Holly stands in her front doorway, noticeably gaping at your unexpected presence. "What are you doing here?"
"Well…I…Um…" You stammer, your explanation eluding you in this particular moment.
"I thought we were meeting up later at The Penny for goodbye drinks?" Holly questions, confusion now etched plainly on her face.
You unfold your arms to reveal the open bottle of wine you have tucked safely in the inside pocket of your long coat. It's the expensive bottle you pinched from your parent's cellar four years ago, a gift to yourself after having graduated from the Academy, top of your class no less.
At the time, you had made a promise to your younger, less cynical self that this particular bottle of liquid gold would not make it past your bright red lips until you passed your next significant milestone – whatever that may be. When you'd thought of all the possibilities, not once did you think it would be because you were about to say goodbye to the one person who had come to mean the most to you. (Not that you let Holly know that.)
You thrust the bottle into the open hands in front of you and, without an invitation, step around your friend into the warm hug that is her home.
You unwrap the scarf from around your neck and stride into the kitchen you have come to know much better than your own, immediately scrunching up your nose as the distinct smell of cleaning products blatantly assault your olfactory receptors. It's more potent than Holly's lab and that is saying something (that woman is obsessed with a clean workspace).
Like your scarf, you shed your coat and bag, draping them over one of the stools beneath the kitchen island before giving your surroundings a once over. You're not sure what you were expecting, as your eyes lazily examine the room. The warmth you always felt in being here fades the longer your eyes continue their anxious search for any remaining evidence that Holly ever actually lived there.
All the personal touches she would have made over the years are all but gone, including all the family photographs that adorned her fridge door. Though you'd initially protested, you felt an odd sense of belonging when those ridiculous photos', the ones you had taken of each other in Holly's lab where you were making goofy faces behind a gigantic magnifying glass, made it to onto that fridge.
You sigh, deciding you're in desperate need of a drink to numb the pain, so you make your way over to the overhead cupboards above the sink to check if Holly has packed her wine glasses. To your surprise, the cupboard is still full.
For a split second, relief washes over you. You want – no, need – to believe that Holly isn't leaving you. It's only when you turn back around and see her stuffing something into a box labeled "kitchen shit" that you attempt to shake the feeling of hope from your being.
"So Boob Job called me at lunch today and told me you hadn't even finished packing yet." Now that have seen for yourself, its clear Boob Job may have been over-exaggerating.
You place the two glasses on the bench and Holly steps closer, resting her hand on your shoulder as she pours you both a glass of wine. "I haven't really got that much to do."
"You do know that your flight is at 10a.m. tomorrow, right?" A painful fact you needn't be reminded of, except your brain has decided to torture you with it.
Holly squeezes your shoulder and nods, before leaning in closer to drop the friendly welcoming peck you have become accustomed to onto your cheek. "Anyway, it's nice to see you." She smiles, "I have missed you these past few days."
You grimace as your guilt gnaws at your insides. Ever since Holly announced two weeks ago that a new, more fulfilling job would take her away from you, you had been a massive ball anger and anxiety, much to the dismay of your colleagues. Poor, helpless, Gerald, had copped the brunt of your particularly foul moods.
Not that it showed at the time – you were initially very supportive – but the news had hit you quite hard in the following few days once the shock had worn off and you have been struggling with Holly's decision ever since. You have been living in quiet devastation, and as a consequence, distant. Distant from everyone, but especially from Holly. It's no secret that you are going to miss your friend immensely. And today, after a particularly rough shift at work, it had hit you, hard, just how much. She has become your confidant unlike any other. You can tell her things without fear of judgment, only ever understanding. You are losing something special, something you've never really found in anyone else, that connection to your truest self.
"I guess you'll just have to get used to missing me," you say coldly, your anger flaring up at the unfortunate situation you have found yourself in, once again.
Taking one step closer, Holly wraps her arm tightly around your far shoulder and pulls you into her side, into an awkward hug. Well, its you who makes it awkward by going stiff as a board– your go-to defence mechanism in these touchy feely types of situations. But in this instance, it's your need to keep yourself at a safe emotional distance, which for you has become quite a problem the more you have gotten to know each other over these past four months. The fact that you were getting ready to confess your more-than-friendly feelings towards her before having dropped her own atomic sized bomb on you, has made this, and all your other embraces following her announcement, kind of excruciating.
"I wish I didn't have to miss you," she admits, and then smiles. "Perhaps I could pack you in into my suitcase and take you with me." She squeezes you tighter and you stiffen even more but she doesn't really seem to notice.
You sigh and reluctantly break free from her torturous embrace, and in a moment of weakness– or is it stupidity? You wonder– open your mouth to say something you promised yourself you were never going to say, least of all right now, with Holly practically out the door and one foot on the plane. A plane destined for another country no less.
"Well don't go, then you won't have to." And with that, you turn away, pick up your glass and walk into the living room whilst chugging down half its contents.
