He’s probably holding her hand right now, I thought numbly as my hand searched the soapy water for the wash cloth, but I don’t care.

He was my best friend, and his happiness came before mine—self-sacrificing person that I am, I mused, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I had helped him gain the girl of his dreams, and now he was happy. So why was it so hard to keep a smile on my face? Why was there a hollow feeling where my heart should be, a dull ache rippling through my veins with every beat that didn’t exist.

I recalled last night’s events with quiet humility.

We all sat around at his house, I had slyly forced Annie to take the remaining seat next to James while I planted myself in the over-stuffed rocking chair. The movie started, and I squinted through the dark to observe the progress.

Then a sudden glance toward James and his sheepish grin as he caught my eye made me realize she was leaning on his shoulder, their tangled mess of hands was a clear comprehension that hit me harder than a semi-truck. I returned the smile, a glow within my heart when I saw my friend happy. That was the first feeling.

Then it slowly faded to torturous pain that I couldn’t understand. I was so worried that it would change everything, that now he had the love of his life—he would easily forget the friendship we had. I was no longer important, scheduling would be carefully edged around Annie, and I was no longer relevant to the happiness of his life.

I wanted to cry. Right there in the darkness, light from the television blaring accusingly into my face; and I struggled to distort it into a happy one.

Finally I couldn’t take it. The pain was too great, and it would be embarrassing to let emotions get the better of me right in front of my friends. I escaped with a wink, hoping he might interpret it as my intentions for them to be alone.

The warm tears gushed quietly down my cheeks as I drove home, and I blubbered between each intake of breath. My best friend wouldn’t need me anymore.

But I would need him. It would be my secret. I would never, ever tell him how much I needed him.

So here I was, Friday night and cleaning the house in desperation to keep my mind busy. I didn’t want to obstruct any of James’s plans; I knew the priorities he had now. Usually he and I would hang out; go to a movie or just stay at one of our houses and talk.

And now I had no one. I was alone, bursting with a hushed pain. I endured in silence for the love of my friend. Secrets, I thought dully. I scrubbed harder at a stubborn stain on the counter, furiously scouring the pain away. Yet it persisted, and I looked around for something else to do.

I sat on the deck on the soft swinging chair that was my favorite. I watched the sun somber towards the mountains, spilling its golden light onto the fields of sunflowers. I wrapped my arms around my knees and rested my chin between them, and sighed.

So many beautiful memories. Suddenly there was an anger that pulsed within me, making my eyes flutter and breath quicken.

How dare he.

How dare he abandon me, leaving me to wallow in my own disgusted misery. It was just plain selfishness, and I would be broken forever because of it.

The door opened, and I expected it to be Jenny wanting me to read her a story before she went to sleep.

“Go away,” I grumbled, without looking up.

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re going to turn me away after I drove fifteen miles to come see you.”

I looked up in surprise,

“James,” I said, unfolding myself and standing up. “What are you doing here? Where’s Annie?”

He looked down, smiling crookedly.

“Annie is at home, making up with her ex-boyfriend.” He chuckled, examining my flabbergasted expression.

“Oh, James, I’m so sorry. Did she tell you why?” I asked gently, ignoring the excited triumph that sang in my head.

“No,” he muttered.

“What a—”

I was about to call her a word I might regret, but he interrupted me, shaking his head.

“I told her why.” he looked at me with intensity, a fire in his eyes.

“Wait—you—no. What?”

“I broke up with her, Melanie,” He whispered, “Because I’m in love with you.”

There was a sudden lump in my throat, and the silence was too great for me to swallow without embarrassing myself. How could this be possible? It had never crossed my mind that he could possibly have feelings for me. He had never made advances, never shown more than brotherly affection. Secrets, my conscience whispered.

He smiled, looking down again before taking a step towards me. The wind tossed his hair, his deep green eyes bore into mine.

“I love you, Melly. I know you better than anyone else. I know every fleck of gold in your eyes, and every secret in your smile. I love the way your heart beats a little faster when I’m close to you, the way you blush when I tease you.

“I dream about you almost every night. Every time I close my eyes it’s your face I see. I could never hold the hand of Annie—or any other girl for that matter—without thinking about how I longed for it to be you. I want to hold you close to me forever, to feel your soft breath on my face and to see the glitter in your eyes when you laugh.

“But more than anything, I pray that you might feel the same way. That someday, I would be lucky enough to feel your soft hand in mine. To know that you love me too—impossible to match the height of love I feel for you—but enough to let me have you.

“Little Melly,” He gently touched my cheek, “I love you darling, please tell me you love me too.”

I felt like a small child, my eyes wide with surprise—and was it delight? Did I love him too? The hand he held to my face remained; his thumb gently brushed my face, light as a feather. Warmth flooded through me, it was so violent I almost shivered.

I stared James, surprised to remember the boy that ate mud pies with me when we were little; the boy I had eaten strawberry ice cream with at Little Cream Corner every Wednesday after school in fourth grade, the boy that came home with a bloody nose from getting in a fight with a bully that stole my pink sparkly pencil in seventh grade. I recalled the boy that began to grow up a little in high school, returning home with more profound wounds as he protected my broken heart from unworthy boyfriends. I thought of the boy that held me in his arms as I cried in his shoulder when my mother died when I was in eleventh grade.

And fresh out of our senior year, here was the boy that had become a man; one I would always love and hold closest to my heart.

“Yes, James,” I whispered, “I love you too.”