Forgiveness. Rejection. A Surprise.

   I stared at the Google Doc, which had been blank for some time now. That cursed cursor blinking. 

   My fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant to have anything to do with unfamiliar territory. I could feel nervousness bubbling in my stomach, like a volcano ready to erupt. Or maybe that was just my lunch. Harris’ Chinese food never sits well in my stomach. I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous, though. I was just staring at a computer screen. 

   “Come on,” my friend Harris prodded me. “I can tell you have no ideas, and you’re not thinking of any. Can’t you write about your relationship with—“

   “No!” I yelled. It came out louder than I meant to. No way was I going to write about my relationship with her. The only relationship I’ve ever had. I hated her with every inch of my soul. 

   I shouldn’t have thought about her. Memories flooded into my head. Dozens of them, suffocating me. Clouding my thoughts.

  The things I remembered the clearest, however, was the last time we broke up, only a month ago. 

  The argument. The kiss. The building. The cheat.

   Long ago, we had thought we could always get through our relationship problems and forgive each other even after one breaks up with the other. But everything changed when “the cheat” happened. 

   After we got together again after “the building” breakup, we were at the peak of our relationship. Everything was great. The dates, the kisses, the dance, the talks. Until one day when I was walking to her house, possibly to check on her. She had been sick for days. I decided to sneak up on her.

   I find her completely healthy. Kissing a girl from school. 

   So I had to get revenge, of course. 

   By asking if Harris could tag along on our date as a third wheel, then kissing him on the date. Out of stupid things I’ve done, that was probably the stupidest. We had gotten into a full argument in the steakhouse, complete with throwing knives at each other. 

   To this day I’m not allowed in Samuel’s Steakhouse. 

   To make a long fight short, we broke up right there, and she had the nerve to break up with me first. 

   That seemed too personal to write into a story. Even if I used different characters and a different setting and stuff, it felt wrong to pour some of my deepest feelings into a story.  

   I couldn’t think about that night. I had to move on, for goodness sake. I had to.

   I snapped out of the memory lane, and for a split second, I thought I was actually in that day at the steakhouse. Memory lane does that to you. Well, at least it does that to me. 

   We were in Harris’ apartment, (his “office”, to be specific), and he was trying to get me to write a story. “It’ll be great,” he’d promised. “Writing’s really easy, and anyone can write a masterpiece. Besides, I need a friend who can write well. We can write together! Please? Besides, writing is super fun.” 

   It definitely was not fun. My head was blank from ideas. An empty void, where only hate and recklessness boils. I couldn’t exactly transfer that into a story.

   “How do you even write something from scratch?” I complained, slamming my hand, karate-chop-style, on the keyboard, not caring how it broke into pieces. “With no plan, no prompt, no inspiration, no experience?” 

   Harris didn’t seem to notice nor care how I broke his keyboard. He smiled, like he was about to share a secret.

   “Not everyone can do that, Peter. But I know you can."

   Harris’ faith in me was sweet, I had to admit. Before today, I had always thought of some idea that I desperately wanted to write, something that I can write beautifully and share with the world, even though I never had time to. Now, that I was actually told to write something, I couldn’t think of a single idea. I could imagine the god of the brain and the god of writing laughing at me. 

   I sighed and stood from the chair, trying not to wince as I heard the grinding of the legs, squealing like mice.  

   Harris looked surprised, like he had actually expected me to write something. 

   “Peter, what are you doing?”

   I shrugged.

   “I’m more of a physical person. Maybe an idea will come to me while I’m running or something. You coming?”

   Harris sighed.

   “Fine. But if we stumble into that gang and get mugged again, I’m blaming it on you.”

   “That was just one time!” I protested.

   Harris shrugged. I laughed, and Harris joined in. 

   We tugged on our jackets and walked over to the elevator. I pressed the “up” button.

   Harris frowned.

   “You might remember that the main door of the apartment is on the first floor.”

   I smirked.

   “You have your own weird skill of being a genius writer. I have the weird skill of yeeting off of buildings.”

   Harris widened his eyes.

   “Don’t. You. Dare. You’ll get hurt. At that height, you’ll die.”

   I stared straight into Harris’ dark blue eyes. They were a galaxy, with the faint white lines in the iris, and the black hole in the middle (the pupil). I never noticed how truly beautiful Harris’ eyes were.

   “I’m still jumping off the building.”

   Harris turned red, but his expression remained the same. Was it getting warmer in here? He stared right back into my eyes. One a forest green, one an ocean blue. Yep. I’m in the Heterochromia Club. It’s fun here. 

   “No.”

   The elevator dinged, interrupting our staring competition. We were on the top floor, where the roof was. I released eye contact, and I could’ve sworn that Harris let out a breath of relief. I felt calmer, too. It no longer seemed like it was too warm for my jacket.

   I waved.

   “Au Revoir.” 

  I walked out of the elevator. Harris followed me, although I wasn’t sure why. He wouldn't even try jumping off a building. 

