I’m becoming an asshole.
“Look,” I start, shaking my head as if I can erase the self-deprecation from my mind. “I came early because I want to apologize.”
Her eyes stay on me a second too long before they fall to her hands that begin moving again, her bag slowly being filled with random items I can’t imagine she really needs: a single index card, a pen with no top, a crumpled piece of paper. Remnants of her smile are there, but it’s lost its shine. It’s as if it’s being forcefully placed.
“Apologize for what, Jake?” she says flatly. Unaffected.
“For being an asshole. Again. And then copping out about it.” I take a deep breath, knowing I’m probably not ready to say what I’m about to, but accepting I should if I want to maintain any form of the light this girl has unknowingly given me.
“The thing is, I like you, Alana. A lot.” Her body freezes again as her eyes shoot up to mine. “I just—I have a lot that I’m dealing with. Or rather,” I shrug, hating how small the motion feels, “a lot that I need to deal with, and—”
“Jake, you don’t have to explain—”
“No, I do. I want to. Because I want you to know it’s not you. It’s me. I have a lot going on in my head, and I’m trying to sort it all out because…I like you,” I explain, forcing the barred words out. “I like spending time with you. I like talking to you. I like just…beingwith you.”
“I like all of that, too.”
Relief flickers in my chest. “Okay, good. That’s good,” I exhale, trying not to sound too hopeful. This is all so new to me, and I’m just trying not to fuck it up while also keeping it in a safe bubble. Apparently, that’s not an easy thing to balance. I try again. “It’s justthat—”
“Jake,” her voice is soft, but steady. “I’m happy to be your friend. This is more than enough for me, and really all I can handle. I get that you have stuff going on. I have stuff, too. You don’t have to worry about me, really. I mean, thank you, but it’s okay. I’m good with the way things are.”
“You’re…fine with just being friends?”
“More than fine,” she agrees.
“And that’s all?”
“Yes.” It’s so matter-of-fact. No hesitation.
I nod, swallowing the lump rising in my throat, desperately needing an escape from whatever is beginning to stir inside me. “Okay, well…” I look to my feet, trying to ignore the sting in my chest. I try to pretend what she said is a good thing. That it’s what I wanted to hear.
“Friends is good,” I start, my eyes catching hers on their way up.
My smile twists with an opportunity, and I follow it, hoping for the sweet relief of her rose-tinged cheeks and her full pursed lips. “So, can we go back to doing our laundry together? I really miss your underwear.”
Her smile breaks free—gemstone eyes and all—and her cheeks pink as she slaps me in the arm with her bag. My heart nearly soars.
“Shutup! That was one time, and it was an accident," she groans, and I laugh.
“Suuure,” I sing. “You just happened to forget those lacey red panties in the dryer with my clothes.”
“Idid!”
“Whatever you say, baby,” I tease.
“You never gave those back, by the way,” she says accusingly.
“I’m keeping them for myshrine of hotties.”
“Ugh, I hate you,” she laughs. “And don’t callme baby.”
She shoves my shoulder, and we smile widely at each other, the air lifting back into place.
We’re laughing again as I follow her out of her apartment, closing the door behind me. We’re back to what’s safe. Comfortable. Back to where I told myself I wanted to be.
This is supposed to feel good. Secure.
But instead, it just feels like I’m giving her up. Like somehow, I’m letting her go…
