Story 15: Deirdre, in Xeriscape: Hopes and Plans

We were gathered for the last party of college. The first one had been held at Josh’s house four years ago, so we insisted that he also host the last. I was sitting next to Josh on the soft brown couch, Natalie on his other side. Then came Debbie in the big red chair and Becky perched on its arm, planning her future as an award-winning journalist. Becky was leaving for her job at the Detroit Free Press in two weeks and hoped to cover the presidential contest between Reagan and Mondale. I had no job prospects; I was staying put at the University of Colorado, beginning a master’s degree in botany next year. Jodi was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, talking to Josh’s mom about her travel plans this summer; in August she would leave for California and a degree in physics. Every time I thought of it I got a huge lump in my throat. Jodi and I had lived in the same state for almost fifteen years, and although our friendship had suffered in the past few years, the thought of being a time zone away from her hurt me.

The reason for our suffering was sitting right next to me, his arms up on the sofa behind me and Natalie, looking like a man wonderfully content with his life. Josh also had a paying job, with the Colorado Environmental Coalition. He had already asked those of us who were staying in Colorado to volunteer. I had agreed, but neither Debbie nor Natalie had been willing to commit. They were leaving to spend two weeks with Natalie’s family at their lake house near Kansas City, and then Debbie would begin her job at a local marketing firm, and Natalie was taking a course in publishing. I, however, had nothing planned for the summer; I intended to play as much as possible before I devoted myself to memorizing the flora of the world in the fall.

Jodi came over to say goodbye. She was spending the evening with family. I got up and hugged her. She said she would see me at graduation, and then Josh walked her to the door, where he kissed her on the cheek. They said a few words, and then she left. I blinked back tears, but when Josh sat down again, he was smiling.

“What are you so happy about?” Natalie asked him.

He looked at each of us in turn. “I don’t love her anymore.”

Natalie widened her eyes at me. That made me want to cry even more. I wished I wasn’t mourning Jodi’s departure, but I couldn’t help it. I also wished that I believed she was going to miss me as much as I would miss her.

Josh continued. “I loved her for all of college. I pretended I didn’t, but I did.”

“But she didn’t love you,” I said, hoping to hurt him.

He turned to me, his blues eyes calm. “No, she never did. Last week, I realized that she never would. I don’t know what took me so long.”

“I do,” I said.

Josh put his hand on my shoulder, and I started to cry. “You two have been friends forever,” he said. “You’ll stay friends.”

“I hope so,” I told him.

“At least you’ve resolved it,” Natalie piped up from her side of the couch. “I don’t know if things will ever work with Chris.”

She was curled up into a ball and had a forlorn expression on her face. What a cheery group we were.

Partly to save myself from my own bad mood, I said, “You should try one more time. Even if it seems hopeless.”

She stared at me as if I had said the most wonderful thing in the world. “You think so?”

“I do,” I told her.

“I agree,” Josh said. “Otherwise you’ll always worry about what might have happened.”

In that moment, as she looked from Josh to me, her face hopeful, I had the same feeling I’d felt years ago, when she and I and Becky drove up to Rocky Mountain National Park. That feeling of belonging to a group that I’d had so seldom in my life. I hadn’t expected to feel that way again—at least, not around her.

Natalie got up to talk to Debbie, but Josh and I remained on the couch.

“I guess we’re all moving on,” he mused. “Even those of us who are staying in town.”

“Yes,” I said, keeping eye contact. Our faces were so close that I could easily have kissed him. I wanted to confess to him that all the while he’d loved Jodi, I’d loved him, but I didn’t, and keeping that secret didn’t bother me any more. For the first time, I felt that he might someday welcome such a declaration.

“Are you coming to the meeting this week?” he asked me. “The coalition plans to send out a mailing about Mondale’s and Reagan’s environmental records.”

“Yes,” I assured him. “I’ll be there.”