“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yeah. I know.” I lock my phone. “I’ve been thinking about it. I just need to figure out the right way to?—”
“There is no right way. You just ask her.”
“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”
“Then at least you’ll know. And you can stop torturing yourself like this.”
He’s right. I hate that he’s right, but he is.
We land late on February 9th. I text Juliette from baggage claim.
back in Seattle
you around tomorrow? want to grab lunch?
She doesn’t respond immediately, which is unusual. By the time I get home and shower, there’s still nothing.
I’m about to go to bed when my phone finally buzzes.
Juliette
sorry, crazy evening
lunch tomorrow sounds good
1 PM?
perfect
everything ok?
Juliette
yeah just family stuff
I’ll tell you tomorrow
I stare at that last message. Family stuff. The wedding is this weekend. Maybe something’s going on with that.
I fall asleep thinking about what I’m going to say to her tomorrow. How I’m going to tell her that I like her as more than a friend. That I’ve been patient and I’ll keep being patient but I need her to know how I feel.
That I’m falling for her and I think maybe, possibly, she might feel something for me too.
Tomorrow. I’ll tell her tomorrow.
I’mat the facility by noon the next day, even though we’re not meeting until one.
I can’t help it. I keep wiping my palms on my jeans and I can’t sit still.
I pace in the lobby for ten minutes before Almardon finds me.
“Why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” he asks.
“I’m telling her today.”
