down a short trail.

Ren hangs back with me, hands in his pockets.

I feel a little guilty for snapping at him earlier.

He’s here, after all, honoring our tradition despite having a girlfriend and a whole important life back in Portland. I know my anger is misplaced.

We pass over a small creek, and I stop to watch the clear water gurgle over the rocks, to bring my emotions under control. My parents continue on ahead, while Ren leans next to me.

“I really do remember you telling me about the movie,” Ren says suddenly.

When I look at him, his eyes are on the creek, forearms dangling over the railing.

“The one you want to take to the studio heads, right? Tell me more about it,” he says, turning to me, one hand on the railing. “It’s what’s keeping you up?”

I nod. “It’s just something we’re doing on the side. We’re probably still a year out from being able to pitch it, but Ramona approved the idea, at least.”

“Seriously?” Ren asks, eyebrows shooting up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrug a shoulder. “We’ve both been so busy.

It’s hard to find as much time to talk,” I admit.

I’ve also felt like saying it out loud might jinx it.

I’m worried that despite all the work I’ve put in at Novo, I’m still trying for too much, too fast. “But if I keep working hard, I might be able to slow down. Eventually. Hopefully,” I say.

“Can’t make a movie if you’re exhausted,” Ren points out.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “We’ve already covered my sleep schedule.”

He looks back at the water in front of us, throat bobbing. I stare at him, certain this is the moment he’ll tell me what’s going on, why he’s so off this weekend. If I did something to make it that way. “I know we haven’t been able to talk as much this last year,” he says. “I’m sorry about that.”

“We’re both—”

“Busy, I know,” he says. “But…” He shakes his head, trailing off.

I wait, wishing for more, but it doesn’t come. My heart gives a painful twist.

“You’re still—” I say, trying to make small talk. I can’t see my parents down the trail anymore, so I nod us back toward it, not wanting to fall too far behind them.

“Trying to get an A&R position, yes,” Ren cuts in.

I glance askance at the tension in his voice. “Sorry,” I say. “Just doing the annual check-in.”

Ren lets out a soft, forced laugh. “Don’t apologize. It’s just coming up a lot lately.”

“Yeah?” I say, kicking at a rock on the trail. “Because you’re getting closer, or…?”

“Because I’m not getting closer fast enough,” Ren says. He catches the rock with his toe, kicks it along farther. “Because it’s not a viable career option.”

“Webster,” I say, grabbing his arm, half because I want him to know how much I disagree with this and half because he’s finally talking to me and I need it to continue. “Who’s telling you that?”

“My dad—he says I should go back to school. Try to be a teacher.”

“What would you teach?”

“Excellent question. I’ll let you know if I ever decide I actually want to be a teacher,” Ren says, his shoulders set tight.

“My mom also doesn’t seem to think what I’m doing now is a real job,” Ren adds, eyes down the path in front of us.

“And—” He breaks off. We’ve reached the rock where it was kicked. He stops for a minute.

“And?” I say.

When he looks back up at me, the air goes thick, sitting heavy between us. He watches me a beat longer, before he kicks the rock down the trail again. “Nothing. I’m just being dramatic about it.”

“You’re not,” I say as we continue walking. I want him to hear me, believe it. “If everyone in my life was questioning my career, I’d be calling you daily and complaining about it.”

“No one could question you,” Ren says. His elbow knocks against mine. “Pulling all-nighters just so you can take over the animation world. I’m not working at it as hard as you are.”

I know then that I won’t get anything more out of him.

His phone chimes from his pocket. He doesn’t reach for it, but I see his shoulders hitch a little higher. I spot the rock and kick it back to him.

“Hey,” I say, moving us to an easier topic.

“What song do you think Charlene will have everyone sing tonight?” Ren guides the rock down the path, but his heart isn’t in it.

I can feel him pulling away. His phone chimes again.

“I was thinking she might go wedding classic, something like ‘Sweet Caroline’ or ‘L-O-V-E,’ or—”

Ren stops dead in his tracks as his phone rings with a call. I look over just in time to see a wince slipping off his face.

“Joni—” He withdraws his phone from his pocket, glances at the screen. “I just need to—”

“Don’t,” I say, without pausing to think about it. “Don’t answer it. Keep talking to me.” I realize I sound desperate, that I’m trying to force him into something that might hurt his relationship with Amanda, but I don’t know what else to do to save this moment.

His arm goes rigid, and my eyes snag on the single line that wraps around it just below his elbow.

I have the same one on my arm, tattoos we got as an ode to our friendship back in college.

It was the simplest design we could come up with that still represented the idea of our lives being tied together forever.

Back when there wasn’t any strain like this between us, when there weren’t months that went by without hearing each other’s voices.

My gaze slides back up to his face, all of it now tense, pained.

His phone goes silent.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Give me two—”

“No,” I cut in, waving a hand. “You know what? Do whatever you need to do.”

Before he can respond, I turn and hurry down the trail, anxious to get out of earshot before I can hear him say hello.

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