And they lived happily ever after.
They fell in love, which is different from Miriam and me. I care for her—a lot—but there’s no “us,” and there never will be.
“Save your dad speech for your kids,” I jab. “I like talking to her, and I’m happy she’s in Buffalo with her sister and finally has her head out of a book. Nothing sexual is going on, unless you consider arranging encyclopedias on a bookshelf foreplay.”
A small part of me is relieved that Miriam and I never went through with our one-night stand. At some point, I always grow tired of the person I’m sleeping with. It feels too much like monogamy, and that’s not a diagnosis I want in my life right now. If we fucked, it would change everything. I doubt we’d be as close as we are. She’d go back to being a stranger, someone lost in a long line of forgotten women. Losing her isn’t an option.
I never told Julian about what happened three years ago for the simple fact that I don’t want to hear his dumb conspiracy theory about me becoming Russell Wilson like he did. My pops still pursues my mom like he did back in college. He hasn’t slowed down after thirty years of marriage. They met at twenty, conceived me during Freaknik at twenty-three, and tied the knotthe same year. I’m not anti-commitment, but I’m not in a rush to settle down.
It’s why I never had a girlfriend and haven’t switched up my routine to accommodate one. A relationship isn’t top of mind because it’s not a priority.
Being a professional rugby player is my commitment. We’re busy during the preseason, we travel during the regular season, and we keep busy during the off-season. I’ll reach peak age to play once I turn thirty this year. There’s still a lot I want to accomplish without a partner or family tying me down. I have enough responsibilities as captain, and with Steel House.
“I watched you watch Miriam for years. My high school yearbooks always went missing and magically appeared in your room.” Julian chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re different with her. Less impulsive.”
Miriam is still the finest woman to walk the earth. I don’t know what it is about her that makes time stop, but I felt it when I first spotted her at the ripe age of eleven. Julian was a freshman in high school, and he took me to an anime club that met across from a science class.
That’s where I saw her.
Thick-rimmed glasses.
Curly hair.
Oversized sweater.
A pile of books in her hands.
My pops mistook my newfound interest in shadowing Julian during his extracurricular activities as an excitement for higher learning. But it was always her.
She still tilts the room without trying. No matter how much charm I put on display or how hard I worked to earn her attention, she never saw me. Now that we’re good friends, I won’t sacrifice the years we’ve spent getting to where we are for a nut. She’s too precious, and I’d hurt her if I tried to be someoneI’m not. Someone who wants to commit and slow his life down for love.
“I’m good with what we are,” I say. Going back to a life of watching her only in glimpses won’t work for me.
Julian drops his cup in the sink. “If you don’t want to explore what could be, keep doing you. Just be careful. All of that time together has a way of changing a man’s tune.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
His grin widens. “I told myself the same thing. Now I have a wife, three kids, and am researching minivans.” He pats my shoulder on the way out of the kitchen. “Don’t let a hard head make for a soft ass.”
“We’re just friends!” I call out.
“Famous last words!” he volleys back.
Chapter 15
Miriam
Father knows bestis a guaranteed way to freeze to death.
Buffalo is disrespectfully cold during winter. It’s the kind of chill that makes leaving the house a life decision. Every day I say it won’t get worse, and every day the weather shows me how low it can go.
Outside is aSilent Hillsimulation of cloudy skies and a barely visible sun. It’s enough to summon seasonal depression. There is no reason for me to be away from the comfort of my weighted blanket and wool socks, which brings me back to my first statement.
Father knows bestis a whole lie.
I knew the job my father pleaded for me to check out wasn’t a good fit the minute I stumbled to the front door of the stone-and-brick building. He’s the personal headhunter I never asked for, who would use LinkedIn as a matchmaking service for my career and my malnourished love life if he could.
The slightest hint of anything technical means a call or email in non-yelling caps to “GIVE IT A LOOK.” He means well but still hasn’t grasped the concept of specializations. You wouldn’task a podiatrist to do open-heart surgery, but I’m expected to know every facet of engineering. My bachelor’s, master’s, and PhD—all in mechanical engineering—are forgotten alongside my requests to stop meddling.
