Jake shook his head. “No, it is. I mean, I’m not trying to invalidate your experience or anything, but that’s how it reads to me. You seem very direct.” He paused. “I like it.”
I set the water glass down. I came around the counter to meet him by the sink.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
I put my hands on his chest. He was the same height as me. I didn’t have to reach.
“Can I kiss you now?” I asked.
He shook his head. I could see his dimples. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes. If it would help, I can sign more papers. Maybe page eighty will give you a sense of security.”
He put his hand around my waist and then pressed his lips against mine. The kiss was tame, chaste almost. A finger wiggled through an envelope seam.
It was the first relationship I’d ever had that moved so quickly legally but so slowly physically. After that night, we were just together. Nothing at the office changed; for the most part things were so busy there that interpersonal drama wouldn’t even have been possible if we’d wanted it—there just wasn’t enough time. But after work we’d often leave together, stopping off for a drink or going back to his place to cook a Blue Apron meal.
My health was stable, the job was fun and demanding, and Josh was a good boyfriend. He even met my parents when they came up one weekend.
“He’s smart,” my father said. “A very nice young man.”
I thought he was a real grown-up. It felt so good and right to be in a committed relationship. I’d missed it with Tae, whatever poor man’s version we got, and I relished all the things I was getting back now. The dinners out; the walking down the street, holding hands; the movies on the weekends. I loved thinking about how other people saw us. What we looked like to them.
We were normal. And normal felt better than good. Normal felt like heaven.
The thing that always made me pause, though, is that Icouldn’t tell how much he likedme. It was like once he cleared it with work there were no more options, we were just going to date. I wasn’t sure how much he wanted a girlfriend versus how much he wanted me to be his.
Six months in I got my answer. Things had taken a turn the week before at work. The round of investing had fallen through. Flext was running dangerously low on cash, and there were talks of layoffs. What had once seemed like the golden ticket now felt like it was possibly expired. We were all on eggshells, and Josh was the worst. Stressed and apologetic. He knew it was his responsibility to keep all these people employed and wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it.
We were at dinner on a Tuesday when he told me. He’d been strange all day, but I assumed it was work, the hovering possibility of having to shut all of this down.
“I need to tell you something,” he said. “I’m going to be getting back together with Emily.”
He didn’t pause; he just said it. I blinked at him. I had heard her name frequently in our time together, his ex, but I had no idea they were even in contact.
“Nothing has happened—I haven’t cheated on you. I promise. I hope you’ll believe me, although I’d understand if you don’t. And if I could stop myself from feeling this way, I would. I don’t want to hurt you. But we ran into each other on the train last week, and we got to talking, and I realized how much I still love her.” He looked away. He was measured, but he was upset. “She feels the same way.”
I believed him. Based off how he’d handled our beginning, I knew he was telling the truth.
“I don’t know what to say,” I said. I couldn’t tell if I was devastated or just shocked. They felt like the same thing.
He shook his head. He ran his hands through his hair. “I know. Me either. I like you so much. We have such a great time together, and you’re fun and—”
I held my hand up. I didn’t think I could hear more.
“I just,” he said. “She’s the one.”
What I knew then was this: he had clearly been in love with her the whole time. I didn’t know if it was betrayal, but I knew it didn’t feel good. Suddenly this bubble I’d created for myself—one without heartache—burst. I wasn’t the anonymous feel-good girl from LA. I was a girl with a history, and he was a man who couldn’t let go of his.
“I’m happy for you, then,” I said. I didn’t mean it. But I wanted to be mature. I wanted to, somehow, right the ship again. To put myself back in the driver’s seat, to not feel at the mercy of someone else. I wanted to be in control.
“Do you really mean that?” He looked relieved. I couldn’t understand how he could possibly be that stupid, how I hadn’t known, how I had let so much time pass and ended up here. “Because I don’t want you to go anywhere. The office needs you. You’re an important part of our team.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
We didn’t finish our dinner. When I got up, he didn’t fight me on it. He didn’t say, “Come on, eat your burger” or “One more drink” or “Let’s just stay a bit longer.” He didn’t want to; it was obvious. He wanted to go home to her. All that was standing in between this bar and their reconciliation was me.
