Page 15 of Yours for the Weekend

Chapter Nine

I t’s been days since I’ve thought about Nina.

I’m not keeping track. It only hits me while buying apples at the grocery store.

My hands instinctively reach for McIntosh when I freeze and remember I don’t need to buy any of those nasty ass tart abominations anymore.

They were Nina’s favorite, and I never had the heart to correct her when she assumed they were mine too.

So for years I stocked my fridge with apples I didn’t even like, while ignoring my favorite kind so Nina wouldn’t realize we didn’t have the same favorite.

My second first date post Nina was with this really cool chick named Michele.

I almost bailed, afraid of another terrible experience, but I’m glad I didn’t.

Michele is a therapist, and I was kind of rude when she first told me.

I grew up believing therapy is a scam. My mom is convinced all of our problems can be solved through prayer, and if prayer isn’t working, it’s our fault since God never fails us.

My mom thinks therapists charge for what you can get through fellowship.

Why talk to a therapist when you can talk to your sisters in Christ at your weekly Bible study for free ?

Logically, I know this isn’t true, but it’s taking a lot of time to unpack everything I had shoved down my throat for two decades.

And so I’m thankful that Michele is full of empathy and kindness and answered all my questions without judgment.

By the end of the night, we definitely weren’t planning a second date, but she referred me to a therapist I started seeing weekly.

I cry in every single session, but I think that’s a good thing.

She’s helping me see what Casey has been saying for months: the relationship with Nina was toxic as fuck.

So while standing in the middle of the produce section of Meijers, I whip my phone out and block Nina on Instagram. Emotion wells in my throat and my vision is blurry, but I did it. I may have lost myself in Nina, but I’m officially ready to move forward.

I’m not the godly woman my parents raised me to be.

I’m not the shell of myself that absorbed all of Nina’s likes and dislikes.

I’m not sure who I am, but I’m excited to have the space to figure it out.

And with that, I grab a bag of Honeycrisp apples from the shelf and I don’t look back.

Casey’s work deadline is fast approaching, and she’s been going nonstop.

It’s not often this happens, but when it does I worry about her.

She gets so hyper focused, she neglects everything else.

She’s accidentally killed house plants because she doesn’t remember to water them.

And she forgets to eat. She consists of coffee and coffee alone.

So I’m bringing her dinner.

She’s camped out on a barstool, clicking away on her wireless mouse. Her tawny blonde hair is unkempt and falling out of her messy bun. There’s a mug and two different to-go coffee cups next to her. She’s wearing headphones, so I wave my hand to get her attention.

“Dakota!” Casey startles, almost falling backwards off the barstool. She catches herself and clutches her hand to her chest. “Oh, my god! You scared the shit out of me. What’re you doing here?”

“I brought sustenance.” I hold up the take-out bag from our favorite burger place.

“I’m not hungry.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“Lunch,” Casey says confidently.

“Today?”

Casey hesitates.

“Exactly.”

Her stomach audibly grumbles as if I need any further evidence. Casey grins sheepishly. “Okay, maybe I could have a couple bites.”

“Bet your ass you can,” I say. “Here.” I hold out a water bottle for her. “Drink.”

“Bossy,” Casey grumbles, but she takes the bottle and gulps down half of it.

I clear space for her, tossing out her empty cups and moving her mugs into the overflowing sink. Casey tears into her cheeseburger, a glop of ketchup plopping down onto her French fries. She shoves them into her mouth as well, and I smile. Even stuffing her face, she’s adorable.

I unload her dishwasher and begin reloading it as Casey says, “You don’t need to do that.”

“I know.” I grab a Cascade dishwasher pod and start the cycle. I wipe down the counters and begin unloading the Meijers bag full of Casey’s favorite snacks—some nutritious and others just plain delicious.

“Dakota, seriously,” Casey complains. She wipes her hands off on a napkin and tosses it into her empty take-out box. “Stop. You’re making me feel bad.”

I ignore her. I don’t mind doing this for her, especially because this isn’t an all the time thing.

Casey’s house isn’t normally spotless, but she keeps up with household tasks and grocery shopping in her regular day-to-day life.

But once or twice a year, this happens, and it makes me happy to help her out until she’s able to resurface from her laptop.

Casey sighs, giving up. “How’s Remi?”

“She’s good. We have plans Thursday to go to dinner and this new bar that opened.” I scrub extra hard on a stain on her counter, pointedly not looking at Casey.

Remi is nice. We’ve been out twice. She’s also a teacher, and we’ve bonded hard over that. She’s cute and fun to talk to. She’s planned two great first dates, and it’s the distraction I need while getting over these budding feelings for Casey.

Case—predictably—has been nothing but cheerful and supportive about things with Remi. And while I appreciate her being normal and acting like a best friend should, it hurts. So fucking bad.

“Oh? What is this? Date number three. Things are getting heated,” she sings the last part, and my chest tightens.

“You know I told her I want to take things slow.”

“Slow?” Casey laughs. “By date three, it’s like you’ve been together a year in the sapphic world.”

I toss some trash away to hide my glassy eyes. I can’t cry.

Get it together, I scold myself .

Casey is way too important to me. I’ll take her in my life in any way I can have her, and confessing my unrequited feelings will only make things awkward and uncomfortable. Messing up our friendship will kill me inside, so it’s not worth thinking about.

After composing myself, I start to turn back to Casey when the calendar on her fridge catches my eye. The giant circled words “lake house” on the fourteenth are missing. I tap the date and look back to Casey.

“You erased it?”

Casey glances from the calendar and back to her laptop. She scratches her nose and pulls her laptop in front of her. She starts typing away, not meeting my eye. “I figured we weren’t going anymore.”

“Why?”

I know we can’t resume what we were doing in good faith, not while knowing my feelings have changed, but Casey doesn’t know that.

With the return date still set, there was a chance—small and possibly delusional—but still a chance that Casey could feel something for me too.

But with the words from the calendar erased, it feels so final.

It’s like a physical blow to my gut, the sting is sudden and severe, and I’m having trouble breathing.

“Ah shit,” Casey says. “My boss just emailed, and I really need to call our copywriter ASAP.”

I’m grateful Casey isn’t looking at me, so she doesn’t see the first tear fall. I quickly turn away from her and search blindly for my keys.

“Thank you again for everything. Seriously. Dakota,” Casey says.

She puts a phone to her ear, and a second later, her coworker answers.

Casey dives into the bullet points of changes from her boss’s email, and I see myself out.

I stand frozen on her rainbow welcome mat outside her front door, my mind spinning .

I should have seen this coming. Casey is the Queen of Casual. I knew this. Hell, I even used the fact that Casey and Lily can hook up but keep their friendship as my reason for doing the same. Casey held up her end. She’s my perfectly normal best friend. It’s me who deserves all the blame.

I fucked up and developed feelings.

And now I have to live with the consequences.