"Gail," Holly drawls out and you can feel her following behind you. You turn around, shaking your head, gesturing with one hand for her to keep her distance until you can find your bearings.
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm just-"
She is close all of a sudden. Too close, her sock clad feet are in your immediate view.
"You're just what?" She inches forward.
"I'm just–" you slowly drag your eyes up from the floor to her waiting face, which is sans glasses and clean of makeup. Simply beautiful, you think and you fight the urge to reach out and touch but those dark brown golden eyes bore deep into your psyche just to fuck with your emotions a little bit more.
With a heavy heart, you look down at her fidgeting hands.
"What?" Holly almost whispers and a long silence follows.
"Sad." You shrug, defeated. "I'm just sad," you pout, but it's a gigantic understatement. You are undeniably heartbroken.
Her finger comes up under your trembling chin and lifts it upwards, smiling that warm, understanding smile, which only makes you feel that much worse. Short of Holly herself, you are going to miss that stupid, goofy smile the most.
"I know. I'm sad too." Holly pulls you into a hug, and this time you let her without protest, resigning yourself fully into her welcoming arms. Your own arms circle her waist and you cling to the soft fabric of her cardigan for dear life. You feel your head being guided down to her shoulder with a tentative hand. She strokes your growing mane, shushing you with each sweep and caress of her hand, even though there is nothing to shush, but you find it calming nonetheless.
You bury your face further into her shoulder and allow her familiar scent of lavender and lime to wash over you, captivating your senses. You close your eyes and feel the heavy sigh and pressure of her chest as it sinks into yours, two hearts beating against each other, a little fast first but eventually in perfect synchronization.
After a minute of basically sighing into each other's bodies, you start to feel uncomfortable. The silence has become deafening and it's all a bit too much. Your eyes shoot open when you realize you need to remove yourself from this situation before it gets any harder for you to let her go.
"It was the right decision," you manage to murmur into her neck.
"I guess." Holly sighs, but her tone betrays her.
You pull back and place your hands on strong, broad shoulders. "I mean, it was the obvious choice, right?" You look into her eyes. What once were beacons of hope for you are now dark empty pools. You can no longer see your future with her, just your tiny insignificant reflection.
"It was? Sometimes I'm not so sure." Holly shakes her head.
"Trust me," you smile gently. "Dawson was such a fucking whiny crybaby. Pacey just made total sense, y'know?"
She chokes back a throaty laugh at your attempt to lighten the mood, only for it to be followed by a river of tears, each chasing one after the other as they roll down her cheeks to her chin, dropping down to her chest.
"No, no, no." You pull your hand inside the sleeve of your sweater and start dabbing her cheeks with it. "No crying allowed. At least…not yet. We should probably get drunk first." You try and smile but it is halfhearted at best.
Holly sucks in a deep breath, nodding as she tries to calm herself. "Okay," she agrees, sniffling and blinking away tears. "No crying, but Gail, I don't want to get drunk. Not tonight."
Your heart sinks. The thought of having to go through the next few hours sober is about as horrifying a thought as a boring, plain donut entering your mouth.
"How about just one more glass?" You convince yourself that maybe it will be enough take the edge off. But, who are you kidding? With your metabolism, you'd need a bottle, maybe two, at least.
"Okay, just one." She retrieves her full glass from the kitchen and returns to the living room.
Not really knowing what to do with yourself, you place your glass on the coffee table and then aimlessly walk around the living room, stopping to squeeze the cushion on the back of Holly's sofa. You smile. "I can't help but notice that Gladys is still here."
A lot of fun times were had on Gladys' comfortable cushions, you reminisce. Just no sexy times. You frown at that thought. So much time had been wasted watching documentaries about fruit bats, bug sex and reruns of Dawson's Creek.
You let out a heavy sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. You really need to stop thinking about the 'what might have beens'.
"Well, if you had been around at all this week, I would've shown you the photographs of my new, fully furnished house, so there is no real need for most of my furniture." You baulk at her words, closing your eyes as she continues. "A few of the larger items from this room and my bedroom are going into storage for the moment and I already found a home for Gladys, so…"
You whip you head around; hopeful that Gladys' home is you. If you can't have Holly, then you at least want Gladys as a consolation prize. "You did?"
Already grinning, Holly places her wine glass down on the coffee table next yours and proceeds to pull out a roll of sticky labels and a permanent marker from her cardigans pocket. Uncapping it the marker, she puts the lid in her mouth, squeezing it between her teeth in concentration as she scribbles on one of the labels before peeling it off and sticking it onto the arm of the couch.
"C'mon. Grab our glasses," she points to the coffee table and you oblige.
"What's next?" You ask as you follow her upstairs.
"It's time for us to venture back into the closet. And don't worry, I won't kiss you this time." You groan at the statement.
She waits for you at the end of the hall, and when you reach her, she places her hand on your lower back and guides you into her bedroom. This is going to be a long, excruciating evening, you think to yourself. Drinks at The Penny are looking good right about now.