   I opened the roof door, and was immediately hit with the smell of a garden. Dirt, mud, herbs, pollen, the works. I also felt a sense of dread. Something bad was going to happen.

   There was a girl kneeling next to a part of the garden with tomatoes, cutting away at the weeds. She stood up suddenly, and turned to face me. All of the color drained from my face.

   Frizzy blonde hair, with dirt all over it. Light brown eyes with dull gold specks, which reminded me of brown sugar. Sweet like the apple pie I would always make during the fall.  

   But the soil knife that was clipped to her leather belt and the predatory gleam in her eyes kind of discourages the fact that she’s the innocent cinnamon roll people assume she is. 

   A round, tanned face, covered with sweat, dirt, and tears. She was crying, tears dripping down her face in an act of rebellion, desperate to escape her deadly eyes. I saw the scar along her jawline, the one that I had caused. It looked like it was recently cut open again. That couldn’t possibly be why she was crying. This girl doesn’t complain about physical pain. 

   She was wearing a pale pink dress that seemed a bit out of place. She was wearing white apron, which was, surprise, surprise! Covered with dirt. She was as pretty as ever. 

   I make it sound like I admire her, or at least respect her. Maybe even like her. 

   But I don’t. I hate her guts, and the rest of her, too. To me, the word pretty is an insult.

   Kateland Rose Kennedy.

   I began reciting a list of words in my head that would probably cause my mouth to get washed by soap if I said them out loud. But hey, your mother can’t exactly take out your brain and wash that with soap. 

   Kateland smiled, but the smile wasn’t aimed at me. She walked over to Harris and punched him. Compared to how my siblings and I greet each other, I found this one awfully affectionate. 

   “Where were you?” Kateland demanded. Her usual melodic voice was getting higher than usual, the way it was when she got angry. I’ve heard that high voice a lot. In the past years, in my dreams. (Jeez, that came out wrong.) “You’re my brother, for goodness sake! You live four floors downstairs, and you don’t bother coming here to say hello.”

   It didn’t seem like such a big deal, but Harris looked pretty guilty.

   “I’m sorry. I—“

   He seemed to remember that I was here. He cleared his throat when he noticed that me and Kateland were starting to glare at each other. I couldn’t help it. I hated her more than anyone else. And her planting here, planting tomatoes, was really rude. It was like she wanted to punch all of the memories right back at my face. 

   From the look of her face, I guessed that she wanted to punch me in a way that wasn’t metaphorical, too. That was okay. The feeling is mutual.

   Harris cleared his throat again, louder, probably because Kateland’s hand was starting to close around the handle of her special gardening knife, and I was clenching my fist. 

   “Um, so. . . Peter came out here so he can jump off the roof. It's idiotic.” 

   Kateland smirked.

   “That’s the typical Peter.”

   I rolled my eyes.

   “I’m not the one living on the roof.”

   Kateland turned bright red, and I resisted the urge to smile. 

   “You’re such a m—“

   “Woah!”

   Harris stepped between the two of us before Kateland could unleash her flurry of cuss words. Harris sighed.

   “I know you two have had your past feuds, but—“

   “Feuds?” I asked incredulously. “Kateland tossed me off a building! I broke my leg!”

   Kateland crossed her arms.

   “Can you stop being such a baby about this? That was a long time ago.”

   “Oh, I’m the baby?”

   “BOTH OF YOU, SHUT THE FRICK UP FOR A SECOND!” 

   We shut up immediately. Harris never raised his voice, and I’ve never even heard him use a profanity stronger than “idiot”. 

   “I know you have differences, but you guys just need to get over your past. It’s annoying that every time you two meet, you guys argue. So how about you guys stop arguing? You can jump off the roof now, Peter.”

   Kateland laughs.

   “I thought you were kidding when you said that! Because Peter? Jumping off a roof? Good one.”

   I wished I could cause explosions with my mind. Then I could blast Kateland right off the roof. Seems only fitting. Since I couldn’t do that (sadly), I just glared daggers at her instead. 

   “I can do it. Without hurting myself.”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

   “Fine. You too.”

   “Fine.” 

   “Fine!”

  There was a fence around this roof. It was too tall to jump over and too smooth to climb. I turned to Harris.

   “Are there any ladders?”

   Harris nodded. 

   “I’ll get it.”

   He rushed off, smiling mischievously as he retreated into a shed. Once I realized what he did, I felt like throttling him, or myself. He'd left me alone. With Kateland. 

   I shuffled around, hoping for someone to come here and break the thick emotion slurry. Grudge. Anger. Fury. Resentment. Hatred. 

   Thinking those words, repeating the chant of feelings in my head, calmed me down. It was refreshing, how just a few words can describe your existence at the moment. Just a few words could make you feel better. Just a few words could get you to understand a person. Just a few words.

   Perhaps that’s what Harris loved about writing. 

   I suddenly felt the urge to write something. To write anything. To get lost in a world of words that you made. 

   But, of course, I still had to jump off a building. That’s a must. 

   Kateland broke the silence, shattering it like glass. 

