Sometimes at night, when it’s quiet and I’m alone with my thoughts, though, I get this sickening feeling that none of the decisions I managed to make this year will save me from failure. Am I going to get my hopes up the next time I have a nice conversation with an eligible man and end up in another lukewarm courtship that goes well past its expiration date?
I mean, I hope not. That was the reason I made so many changes: to break away from my bad habits. Because clinging to relationships as a sense of securityisa terrible habit. Before Winston, there was Caleb. Before Caleb, there was David.
But you have to keep trying. Right? Either that or be like Jamie. God, I love him, but I’m not built like he is. I tried the hook-up thing in my early twenties, and it wasn’t for me. Yet, what the hell did the alternative get me? Playing house?
Maybe it’s what Winston said before I left that has me so rattled. I know without a doubt that he didn’t feel the chemistry anymore either, but he still looked upset when I told him I wanted to end things.
‘Did you ever think that maybe you’re not capable of falling in love?’
His question still haunts me like an agitating jingle you can’t shake from your brain. He knew my entire dating history—that’s the kind of stuff you joke about and divulge over the years when you think it’s all behind you. When you trust someone. They’re mistakes you revel in knowing they were the road that led you to the person you’re with. I never thought he’d use that information as a weapon to rattle my self-image.
Maybe I’mnotcapable of falling in love. Maybe a false sense of security is all I’m capable of falling into.
The packing paper falls away, revealing a ceramic coffee mug. Why did Mom send me a coffee mug?
Turning it, I stare at a familiar logo on the opposite side.TheSunshine Diner.
“Oh, my gosh.” I let out a laugh, instantly seeing flashbacks of drunken breakfasts with Jamie in college.
What a blast from the past. I didn’t even know I had this. I should send it to him for Christmas. It’s a relic now. That place closed a long time ago; I would know. He went on to see the world, while I never left San Antonio. The thought of ever moving back home to Kansas makes me shudder as much now as it did back then. Not only are there fewer opportunities there, but I’d be subjected to being near my parents, the most in-love couple on the planet. I don’t want another reminder that the candle is burning, and I might die alone if I never meet someone.
Setting the mug aside to take to the kitchen later, I fish a mini photo album out of the box. The plastic pages stick together momentarily when I open it, but give way.
Oh, wow.
There’s Jamie’s stupid face and those old, round-rimmed glasses he used to wear. He wouldn’t be caught dead without contacts now. I guess I won’t be completely alone after all. Except being stuck in the same retirement home with Jamie might be too much for me.
“Blackmail photo,” I declare, turning the page.
There are others of us goofing around with our nerdy friends. One of Jamie, looking up, enamored, at a go-go dancer that hestillwouldn’t stand a chance with.
Jeez, it seems like a million years ago. I remember driving through this neighborhood back then. It’s still surreal to believe I’m now living in it. I spent all my years in San Antonio living on the opposite side of town, east of the Army hospital.
Turning the page, I expect to find another silly photo. At first glance, it might appear so to Jamie, who I assume took the photo. It’s me, packing up my nearly empty room in the duplex we rented together after we moved out of the dorm. The look on my face is unenthused by his intrusion, but the sight of my mattress on the floor behind me reminds me it was so much more than that. The memories hit like a tidal wave and keep coming.
It would be a big, fat lie if I said I never thought about Chris Mightener after I graduated that semester. It would be an even bigger one if I said I didn’t think about him for a long time after that. God, I had it so bad.
If Winston thought our calling it quits was heartbreaking, he should see this photo. I looked absolutely miserable, and it had nothing to do with college ending. I can’t even say how I made it through my finals that last semester, knowing my time with Chris was coming to an end. I was so infatuated with him that it’s still mortifying to think about.
He was everything to me, and then he was just…gone.
Flipping the album closed, I stare at the box dumbly, the ambition to unpack it now gone. I feel like I suddenly have an answer to Winston’s uncomfortable question. Iwascapable of falling in love. Once. Falling hard.
Obsessed, Remy, my conscience corrects.You were obsessed.
I can’t even argue with myself on that one. I knew it then, and I still know it now. My first year of graduate school was a depressing fog of going through the motions. Just when I thought I had gotten into a new routine that didn’t include seeing Jamie every day and having Chris sneak through my window at night, I heard aboutthe accident. It was covered quite a bit in San Antonio, considering Chris was a Panther alumnus—they were proud of him. I don’t know if they were proud of him after that, however, but news is news.
Setting the album back in the box, I cart it to my bedroom, deciding it can sit in the back of my closet for now. Everyone keeps a few things stored in boxes in their house, right?
Drunk driving. Critical condition.
It still makes me sick remembering the words I read in the paper. They even showed his smashed-up flashy sports car on the news. It was so crumpled and distorted; I don’t know how he survived it or how they got him out. I can’t imagine what he looked like or the injuries he sustained. I sigh and set the box down, scooting it to the back of the closet with my foot. The age-old questions come back like a nightmare. I went over this in my mind a thousand times back then.
Why was he drunk? Why was he drinking and driving? He was so strict about keeping his nose clean back when I knew him. I assumed maybe he was celebrating or trying to keep up with his new teammates—anything that took the blame off my precious image of Chris. Finally, I decided it didn’t matter. What I thought, what happened, what we were or weren’t—none of it mattered. All that mattered was that he lived. I only know because I never read about him dying.
I’ll be honest—when I got offered the lead position for the new sports rehab facility Cameron University at San Antonio built, he flitted across my mind. I assured myself it was natural to think about old memories of a place. I shrugged it off, though,and didn’t let it play into my decision to take the job. It was a great opportunity. Chris wasn’t the only person who went to Cameron U. And it’s not like he’s here now. For all I know, he’s a plumber back in his hometown or selling sports equipment somewhere in Colorado, where he was signed. Maybe he made a full recovery and is a personal trainer in New York City, living his best life out and proud. Maybe. Not that it matters…
I should eat something. I’ve hit the ground running at the new physio center ever since day one, sometimes refusing to stop for lunch. Tearing my eyes away from the box of doom, I pad to the kitchen, admiring the endless wraparound of white cabinets. I haven’t done nearly enough cooking in this beautiful space. Maybe I’ll buy some cookbooks and try out new recipes.
