“HAVE YOU SENT THE TEXT  yet?” Myla rolls her eyes at me and tosses her braided hair behind her back. She’s been sitting on my footstool pulling at her fishtail for an hour now.  “I mean, personally I think you should call, but since you're still wishy-washy about the whole thing...”

“I'm not wishy-washy. I’m still making up my mind.”

“It’s been eight weeks.  The official autopsy and toxicology report came in two weeks ago.”

“I know that.”

“You’ve turned down four job offerings. That man is still hanging onto a thread of hope that you might be coming back.”

“And how do you know this? Have you been texting him?”

She stands and enters my kitchen where I can’t see her. The cabinet door bangs and water runs, then silence.  I walk around the corner, and she’s downing pills.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking some Advil because your stubbornness is making my head throb. ”

“Myla, I know you love me. And I know you like Braxton, but we can’t be together.”

“Then tell him that, not me. Ask him to ship your things back, and gain some closure,” she sighs heavily before coming over to hug me. Her hands reach up and stroke my hair.  “Let him move on.”

We stand in the quiet of my hallway, hugging and swaying in some weird dance that we’ve always done when consoling each other.  “I can’t,”  I whisper, releasing the floodgates to the tears that have been welling up since she first hugged me. “Just the thought of it physically makes me nauseous.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’ve had a few break-ups that have made me feel that way. It’s normal.”

“This can’t be normal. I’ve never felt it before in the multitude of breakups that I’ve been through.” I sniffle into her shirt sleeve and use her braid to dry my tears.

“Oh, honey. Those weren’t breakups. Those were ditchings. You’ve always run before you fell too deep.” She opens the freezer and pulls out a tub of Buckeye ice cream, and grabs two spoons from the drawer, handing me one. I peel back the lid, and we both dig in. “You know, I did you a disservice when I kept saving you from those bad dates.”

“How is that?” I narrow my eyes at her as I scrape frozen peanut butter off my spoon with my teeth, trying to think what she means by disservice.

“I mean, you probably needed to finish the date. You know, been forced not to run. Maybe that would have taught you how to end a relationship properly. The end is usually where the lesson is.”

“How many lessons are there to learn? I’m a quick study. Maybe I need to start dating again and get these lessons over with.”

Myla flings some of her ice cream onto my cheek and taps me on the nose with the back of her spoon. “You did not just say that. There’s a lifetime of them. You can’t fast track love lessons.”

I stand there frozen, with ice cream dripping down my nose and cheek. She wets a paper towel and starts wiping the mess she made off my face.

“I take back my words.  My saving you from bad dates didn’t ruin you; medical school ruined you. Study, study, study because it was harrrddd,” she whines.  “I remember all the nights of crying and flip charts of muscle groups.”

“Hey, those were very helpful, thank you very much.”

“Don’t you think it would have been more helpful to have a real man and muscles to go over those groups with?” She nudges me with her elbow, beaming that glorious smile of hers.

“Well, maybe.” We lean back against the counter laughing, as Myla collects our spoons and I toss the empty container in the trash.

“No more eating our feelings. Let’s go for a walk in the neighborhood.”

“I  have an even better idea. Let’s call Braxton together and hash this out.”

“Negative. I’m not ready. Asking for my stuff back is permanent. THE end, meaning it’s over, and the credits roll. I’m not ready for that.”

“So, you’re saying there’s more to the story than love, hot sex, an accidental death, and a runaway doctor?” Myla wiggles her eyebrows at me making me laugh.

“Yeah, the hot sex part is completely missing.”

“You have to go back for that. It’s the best part of the love story. Come on, let’s check the schedule. Where are they?” She jumps up and goes to my laptop on the dining room table, searching PBR. “The gods are smiling on you today, Sunshine. They’ll be in Salinas this weekend. That’s up by Monterey. We’ll make a long weekend of it.”

“I don’t know that I’ll be ready in four days to say goodbye.” My stomach churns at the thought of seeing him this weekend.

“If you’re not ready to say goodbye, then don’t. Say hello. Be friends; there’s nothing wrong with that. Hell, be friends with benefits, or even better be friends that become soul mates. Even you have to admit you can’t top that one so don’t even try.”

“Oh, Myla. How did I live six weeks without you?”

“I keep asking myself that. I’m glad you ran away, but I’m even happier that you ran back home.”

“Braxton is a great man. An honest man- one that has his morals intact. He’s goal oriented and genuinely cares about others. He says he wants me.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“What if he’s the first good guy I’ve ever met, but he’s not the one for me?” Myla hugs me from the side and lays her head on my shoulder.  “What if there aren’t any others to find out there? I don’t want to fall fast for the wrong guy. I’ve done that a hundred times, and don’t like repeating it.”

“Like you said, but we’ve all done it too many times. At least now you know what a good guy looks and feels like. You decide if he’s worth the risk and move forward. If it’s not scaring the holy bejeezus out of you, then it’s not right.”

“Maybe that’s what that sick feeling is.”

“It could be. Another good man may not come along. But then again, the next guy could be a good guy, but not THE guy. Trust me, the last thing you want to do is settle for an okay love, when you could have the ONE love of your life had you not been stubborn.”

“Okay. Let’s get this road trip booked. And, Myla, thanks for not twisting my arm too hard over this.” She high-fives my hand that’s hanging in the air and squeezes me tight.

“You’re welcome. That’s what friends are for.”

****

I’M FINALLY PACKED and ready for Monterey. It only took me two days to decide what to wear to see Braxton again. I drag my two bags of luggage out to the carport and set my travel bag on top. Myla is due to arrive soon, but she’s usually late for everything. In the meantime, I turn on my garden hose and start watering the flowers my dad planted in my absence.

I’m halfway through watering the yard when a FedEx truck pulls up and starts to unload several large boxes in my drive. The driver walks toward me with a clipboard in hand.

“Hi, I have a delivery for you.”

“For me? Noa Knight?”

She turns her board sideways to read the name and hands me her pen for signature. “Yes, that’s what it says right here.” Her finger points to my name. It’s typed.

I look down at the boxes, and they’re plain without any markings. There are just the bar-coded shipping labels. I turn a few of the boxes around and don’t see a name or any clue as to who sent them.

“Who are they from? Does it say?” She squints at me trying to block the sun from her eyes and pops a bubble with her chewing gum. “Hmmm. It doesn’t say. It’s a surprise. Have a nice day.” She shrugs her shoulders at me and waves goodbye.

They aren’t heavy, so I carry them into the kitchen one-by-one. Nothing moves or shakes inside them to give me a hint.

I grab a knife and cut through the thick packing tape that’s strapped across the top. When I open the top flaps, I see my favorite t-shirt and shorts. When I dig a little deeper, I come across my laptop, buried deep inside the clothes. I rip open the other boxes, and it’s all here. Everything from Braxton’s trailer, down to the final grocery list I had on a sticky note stuck to the refrigerator.

‘He’s done. It’s over, and here’s the proof of him moving on.” I fall to the floor hugging my favorite shirt, and holding the sticky note that reads ‘pretzels and hummus.’