   “I’m sorry.”

   I wondered if I was hallucinating. In the five years I knew Kateland, she almost never apologized to people. 

   “What?”

   Kateland took out her shears and started fiddling with it. 

   “Somebody had to say it first.” Kateland gripped. “And you, being the stubborn jerk that you are, clearly aren’t budging. So I’ll say it. I’m sorry. For hurting you, in both ways. For cheating on you. For breaking up with you. Twice." 

   Her words hit me as strong as a good cup of coffee in the morning. Kateland somehow meant every word. I could hear it in her voice. She wanted forgiveness.  

   She deserved an apology. Or did she? Should I do this? Should I not?

   My mouth betrayed me. Thanks a lot, mouth. 

   “I’m sorry, too.” I admitted. “This wasn’t one-sided. I hurt you, too. Both ways. I cheated on you. And I broke up with you, too.” 

   I detected the faintest bit of humor in her eyes.

   “Twice.”

   I matched the look in her eyes. It was amazing how much we had gotten together and broken up again. 

   "I'm sorry." 

   “Well, forgive you.”

   “I forgive you, too.”

   I smiled at her, and she smiled back. We had left that gash of our last breakup open for too long. And now it is closed. The air seemed lighter, more free. I could breathe normally again. I hadn’t realized how much everything I had received and done had been carrying me down until it stopped. But there's something about this I couldn’t put my finger on. 

   Then, it hit me. 

   “Why apologize now?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. Suspicion began tickling at the base of my throat. 

   Kateland shrugged.

   “It just seemed like the right time.”

   I heard the faint rhythm of a certain Broadway song in her feet. She's lying. She always taps the rhythm of "Satisfied" from “Hamilton” when she lies. 

   “Tell me the truth.” I demanded. 

   “I am telling the truth.”

   More foot tapping. 

   I just stared at her, waiting for her to break. 

   Kateland smiled shyly. 

   “Being around you again. . . and you apologizing. . . and you forgiving me. . . it’s made me realize something.”

   I nodded. I knew what she was thinking. 

   “Let’s say it at the same time.” 

   She smiled again, wider this time. 

   “Okay. 1. . . 2 . . . 3. . .”

   I murmured,

   “We shouldn't get back together and remain friends.”

   Kateland blurted, 

   “I still love you and I want us to get back together.” 

   Oh. 

    Harris chose that moment to burst back here with the ladder. 

    “Hey!” he exclaimed, placing the ladder along the fence. “ It took a little while getting a ladder this heavy, but I got one! Do you want to--” 

   He froze. He seemed to realize that for once, we weren’t arguing. Instead, we were just standing around in awkward silence, and I noticed that Kateland had a tear in her eye. But her look was still steel, like she was willing herself not to cry. I understood that. It sucks when you love someone and that person doesn’t feel the same way. 

   Harris asked in a small voice, 

   “Can I ask what happened?” 

   Kateland sighed, her lip trembling. 

   “Your boyfriend still likes you and has no feelings for me anymore.”

   Her words carried no heat, but it sounded more like she was saying that humans don't live forever. A fact that she couldn’t change. 

   She climbed up the ladder and jumped off the building. 

   I looked down. I could just barely see that she kept falling, flipping and dancing in the air, until she tucked and rolled into a landing, and stood, unhurt, and took an exaggerated bow. She smirked, like she was declaring, 

   “Top that!”

   Harris glanced at me, apparently unconcerned that his sister might have died. Maybe Kateland did that a lot. 

   “You have feelings for me?”

   I had no idea what to say. Did I like Harris? Did he like me? Would it be right for me to date Kateland’s brother so soon after I rejected her? Did I even want to? What if he likes me and I tell him no and I break his heart? 

   I shrugged, trying to look and sound nonchalant. 

   “I have no idea what I feel.”

   Did I respond to that correctly? Was there even a right answer to this question? 

   Before I could do something, Harris did. 

   His lips found mine. 

   At first, I responded like a statue. Not kissing back, but not pulling away, either. 

   Then I kissed him back. It just felt right. 

   Before I knew it, Harris pulled away. I could feel my cheeks were warmer. The temperature seemed to have dropped again.

   Harris smirked, one that looked so similar to Kateland’s. The same crooked smile, the same humor in his eyes. 

   “How about you let me know when you know how you feel.”

   He walked through the roof door and back to his apartment. I don’t know how long I stood on the roof in shock. 

   Harris had just kissed me. Of course, we had kissed once before, at Samuel’s Steakhouse, but this was different. It wasn’t planned. I didn’t know what to feel. I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never felt so confused in my life. Did Harris even like me, or was he playing with me? If he did like me, for how long did he like me? Where did he find such courage to kiss his friend that he’s known for a decade? Because I wanted to buy that in bulk. Did they sell that kind of stuff on Amazon? 

   I decided not to follow him. I had more important matters to attend to. 

   I climbed the ladder and jumped off the roof, feeling the wind whistling in my ears. I whooped in delight as I hurtled down, towards the concrete ground below.