Afterword

The days that followed my return from DC, I struggled to wrap my head around my new reality. Fear bubbled up from my toes as I worked to embrace my decision to walk away. I knew it was unquestionably the right step. But it didn’t necessarily feel comfortable, my emotions numbed and my heart safely tucked behind a wall. I retreated inward and consumed myself with thoughts.

After spending a week sidestepping his emails and texts, I realized I had to finally say something. And after almost two years of back and forth, it deserved more than words typed on a page. So Sunday night, curled up on my couch, my spine pressed into the sofa back and my knees tucked tight to my chest, I dialed his number. When it went to voicemail, I hung up. I did the same thing Tuesday night. But this time he called back.

With my eyes still closed, I pushed the sheet to the side and fumbled for the phone on the nightstand.

“I was out running but saw you called,” he says.

I turn my head until my cheek collides with a cool spot on the pillowcase. Then I open my eyes and glance at the clock flashing numbers for half past midnight.

“Did you have a good run?” I mumble as I stretch my legs straight and tense my quads.

“You’re asleep. I’m sorry. Go back to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“No, it’s fine,” I counter, knowing I’d rather say what’s been on my mind than carry it inside any longer.

After ten minutes of idle chitchat and catching up, my belly aching from the laughter that partnered with the conversation, I finally say what’s been brewing in my mind.

“I hated coming back from DC. Or maybe that I went. Because it was nothing more than a mirage. Nothing’s different. Nothing’s changed. For twelve hours, it worked. And then it went back to being still and empty.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, and I hope this comes out right, I mean I need you to either step it up or I need to truly move on. I just can’t keep doing this. I spent the last year hopeful you’d turn a corner. It was a choice I made and I in no way blame you. Seriously, I don’t. But I know what I want. And I still want it with you, an admission I’m sure is dangerous to say aloud. But I think I’ve finally reached the point that what I want, I want it more than I want to have it with you. And, here’s the kicker, I’ve realized I’ll never find it with someone else if you’re in my life.”

“I get it,” he says, his voice falling quiet. “Right or wrong, I’m still paralyzed. I’m scared I’ll hurt you. What if we resume things and it doesn’t work out? I’d feel horrible if I did that to you.”

“Again.”

“Yes, again.”

“Except that’s the only way to do it. Everyone has to risk getting hurt in order to fall in love. Part of the territory.”

“Never thought of it that way,” he says, pausing for a few moments before blurting out a random thought. “Come here in October.”

I wait a few seconds before I respond. “You don’t want me there.”

He let’s out a frustrated low scream.

“Am I wrong?” I ask.

“No, that scream was directed at me, not you,” he explains.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad or disappointed. I’m just tired of spinning my wheels and having nothing to show for it. Three friends who met guys around the time we met, they’re all now engaged. You and I? We’re at the starting line. Shit, we might even be ten feet behind it.”

“Is it remotely possible that I’m doing all of this not to protect you but to protect me?”

I don’t answer his question. With my head pressed into a pillow and my body curled onto its side, I quietly leave space for him to digest his own words. The only sound I can hear is the echo of my breath in the receiver.

“P?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”