My heart trips over a beat. 揧es.?
She cocks her head with a blink, the gesture making her look so much older for a moment that I feel an instant wave of panic, like I need to make grabby hands at her and wrap her closer to my side, to demand she stop growing. 揑 think I would like that. But maybe don抰 kiss with tongue in front of me. Olive says it抯 disgusting.?Her lips curl downward in a shudder at the thought.
I bark out a laugh. 揑 can do that.?
She scoots over on the couch and curls up against me, then. No grabby hands required.
26
NOW
FARLEY
Days roll into weeks that fill up with busy. Meyer and I find ourselves together a bit less, texting a bit more, as I attempt to use my personal time to carve, sharpen, and smooth out my set.
Even Christmas comes and goes. We manage to fit in our normal traditions, like visiting our local tree farm. Despite me telling them every year that they can, he and Hazel no longer cut down a real tree since I let slip how allergic I am to them. It抯 a flaw that I抦 strangely self-conscious about since I love and crave those kinds of traditions. Instead, we created our own a few years back. We pack a thermos of hot cocoa and still go to the farm, spy on the other families and couples arguing over finding 搕he one? laughing with them whenever they find it and light up with joy. And we always snag a real wreath and a new ornament for the faux tree.
But?with the time that passes, it starts to feel like we抮e in limbo in regards to us. As if not so much has happened that it couldn抰 be blamed on adrenaline and need. An itch scratched that we could still step back from. And since I抦 the only one that抯 been properly 憇cratched? I don抰 want to push him too hard, happy to slow down for the time being, and not force the pace. It settles that fitful feeling in me to know that regardless of those lines getting blurrier and blurrier, we抮e still able to laugh and go about life together like we do. There抯 no strangeness in our friendship抯 place, even if he抯 hand his hand down my pants?inside me.
Still, since I want to confirm my interest without pressuring him, I抦 trying to walk that line, allowing little indulgences here and there, happily surprised each time he reciprocates heartily. Like when I intertwined our fingers while we watched a family with three little girls clap and squeal over their tree. He immediately swept me to his front, our hands clasped together on my shoulder. I looked over at Hazel nervously, only to find her on his other side, smiling up at me. We watched as the dad worked it to convince mom to go with a ten footer. He was all flirty downward glances, lip biting and hip squeezing, a chubby baby drooling happily from the carrier strapped to his chest. Until mom eventually rolled her eyes with a smile and caved. We all laughed at the sight of their loaded down SUV teetering out of the lot.
Meyer and Hazel left on the twenty-ninth for Ohio, where they抣l spend the week together, until Meyer comes back, and Haze stays behind with her Grandparents for another two. It works out that her school is off track for the month, and she抣l get to visit with cousins and relatives she doesn抰 normally get much time with, but I still feel a nagging, hollow guilt over Meyer being away from her for that long. And, truthfully, guilt over my anticipation of that much time together, alone. It抯 one of those small things that reminds me just how much I am not a parent, and can抰 quite empathize with all the planning that goes into everything, or the constant duplicitousness of the emotions that go along with it.
I love her with something fierce and frightening, almost angry over any hypothetical thing in the world that might get in her way. And I miss her every time we aren抰 with her. Yet my mind constantly wanders to being alone with Meyer. Regular daydreaming that is swiftly followed by guilt. Guilt that can抰 be dissuaded with logic. It抯 fucking exhausting.
It抯 six pm on New Year抯 Eve, and the only cocktail I抦 feeling the effects of is comprised of boredom, anxiety, and a splash of bravery.
I have the message typed out. The one I抳e deleted and rewritten at least a hundred times lately.
Me: Do you ever think about Vegas?
There抯 two ways his response could go.
First, he could say 搘hat about Vegas??He might be completely oblivious as to how close I was to kissing him. How much I wanted to. He drank a lot that night, maybe he forgot how he slid my finger into his hot mouth and stripped off my ring with his teeth. Lust clenches it抯 way through me and I shiver at the memory even still.
Maybe he forgot what he said to me, maybe he only said it because of alcohol and the high emotions of the whole evening. Maybe he didn抰 even mean it how I interpreted it.
Or, what if he says 搚es, I think about Vegas.?What if he says 搚es, I think about how I said one thing while under the influence of many overpriced drinks and you immediately wanted to go back to the room together. I think about how you got so worked up that you panicked and I had to be the better, more sensible person as always and walk away. I think about how you told me you wanted to be smart with me, even though you were so ready?just moments before?to be stupid. I knew that was your way of apologizing and I forgave you for it and went on in our friendship to spare you that embarrassment.?
Obviously, I know he抎 put it in a much kinder way. Maybe he抎 act like it was no big deal at all to him. But that night was the first time I thought, I love him. I love him so much that I抎 be stupid with him the moment he asked me. I抎 run to a chapel now and marry him, consequences be damned. And then he said, 揧ou抮e the only one I抳e ever been stupid with.?He echoed my thoughts, in simpler terms.
And then I suggested going back to the room?Where everything proceeded to fall apart.
I抳e never been embarrassed, exactly. Because he抯 never made me feel like I should be, never changed how he treated me. But part of me just wants to tell him, to lay myself at his feet so that he knows what this is for me. 揇ating?has already exposed a lot of us both, but I think he deserves to know how long this has been going on, really.
If someone抯 carrying your heart, shouldn抰 you do them the courtesy of warning them? Like catching someone driving with a mug on top of their car. Hey, there! You probably need to stop, pull over and take care of that! At least slow down.
I抦 deleting the message again when I see the little dots pop up on the screen.
Meyer: Time change didn抰 matter, Hazel fell asleep before 9pm.
A laugh honks out of me, abrupt and overloud.
Me: I love that girls lack of FOMO. She抯 my hero.
The dots pop up and disappear. Appear and go away once more.
Meyer: We miss you.
I do a yoga worthy inhale-exhale.
Me: I miss you too. Wish we were together.
I hit send and feel my heart beating through the top of my head. And then something occurs to me?
Me: Why don抰 we ever spend New Year抯 together? We never have, I realize.
The dots appear enough times that I lose track, then. I set my phone face down and tell myself to go to the bathroom, force myself to get a glass of water. When I get back, there抯 finally a reply.
Meyer: Hard to go out and do much for New Years with a kid who loves her beauty sleep.
And then another comes across the top.
Meyer: And because all I ever needed was an excuse to kiss you, I think. So, maybe I thought I had to avoid it.
Is this what fainting feels like? A chorus of something rushes through me.
Me: Would me wanting you to have been enough of an excuse? If that抯 the case, you抳e executed amazing restraint.