He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer. “It is,” he agrees. “But it doesn’t make the sentiment any less true. I’m in love with you, not knowing what will happen to us tomorrow. I’m asking you to move in without knowing if you’ll say yes—though five minutes ago, I was pretty sure of the answer.” He lets out a low, embarrassed chuckle, and I smile softly and reach for his hand. “You got your coat stuck on the door, and I ran into you and spilled iced coffee on you, not knowing you’d turn into the love of my life. The most interesting, funny person I’ve ever met. I didn’t walk into that coffee shop expecting to meet my dream girl, but here we are.”
A quiet lingers for a moment as his message becomes apparent. Fate will have its way. Destiny will grab you by the coat and make you meet the person you’re supposed to love. But what Donavan doesn’t realize is I wasn’t just flustered from being late to my next patient. I was flustered because Emily had just texted me, saying Audrey wanted to invite me to her and JP’s wedding and that she had made sure she could give them my address. I wanted to say thatJP already has it. He’s even slept in my bed. I didn’t because that would be bitter and immature. Instead, I sent over my permission with the expectation that I would regretfully decline and send them a slow cooker as a gift.
The invite never came. Now I know why.
“Every moment has its place, Julia,” Donavan adds, and my mind spirals in a million directions.
“It does,” I agree.
“So will you move in? Or do you want to think about it? Because it doesn’t have to be right now. It could be—”
I cut off his rambling. “Yes. You’re right. This is right. I love you. I want to move in.”
Donavan’s smile brightens and I’m certain I’ve given him his favorite gift of all time. “Yes?”
“Yes!” I say more enthusiastically and nod, wrapping my arms around him. He squeezes me tight and laughs, giddy and jubilant as a child on Christmas morning.
We fall asleep talking about how this apartment will feel different with me living in it. I insist on more art and brighter rugs, and Donavan insists on making Kevin sleep on the floor... like a dog. I laugh and tell him he never has an issue with Kevin snuggles at my apartment. He laughs and says, “Whatever makes you happy, baby.”
I sigh into his arms and dream about a settled life with Donavan. But just as soon as I begin drifting off to sleep, I startleawake with thoughts of JP—every memory of him playing on a loop.
I sneak from under Donavan’s arm, careful not to disturb him and tiptoe to the bathroom. With my feet on the heated tile and my thighs cold against the porcelain of the toilet lid, I pull out my phone and text JP.
I haven’t texted him in eighteen months, but I never deleted his number. I didn’t have a reason to. But he is still saved as Guy From The Plane.
I pull up his number with shaky fingers. I’m not doing anything wrong. It’s not guilt making me shake. This isn’t something I’m hiding from Donavan. I’ll tell him all about it tomorrow. But I’m shaky with nerves because I so badly want to continue the conversation. I want to see JP again. I want all the details. I want to hold his hand and tell him everything is going to be okay even if I don’t know if it will. I want him to know I’m here for him and Audrey—whatever beingherefor someone means in this context.
Me:It was good to see you—
Delete, delete.
It was good to see him. But it also... wasn’t.
I try again.
Me:I wish we ran into each other under better circumstances—
Delete, delete.
Better circumstances? Could I sound more condescending?
I try yet again.
Me:I’m sorry to hear about Audrey. Even as I type that, it doesn’t feel adequate. I can’t imagine what you guys have been going through, and maybe this is thelast thing you want to hear, but I want to be there for you both. In any way I can—helping with dinners, starting a GoFundMe account, staying with Audrey so you can get a break. And if all this seems unappealing and completely inappropriate, then I send you my thoughts and prayers.
I proofread it three times, then smile a little as I hit send. It’s an essay. He’ll love it. I wait too long for a response.
He could still be driving. He could be passed out after a long night—year—in the frail arms of his wife. He could be—
Guy From The Plane:I think you have the wrong number. But I hope Audrey is going to be okay.
My jaw goes slack.No, no, no.It’s my last tether to him. My only way to tell him I still care. I don’t want him to think I’m that asshole fling that slid out of the back of his SUV in Jimmy Choos and designer silk without really acknowledging his loss. Without stepping up as a friend.
But the more I think—no, obsess over it—the more I realize I shouldn’t. I’m moving in with Donavan. I love Donavan. JP is amazing, but he was a one-off. A fling that sent my mind into a tizzy and evaporated my heart into butterflies. I’ve made so much of my days with JP into more than what it actually was. I can’t explain it. I met him at the right moment. He held me on a night I would have had no one. He made me laugh and dance and feel free when I was hurting. He took me home to meet his family out of pity and nothing more.
But it wasn’t love.
It still isn’t love.
