“Happy New Year, mermaid girl.”
Sarah laughs as I pull her into my arms.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair, making a silent resolution to not kiss anyone other than Sarah this year.
“What for?” She holds me at arm’s length, her eyes narrowed slightly.
Shit. “For eating so much garlic last night. God knows how you’re able to come anywhere near this stench, I can smell it every time I yawn.”
She looks kind of amused and kind of confused. It’s a good job we’re both more than halfway toward being drunk, because it’s exactly the kind of comment that could land me in all sorts of trouble. Honestly, it’s as if the truth is trying to leak out of me. I’m a gas can riddled with holes, an accident waiting to happen.
HNY, Lu! Love you!
I trace the letters of Sarah’s text with my fingertip as I lie in bed. The New Year is less than two hours old, but nonetheless, I kissed Jack last year, not this one. This one is a clean sheet.
Love you too, Sar, hope you’re not too drunk! HNY xx
I press send, then click my phone off and lie facing the ceiling in the darkness. I’m grateful that my parents didn’t rush to reclaim my room as a study or a spare room when I left for college; it’s pretty much as I left it, comforting and familiar. I’ve never been one to stick posters on the walls, but my childhood books line the shelf over the desk and the lilac dress I wore to my high school prom still hangs in my wardrobe. I cannot put a value on how much these things mean to me right now. Being in here is like stepping into a time capsule, or into my own protective Tardis, perhaps. Where would I have my personal Tardis fly me to, I wonder? I know the answer. I’d take it back to December 21, 2008 and I’d make myself miss that bloody bus. That way I’d never have seen Jack O’Mara before Sarah introduced us, and everything would have been okay. I don’t for a second think that I’d have allowed myself the luxury of anything other than platonic feelings for him then, and I wouldn’t be lying here now feeling lower than a snake’s belly. Before the kiss, I’d been able to uneasily square things with myself. I’d struggled with my feelings for him and I’d felt like a crap friend because of it, but I’d stayed on the right side of the line.
What I’ve done now is unconscionable; I can’t even attempt to justify it to myself. I haven’t seen either Sarah or Jack since that afternoon in London. I know he swore me to secrecy, but he didn’t have the right to ask it of me. I’m not blaming him, we carry the burden equally. And I don’t know if telling Sarah would be the honorable thing or just a way to make myself feel better and her feel worse. I’d lose her. I know that much. She’d probably ditch Jack too; there would be no winners. I don’t feel worried that he’s someone who will be a serial strayer, constantly ratting around behind her back; if that were the case I’d tell her without question. Perhaps I’m flattering myself, but what happened felt more personal than that, a few minutes of madness that will weigh heavily on both of our consciences.
I’m not going to tell her. I made myself a promise to forever hold my peace about my feelings for Jack O’Mara, and there’s never been a time when that promise mattered more.