“My sister lives kind of close by,” she tells me. “Up near San Clemente. And my parents too.”
“So, no stories your mom loves embarrassing you with?”
She shakes her head through a giggle. “I don’t think so…”
“Come on,” I protest. “They don’t haveanystories? Like you being chased by a chicken or some awkward school performance where you made a complete fool of yourself.”
Her eyes round with intrigue. “A chicken?”
“We have family in Montana,” I explain. “Apparently I don’t do well on farms. Or with poultry.”
She cackles a laugh. Her entire face lights up, and I genuinely can’t remember the last time I enjoyed someone’s company this much. I cross my arms in front of me, resting my elbows on the table, and observe her in what seems like a new light. She’s not in her pajamas, hair a bundled mess on the top of her head wearing my oversized shirt. She’s not in her tight work clothes, all wound up in wool or linen. She’s wearing a large hoodie despite the fact that it’s the middle of summer. It’s a light sand color with long sleeves she has bunched up to her forearms. Not a hint of makeup touches her face, and her hair is braided along the back with the end slung over her shoulder. She looks sweet and uncomplicated. Like she’s just here to enjoy my company while we spend the next few hours pouring our hearts to each other. Just like last time. Only this time it’ll be over sweet diner food and not tequila.
“More coffee?”
“Sure,” Grace tells our server as she brings the carafe to Grace’s mug. When she moves to my mug, silently asking if I’d like to be topped off, I nod and thank her.
Grace lifts her coffee mug to her lips, ditching her Coke float, and takes a careful sip. When she sets it down, she looks at me with a sideways tilt of her head and an inquisitive nibble on her lower lip.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
I set down my fork, linking my fingers in front of me. A silent gesture of my undivided attention. “Sure.”
“Why no girlfriends?”
“What?”
She looks away, seeming suddenly shy after asking such a bold question. But I want to know what she means. What the intention of her question is and why such details of my personal life matter to her.
“Never mind,” she responds, shrugging a shoulder as if she didn’t really mean to ask the question in the first place.
“No,” I press. “Why did you ask me that?”
“Because…you’re my friend,” she finally answers, her eyes focused on a perfectly cut triangular piece of waffle doused in a puddle of syrup. “And, as your friend, I guess I want to know.”
“Friend,” I mutter under my breath.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” If it weren’t for the figurative elephant that seems to come and go as it pleases, I’d probably believe her. I’d take her answer at face value and ignore the swirl of assumptions making my brain murky.
She drops the fork in her hand and looks at me. She gives me her full attention, a soft amicable look of unreserved interest in her eyes. “So, are you going to answer my question?”
“I guess…” I huff a sigh. The difficulty finding the right words clog up my throat. Talking aboutStar Warsor my hatred for my boss or even a detailed, step-by-step LEGO set instructional feels easy. But discussing in fine detail what my fears and doubts are? That’s going to require a more gracious approach. And Grace’s gentle, affectionate smile seems to do the trick. “It’s a little scary.”
“What is?”
“Being that vulnerable with someone,” I tell her. “Letting someone into my life. It’s a big deal.”
She nods in agreement.
“When you make a commitment to someone and create a life they’re naturally a part of, it isn’t something that should be taken lightly,” I continue. “And I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone who I can fully let in that way. To be completely myself without hiding a single part of me. Who can I do that with?”
More silence from her, and I can see how my words are making the gears churn in her head.
“You know, my friends recently told me about my commitment issues, and I’m beginning to see what they mean.”
“I mean, it is a big deal,” she says in agreement. “Committing to someone and being open and vulnerable. And if it doesn’t work out, you end up feeling like such a failure.” The look in her eyes is vacant. This failure we’re talking about set her down in a place she’s familiar with. Somewhere she once walked away from and has no plans to walk back to.
