Alyx closed her eyes as if gathering strength, but all she felt was indecision. One part of her that still loved Lily was screaming loudly for her to accept, but another part that wanted to heal before being near her whispered no. And now, in a coffee shop—a place filled with the comforting flavors she consumed daily, her territory—she didn't want to condition herself to think of Lily every time she smelled or tasted coffee.
"I have a meeting," she lied. "A trading one."
Lily's expression crumbled a little more. "Ah... Of course, I understand."
The barista handed Alyx her coffee. She took it and stepped away from the line, though still near Lily, and asked, "And you? The apartment?"
"It's... small, a bit cold, but it's mine," Lily said, and her voice held a hint of pride (though feigned), as if trying to convince herself. "I'm... looking for a substitute teaching job at a daycare."
Alyx nodded. It was the perfect job for Lily, full of chaos and tenderness, just like her. "You'll do well."
Another pause without a future. Neither knew how to continue the conversation or, in Alyx's case, how to flee with dignity.
"I miss you," the words slipped softly from Lily's lips, laden with a pain that even Alyx felt constricting her chest.
"Not in the way we were, or like before. I miss you, your calm silence where you were always deep in thought, your fiercely protective way of loving, your way of seeing things from different angles. I just miss you, Alyx."
Alyx squeezed the coffee cup so hard the cardboard gave a little, slightly burning her fingertips. But it was for the best—that pain helped her focus on the present and not get lost in her thoughts.
"I miss you too, Lily," she admitted, and it was the purest, most heartbreaking truth she had spoken in months. "But I miss the Lily I believed was part of an invincible trio, the one where we loved and supported each other and were going to share our lives. But I don't know where that Lily is now. I don't know if the Lily standing in front of me can rebuild the Lily I fell in love with, even more than when I first met her." She added, feeling and projecting the truth behind every word.
Although Lily felt it was a harsh judgment, it was also fair, considering everything she had made Alyx feel by choosing to chase a dream, leaving behind what was already secure and abandoning it for something else, hurting both her loves.
"Maybe... perhaps with time," Lily whispered.
"Maybe," Alyx repeated, not as a promise but as one possibility among many.
"I have to go," she said, determined to leave the conversation there.
Lily didn't stop her and watched her leave, her green eyes bright with tears.
With the Group
Now, as days passed, everyone was beginning to feel Alyx's absence more acutely. Before, it was a gentle wave barely touching the shore; now it was stronger, like waves pushing children and adults from the edge of the water straight onto the sand.
It showed in Marshall, who was now in a state of lethargy and confusion. With the new void Alyx had left in his life, which he didn't know how to fill, he let himself be convinced to go out with Barney to "fish" for women in bars but couldn't bring himself to let Barney steal them away, even though his melancholic air piqued women's interest.
One night after a disastrous date Barney had set up out of pity, Marshall found himself sitting on Alyx's sofa, staring at his phone. He had five missed calls from Lily, which he ignored every time they rang, and a couple of messages from Robin asking if he had seen Alyx. But none from Alyx. She had moved and disappeared. And now, without her, he wondered what she was doing, how she was, and if she was okay alone.
Clumsily, he dialed her number. It rang several times before going to voicemail. Her professional voice answered briefly: "This is Alyx. Leave a message."
"Umm... Hi, Alyx, it's Marshall... Just calling to see how you are... with your new place and if you want to come by sometime, we could grab something... Well, we... I mean, I miss you."
He hung up, feeling foolish for stammering so much, unsure of what to say with so many pauses between words. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed, but it wasn't a call—it was a text.
From Alyx: I'm fine, Marshall. Busy, but thanks for asking. Talk soon.
It was the most generic, distant message he had received from her in years. Marshall read it over and over, searching for a subtext that wasn't there. There was no "Marshmallow," no dry joke—just nothing.
Ted, who had been watching from the kitchen, approached. "Alyx?"
"Yeah," Marshall said, putting the phone aside. "She seems... distant."
"It's because she is distant, man," said Ted with the rare perceptiveness that sometimes struck him in emotional situations. "Physically and emotionally. Maybe we needed her to pull away to realize she was always here. Not just as your... third wheel, or whatever you three were, but as Alyx."
Marshall looked at him, stunned. It was the most lucid observation he had heard from anyone in weeks (apart from overhearing Alyx and Lily's argument).
"Do you think we took her for granted?" Marshall asked doubtfully.
Ted shrugged. "At least I did. Robin says she did too. Barney, well, he thinks it's a very advanced pickup tactic to make whoever you use it on keep looking for or thinking about you, and he wants her to teach him."
A flicker of the old Marshall appeared in his brief smile at Barney's antics, but it faded quickly. "And how do we get her to... come back? Not to come back to me, Lily, or whatever, but just to come back and be with everyone, even if just as my friend."
"I don't think we can do anything, Marshall," Ted sighed. "We can only wait and be there when she decides to come back... Well, if she decides to."
That night, Marshall couldn't sleep. He got up and went to the kitchen, looking at the empty space where Alyx's coffee maker used to be. He sighed softly, took a cup from the cabinet, and poured himself some water. As he took sips, he stared at the empty space and thought to himself, Even if she came back, I wouldn't know how to make things like before. Nothing would be the same if she didn't let us get close.
Across the city
Alyx listened to Marshall's voicemail one more time before turning off her phone. She felt the same conflict she had with Lily earlier that day. One part of her that loved him told her to respond with a joke, ask about his day, or comfort the indecision she heard in his voice.
But the part of her that was slowly building herself up—the one who needed to exist outside the shadow of their relationship and as an extension of Marshall or Lily—prevented her from doing so.
Instead, she settled for the brief message she had sent earlier. She left her phone and took her cup to pour herself more coffee—her third. The tremor in her hands reproached the stress of her constantly shifting, yet suppressed, emotions.
Then, she approached the unfinished silhouette canvas with her brushes and paints. This time, she took a fine brush and, with a muted gold color she had mixed, began painting small, firm strokes, creating a window frame around the figure. Cynically, she compared the frame to the new windows of opportunity and change in her life.
Maybe, she thought as she stepped back from the canvas and pulled her pack of cigarettes and lighter from her jacket pocket.
She lit a cigarette while leaning against the balcony railing and exhaled the smoke. In the wind, she could smell the oil paint, coffee, and smoke.
She thought about the now-finished silhouette and how she could fill both the space inside it and around it. Perhaps she could do the same for herself. For the first time, she saw not only the pain but also the faint, distant light of a future where she could simply be Alyx—without hiding or controlling her personality.
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