My Butterfly

grin.
    “I’ll stay forever,” she said, laughing.
    “What about palm trees?” I asked.
    She smiled and shook her head.
    “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” I said, still grinning.
    We grew silent then, as we both stared off into the lake. I tapped my fishing pole a couple of times against a cattail and watched the bobber bounce on the surface of the water. And for the first time, I noticed the air smelled like old maple trees and the last cut of hay. I tugged at the pole some, then spotted some butterfly weeds off in the distance on the other side of the lake and remembered what the chief had told me.
    “Happiness is like a butterfly, you know?” I mumbled to myself.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her face turn toward mine.
    “What?” she asked.
    I shifted in my chair, then met her gaze.
    “Happiness is like a butterfly,” I said again. “The more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder.”
    “It’s Thoreau,” I added.
    She held her stare on me for a little longer. Then, she returned her gaze to the lake.
    “Hmm,” she said, in what seemed like reflection, as she slowly nodded her head.
    “So, how have you been? What have you been up to these days?” she asked moments later.
    I shifted restlessly in my chair.
    “Working, golfing, fishing,” I quickly rattled off.
    I was trying not to sound frustrated, but deep down, I knew I had already lost that battle.
    “You’re looking at it,” I added, just for good measure.
    “How’s living in St. Louis? I heard you got an apartment. Do you like it?” she asked, seemingly unfazed by my detached state.
    “It’s fine,” I said. “It’s all fine. Are you seeing anyone?”
    I kept my eyes on the water. I was afraid of this answer even though I already knew it.
    “I am,” she said. “I’m still seeing Brady.”
    I mumbled what could have almost been a word under my breath. She didn’t seem to notice.
    “What about you?” she asked.
    “What about me?”
    “Well, how’s Miss New Year’s Eve?” she asked.
    My gaze shot back toward her. A second later, I was searching her eyes to gauge her seriousness.
    “You still remember that?” I asked.
    I was still hoping that she hadn’t—that the night had just miraculously disappeared from her memory.
    Her eyes faltered and fell to the ground.
    “Jules, that whole thing was just a bad idea,” I said and then stopped.
    I searched her features then with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, until she found my eyes again, and my expression softened. Surely, she hadn’t thought that I had been with Jessica this whole time.
    “Jules, I’m sorry about that night. I…,” I started.
    “Will, it’s fine,” she said, stopping me. “You had a date. So what? We weren’t together. Plus, it was a long time ago. I don’t even think about it anymore.”
    I tried to say something, but instead, the word anymore bounced around my mind, interfering with my speech functions. She didn’t even think about it anymore. The thought made me sigh both because there was a part of me, I guessed, that still hoped she did think about it—about us—and then there was another part of me that wished I could say the same. Most times, I wished I couldn’t remember it either. I let my eyes linger in hers for a few more seconds before I gently smiled and returned my attention to the lake again. Then, I refit my baseball cap around my head and tried to clear away the ache in my throat. That ache meant I had to act fast. I had to get her or me away before that damn mist in my eyes returned.
    “Well, I have to go to my parents’ house for dinner tonight,” I said, as I reeled in my line and stood up from my chair. “Mom’s making her specialty. I promised her I’d be there.”
    I watched her grow still and then nod her head.
    “Okay, yeah, can’t miss that,” she said. “I’d better get going then. It was nice seeing you again, Will.”
    I caught her awkwardly fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket again, and it helped me to smile.
    “Come,” I blurted out.
    “What?” she asked.
    Her voice was soft and hesitant.
    “Come with me,” I said again.
    Her eyes fell toward the ground, then returned to mine a couple of seconds later.
    “Okay,” she said, starting to smile and to slowly nod her head again.
    “All right, let’s go,” I said, turning to leave.
    I took a couple of steps, then looked back at her. She