19. The willow

Two days have passed.
And I’ve decided it's time to pull myself together. No more crying, no more wasting away on the couch, no more drifting through empty hours. I’m done with that.

This morning, I got out of bed, took a long, hot shower, and opened my laptop. I started applying for jobs, firing off emails.
Two hospitals have already responded.

I close the laptop, slip on my shoes, and step out the front door.

I walk to my usual spot. The old bench beneath the willow tree. Its drooping leaves hang so low now they nearly brush the ground, covering the bench completely. If you didn’t know it was there, you'd walk right past.

I part the curtain of leaves and slide onto the bench. The leaves falling back behind me.

It’s quiet here. Peaceful. Just birdsong and the rustle of branches. No cars, no voices, no noise that matters.

I stretch out across the bench, close my eyes, and slowly exhale.

I lie there for an hour, my body finally letting go of weeks’ worth of tension. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel relaxed.

Eventually, I sit up, dig my phone out of my pocket, and check my emails. No new replies. I sigh, tuck it away, and push the leaves aside as I step from under the tree.

I stop. Someone’s sitting on the grass just a few meters away from me. Bill.

My breath catches. I hesitate. Do I turn around? Pretend I didn’t see him?

I bite my lower lip, watching him absentmindedly playing with a bracelet around his wrist.

Friends, I whisper to myself. Friends don’t pretend. So I walk over.

I sit beside him without a word. After a moment, he turns his head and our eyes meet.

"Hi," I say softly.

"Hi."

I glance at the pond in front of us, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.

“I didn’t know you still came here,” he says.

“Not as much as I used to,” I reply. “I usually sit under the willow.”

“I know,” he says quietly.

I turn my head, studying his face. He feels it, somehow, and looks back at me.

“Remember the last time we were here?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah... I do.” My eyes drop to a random patch of grass.

He hesitates, then asks, “Did you ever wonder how things might’ve been... if we never broke up?”

I don’t look at him, just keep my eyes on the grass. A quiet laugh slips from my lips, almost involuntarily. “All the time,” I whisper.

"I wonder how things would’ve been if I never left. If I’d stayed here in Germany," he says.

"You know that wasn’t possible," I mumble.

For months, I told myself he left me. That he didn’t have to move, that things weren’t really that bad. That if he had just waited it out, everything would go back to normal.

But the truth crept in slowly. Even a year later, paparazzi still gathered outside his house. Fans travelled all the way here just in case they were visiting.

I finally understood. He hadn’t left me..

"Maybe not," he says quietly.

"Maybe we just weren’t meant to be," I say before I can stop myself.

His head snaps toward me. I ignore it, keeping my eyes steady on the pond, but I can feel his eyes burning on my skin.

"Maybe not," he echoes.

This time, I turn to look at him. He’s staring ahead, eyes locked on some distant point, as if he’s afraid to meet mine now.

I didn't expect him to agree. But what had I expected? For him to argue? To tell me I was wrong? That it could still work, despite everything?

I shake my head, barely noticeable, but he catches it anyway.

"What?" he asks, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Nothing," I say, returning the smile.

Then, before I can say anything else, my stomach growles loudly.

Bill grins. "Someone’s hungry."

"Yeah," I laugh. "I should probably go home. Make something to eat."

As I push myself up from the ground, he stands with me, brushing grass from his jeans.

"I, uh... made lasagna," he says. "Tom’s recipe. You should try it. It’s the best lasagna in the world."

I pause, smile widening. “How can I say no to the best lasagna in the world?”


While we wait for the lasagne, we sit at the kitchen table. Both a glass of red wine in our hands.

At first, the silence feels calm. But after a few minutes, it stretches too long, like we're both trying not to say the wrong thing.

So I say the first thing that comes to my mind.

"I applied for a few jobs today," I say, smiling. Too wide, too practiced. "Two hospitals already want to interview me."

"Really? That’s... that’s great." He says, trying to sound enthousiastic, but I can tell something is off.

"Yeah." I say, taking another sip from my wine. Bill does the same, and again, silence.

"Brenda set me up on a blind date." I say, desperate to break the silence. It's a complete lie. Not even a good one.

"A date?" he asks, brows lifting just slightly.

"Yeah. Tomorrow night." Another lie. I don't even know why I'm saying it. Maybe I want to see if he cares?

He finishes his wine in one long gulp and stands, crossing the room to the counter. He grabs the bottle of wine and refills his glass.

"You want some?" he asks, not giving me a look.

"Yes, please." I extend my glass, trying to catch his eyes, but he stays focused on the glass. On anything but me.

I wait until he sits back down, before I speak.

"When are you going back to L.A.?" I ask, my voice soft.

"Soon," he says, short and flat, still not looking at me.

And then, mercifully, the oven timer beeps, breaking the silence we’ve once again fallen into.

Without a word, Bill stands and walks over to the oven. He slips on a pair of mitts, carefully pulls out the lasagna, and sets it down on the countertop.

A moment later, he returns with two plates in hand. He places one in front of me. Then sits across from me, setting his own plate down as well.


The wine keeps coming, and we both loosen up a little, finally getting the conversation going effortlessly.

"You didn't lie, this lasagne is really good."

"Told you." He says, a proud grin on his face.

I smile, and he smiles back.

"This is nice," I say. "us.. being friends."

"Yeah'" He mumbles. "it is."

And just like that... We fall into silence again.

I get up, grabbing another bottle of wine from the counter. "What about some more wine?" I ask, turning toward him.

"Yeah, sure." He nods.

I open the bottle, filling up both his glass and mine and put the bottle on the table next to the two empty ones.


We talk the rest of the evening, laughing for no reason, getting completely wasted.

When I wake up the next day, I have a hard time remembering what exactly happened. All I know is that I'm in Bill's bed, alone, yet fully naked.

I put on my clothes and get out of bed, giving myself a quick look in the mirror before I leave the room.

I enter the living room and see Bill asleep on the couch, one arm hanging over the edge, one under his head.

I tip toe to the kitchen, desperately needing some coffee. Surprisingly, I don't have a hangover, I'm just exhausted from the lack of sleep I probably had.

I glance at Bill, a little smile covering my face.
He is cute when he sleeps, I think to myself.

I turn around, grabbing a mug from the cabinets and turning on the coffee machine.

It's loud and to my surprise Bill doesn't wake up.

I drink my coffee slowly, watching Bill peacefully sleeping.

After an hour, I try to wake him up.

"Bill, can you give me a ride home?" I gently thug his shoulder.

Nothing.

I try again. "Bill? Bill wake up, I need a ride!"

He doesn't move, doesn't open his eyes. His breathing hitched slightly but other then that... No response.

I sigh. "So, no ride."

I walk back to the kitchen, looking for a post it note and a pen.

I write down a quick little message, letting him know I left.

Meanwhile, I call Brenda, asking if she can pick me up instead.

"Why are you at Bill's house? Stop torturing yourself like this, Evi."

I sigh. "Can you just pick me up, please?"

"I'm already on my way."

"And Brenda.. Can you fix me a date for tonight?"