The Reckless Collision

Sam.

~~~

The past two weeks had been a lonely blur. Raymond was back in Los Angeles, neck-deep in recording Purple Rain's third album. He had to stay in the City of Angels, and I couldn't leave New York, not with Rose depending on me.

Even though Rose mostly seemed like her old self, the worst had hit the night I returned. The thought of leaving her alone gnawed at me. Moving to New York permanently was a real possibility, but that would mean Ray and I would likely fall apart. Maybe I was naive to think we'd make it work.

We talked every day on the phone. I missed him. I wanted to be with him. But I felt trapped between what I wanted and what I had to do.

Tonight was supposed to be a family dinner at Rose's house, the night before my parents left for Italy. Alyssa, my younger sister, had finished her school year and was staying with me for a few days. I hadn't seen her much lately, so I was looking forward to catching up.

I'd been writing in my journal obsessively, pouring my heart out like some lovesick teenager. It was mostly about Ray—how I felt about him, what I missed, the future I wanted to believe in. Sometimes rereading my own thoughts gave me a fragile kind of hope. I'd written about Scott too, rehearsing what I'd say to him the next time we met.

I was on a video call with Ray when I heard a commotion downstairs. Reluctantly, I ended the call and stepped into the hallway. Alyssa was there, her small bag in hand.

"Which room is mine?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.

She looked different—older, somehow. Her jet-black hair now had streaks of blonde, and she'd added bangs that softened her high forehead. Her full lips shone faintly under the hall light, and her face seemed more defined, her cheekbones sharper. Even her figure had changed, fuller and more mature.

"Take whichever one you want," I said, motioning to the rooms at the end of the hall.

"It's your house," she said, shifting her weight onto one hip.

"It's still Grandma's house," I corrected with a smirk. "Take the one at the very end—it has a separate bathroom."

"Great." She grinned and strolled away, swinging her bag like it was a handbag on a runway.

I headed downstairs, where laughter spilled out of the living room. The foyer was quiet, so when the doorbell rang, I called out, "I'll get it!" Unsurprisingly, no one responded. Typical. They were too busy entertaining themselves.

When I opened the door, I wasn't expecting to see him.

There stood Tom, holding a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. His green eyes caught the porch light, and his nervous smile almost felt practiced.

"Hi," he said, clearing his throat. "Your mom invited me."

I leaned against the doorframe, letting my disbelief show. "Well, that's a surprise," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. He chuckled, dimples creasing his cheeks. I stepped aside, holding the door open. "Come in."

He hugged me lightly as he walked in, the roses brushing against my back. It was a brief, polite embrace, but I took a step back anyway. As he set the roses and wine down on the small table by the door, he bent to take off his shoes. My eyes betrayed me, flicking to his backside for a split second. Caught off guard, I quickly focused on the wall instead, pretending to admire the wallpaper.

"They're all in the living room," I said, turning toward the noise.

Tom nodded and followed me, carrying his "tributes" like he was walking into a royal court.