“A decade, give or take.”
“What the actual fuck?” I’ve never seen Cal so confused. “You’ve been in love for a decade and didn’t tell me?”
“Not exactly. For a while, it was just a random hookup here or there. But from the first time we got together, there was more to it than that. I felt something with her I’ve never felt with a woman. Every time I wanted more, she had a reason it couldn’t work. Then, months or a fucking year would go by before we were together again.”
“Sounds like Charlotte when we first met. I feel your pain.”
“A couple of years ago I realized I could never get serious with anyone because they weren’t her, and I was going to put my life on hold until she was ready. She’s the one. For the last year, she’s known how I feel. She knows I’m ready as soon as she is. Now, I’m waiting for her to get her shit together.”
“Does she feel the same?”
“She may not want to admit it to herself, but she does.”
“Owen, man, I hate for you to wait around for someone who can’t admit not only to you, but to themselves that they love you. You deserve better than that.”
“She’s worth the wait and whatever pain comes along with loving her.”
Like losing you as my best friend.
“So, you’re just banging chicks every weekend while you wait for her?”
“I go out. I may suck face and get a little frisky, but I’ve onlybeenwith her for over a year now.”
“No shit?”
“Everyone else is filler. I’ve let no one else get too close. Never wanted the hassle that would come when she decided she was ready.” I turn to look him in the eye. “Because I will always choose her, and that’s not fair to anyone else I may be in a relationship with.”
He runs his hand over his face. “Well, fuck. Owen Swift is in love. I never thought I would see the day.”
What the hell has gotten into me? It’s like I’m in a damn confessional and Cal is my priest. I don't know what confession feels like, but a shameful weight feels lifted off my shoulders. I haven’t told him the whole truth of the situation, but I can only hope that the day he learns the rest of my truth, he’ll remember this conversation.
I lift my pint to his, and he taps his against it.
“To love,” he says, looking shell-shocked. He takes a drink and looks straight ahead in silence. I’m sure the wheels in his head are turning, trying to piece together what he’s missed all these years.
“But we aren’t here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about you and why you make your wife so damn crazy.”
“Dude, I couldn’t be more over that. Your secret love life is much more interesting.”
“It’s pathetic, is what it is. But if it’s made you feel better about your situation at home, I’m glad to be of service.”
Loud country music and the merriment of the bar's patrons fill the lack of conversation as we finish our beers.
“I’m an asshole,” he finally says.
“Why’s that?”
“You’re my best friend, and I didn’t notice.”
“I didn’t want you to.”
“You should be able to tell me anything.”
“I can.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I wanted to keep her to myself. If I’m being honest, she scares the ever-loving shit out of me.”
