I grab coffee from the pot and lean against the counter. The kitchen smells like the maple bacon Aiden made earlier, mixed with the lemon cleaner Perry uses on everything. It's familiar. Comfortable. Home, in the way that stations are for career firemen.
I think about last week. When Jasper proposed here at the station. It was a great day. Fawn cried, Jasper choked up, and we all cheered. Then I drove home.
And it was quiet. My truck was quiet. My apartment was quiet.
I stood in front of the open fridge in my boxers eating cold enchiladas straight from the Tupperware, scrolling through my phone with nobody to text. No one waiting up. No one asking how the night went. Just me and the cold light of the refrigerator on my face.
I'm happy for these guys. Every single one of them. I swear I’m not bitter. It's just—watching them all find their person, one after another, like some kind of chain reaction of love detonating around the station? It's really done a number on me. Made me think about things I've never really thought about before.
And I don't know what to do with that.
"You know what? I'm starting a petition," I announce to no one in particular. "Mandatory single-guy hours at the station. No heart-eyes. No lovey smiles. No discussions about napkin fabrics. Just weights, coffee, and emotional repression. Like the good old days."
They all scoff, and Aiden, finally off the phone, drops into the chair next to me. He tilts his head in that way which means he's about to play matchmaker again.
Here we go.
"So," he starts. "Beth's friend Camille?—"
"No."
"You didn't let me finish."
"Didn't need to. I know where this is going. You're gonna say 'she's great,' Beth's gonna say 'you'd love her,' and then one of us will have a schedule conflict, a kid thing, a work emergency, and it won't happen. Again."
He opens his mouth to argue, but I hold up a hand.
"Brother, we've been doing this dance for months. You and Beth hype up this mystery woman as if she's some kind of mythical creature?—"
"She's a sweet, attractive third-grade teacher."
"—and every single time we try to make it happen, the universe steps in and says 'not today.' I'm done fighting the universe, man."
Aiden leans back, studying me. "I think you’re both just stubborn and a little nervous."
"Maybe." I shrug. "But if fate wanted us to meet, it would've happened by now. I think the message is pretty clear. I'm filing her under 'not meant to be' and moving on."
He holds his hands up. “Okay, okay.” But he still gives me that half amused, half something that says he sees more than I want him to. Aiden's annoyingly wise for a guy whose main hobby is baking.
"Your call," he says. Then, quieter: "But for the record, I think you'd both be great together.”
That night, after I've showered and eaten leftover chicken and rice for dinner, I flop onto my bed.
I begin my evening scrolling on my phone.
A girl I used to hook up with in Bozeman just posted engagement photos. Her smile’s so big her face seems like it might split in half, and the guy has his arm around her as if he can't believe his luck. Good for them.
I scroll to a buddy from the academy who posted anniversary photos—three years. The caption says,Can't imagine doing life without you.I double-tap it because I'm a decent person.
My thumb continues to move, to a guy from my high school who just had a baby. His profile picture is him holding this tiny pink bundle with tears streaming down his face, and the caption is just a single word:Everything.
I put the phone face down on my chest.
Everybody's moving forward, building something, pairing off like the ark is leaving and I missed the boarding call.
I'm a thirty-four year old man with a face that gets me phone numbers and the assumption that there’s not much else underneath. And my heart wants more than my brain knows how to ask for. I’m standing perfectly still while the world couples up around me.
I think about my dad…not with the anger I used to carry, that burned out years ago, now replaced by something harder to name. He left when I was four. Packed up and disappeared. No goodbye, no explanation, no forwarding address. I spentyears wanting him back, then years hating him, then years being grateful he was gone because Mami was better without him.
