“You’re right,” I said, letting go of my ribs. “I have been running.”
Jake’s face gave way to shock and excitement all at once. Like he was surprised I’d finally offered an answer. Something tangible that made sense.
“And it’s not because of you. It’s because of me. And a list of mistakes I’m afraid to make, so I don’t end up like my mother. But you’re not a mistake, Jake.” I closed the distance between us and took his face in my hands. “You’re the one thing I’ve actually done right.”
He smiled then, small and relieved. My heart swelled knowing I was able to give him that.
“I’ll move in with you,” I said.
His smile widened, and my heart nearly soared. “Yeah?” His hands came to my waist, and he squeezed me gently.
“Yeah.”
I smiled into his lips as they came down on mine. He swept me up and carried me to his room, where he made the sweetest, most passionate love to me, and I relished knowing it was me who made him feel so valued. For once, it felt like I had done something right, and though it didn’t burn like the flame I was used to, I was warmed enough to think,this will be enough.
Three days later, I was fully moved into Jake’s place. His loft was spacious and bright, with large windows alongthe south side of the living room and a modern kitchen with high, unfinished ceilings throughout. It was much better than my tiny dorm or the closet of a room I was renting, but more than that, it was something that felt like home.
Jake had turned the second bedroom into a study space early on, so when I’d come over, I’d have a place to escape if his friends were there to watch the game. When I agreed to move in, he immediately moved all his clothes to his closet, giving me full rein of the walk-in closet in the master—something I didn’t need but was predestined to fill.
Our first month together was heaven-sent. There was music and cooking and lots and lots of sex.Overthe couch. On the couch. In the shower. On the counter.Overthe counter. Right in the kitchen, in the middle of cooking dinner… My favorite, though, was against the living room window during the Fourth of July fireworks. He’d take me everywhere and anywhere, and I loved every minute of it. It was the fiery passion I had yearned for, and it filled my desire so well, I almost forgot E had gotten married at all.
Almost.
I could never fully forget. But one thing was certain—it didn’t sting as badly anymore. Something had healed inside me with that move. It was like giving in to Jake was the antidote to the poisonous pain I was holding onto from E. I started to feel silly for having held onto it so long. I started to notice the terrible pattern of my addictive behavior. I was happy to be rid of it. Happy to be free from the vicious cycle of agony and suffering I had been in for so many years. I was happy to no longer feel loss, but gain, so much so that I wasn’t even scared to be alone when Jake left for his golfing trip in San Antonio.
I felt strong and grounded. Like nothing could take me down now that I’d found my legs to stand on. But like a toddler taking its first steps, I wobbled at the first sign of instability.
Jake had been gone for two days when E’s call came through.
My heart stopped beating, and my body went cold as I watched his name pop up on my screen. The taunting decline or accept buttons glowed while my phone vibrated with life. I sat there for forty seconds and watched as it rang and rang and rang, until finally, it stopped, and I could breathe again.
“What the hell was that about?” I said aloud as I regained my composure. E had been married for two months at that point. We hadn’t spoken since Memorial Day, which felt like a lifetime ago. Why on earth would he be calling me?
I shook off the unease and decided it must have been a mistake. E had never called me before, so it was clearly out of character and nothing to worry about. Plus, if it were truly important, he could leave a voicemail or call back—
My phone rang again, E’s name in bold on top. My heart fell through my stomach, and I almost lost my balance from the rush of it. Why was he calling me?
I stood there, frozen, holding myself up against the counter, waiting silently for my phone to stop buzzing. But this time, when it finally did, I felt nauseous.
Now, I knew—once could be dismissed as an accident, but twice? Twice confirmed it was intentional.
I ran to the bathroom to rinse my face and calm myself down. I grabbed a fresh towel and patted my face dry,wiping my hands with it as I walked back to the living room. When I got to the couch, there was my phone—lit up, with a voicemail and a text message from E.
I sat down slowly and reached for my phone as if it would burn like acid. I swiped the screen up and stared at the little red box over the message app. I took a shaky breath, closed my eyes tightly, and clicked to open the text messages.
Pick up. It’s E.
That’s all it said. Four little words were enough to shake up my whole life, the one I felt so strong in just moments before. I closed the messages and opened my call log. My finger hovered over his name for 10 seconds…
And then I threw the phone down on the couch and walked out of the apartment.
I walked four blocks to my favorite coffee shop, the one Jake and I visited every Sunday for pastries. It had a warm farmhouse vibe, with its butcher block countertops and ship-lapped walls. The cool metal chairs framed a German-schmeared brick wall that was decorated with deep green leafed wreaths and a sign that readHome is where the coffee is. Elegant wrought iron candelabras draped the ceiling, giving the space just a drizzle of femininity. A full-length vintage mirror rested at one corner, accompanied by white magnolias. The air enveloped me as I pushed through the door, fragrant with hazelnut and fresh ground coffee beans. The sign was right—it really did feel like home.
I ordered a vanilla latte, took a seat at the window bar, and people-watched. For four hours. I thought about absolutely nothing at all because that was more peaceful than any thought I could muster. I didn’t want to deal.Didn’t want to invite the chaos back into my life. I had gotten off the emotional roller coaster, and I wanted to stay off. For good.
Not until the setting sun gave way to dark gray clouds and threatened a storm did I decide to head back. Even then, I thought very little and only stated the facts, over and over, like a mantra that would save my life:
E was married. And he wasn’t married to just anyone—he was married to someone who knew me. Knew us and all our history. And she’d been jealous of it from the start. He had no business calling me. It would do me no good to get involved in that mess. I wouldn’t call back. I wouldn’t answer his text. I’d just pretend it didn’t happen at all.
