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“Tell me, o wise one,” I say sardonically. “What’s my issue, then?”
“Why have you never been in a serious relationship before?” Her eyes pierce through me. “It’s not because of Ben. It’s not because the dating scene sucks. What’s the real reason?”
“The dating scene really fucking sucks, though.” She rolls her eyes at my non-answer. I know where she’s going with this, but as much as I want to refuse to give her what she wants, I can’t. “Fine. Because no one’s ever loved me before.”
“Ha!” I cross my arms in defense at her sudden outburst. “You should’ve seen him before and after your library date. The man was crushed! You think you have it bad for him? He’s got it So. Fucking. Bad for you, Marce.” She drops his nickname for me so suddenly, I snap my head back to her. She lets out a loud, maniacal cackle, and only laughs harder at the surprise on my face. “What? You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t know that.”
“You were there?” I gasp. “After?”
“Yeah. Had to help the big guy clean up after you left him hanging.” She shrugs. “He was a mess.” She halts in her tracks. “Wait, should I be telling you this? Oh, shit. Does knowing that make this better or worse?”
“I’m not sure.” I stare at her, gathering the courage to ask her something I’d normally be too chickenshit to. “I fucked this up royally, haven’t I?”
“Answer me this first,” she says. “What’s the real reason you’re too scared to try?”
“I don’t want to lose him,” I admit. “I don’t want us to break up in a month or a year down the line when we realize we’ve made a mistake. I don’t want the heartbreak my mom experienced when her marriage fell apart. I don’t want the abandonment, the broken trust, or anything else that comes with letting someone in. I don’t want to let him into the mess that is my life, have him take one look at it, and decide he’s better off without it. Without me.”
“What makes his mess any better than yours?” she counters. “We all have baggage. He’s already seen yours and still decided you were it for him. Why can’t you trust him with yours the same way he can trust you with his?”
Is there any part of you that wants to try?
“Maybe we need this after all.” I swipe the bottle of vodka and head into the kitchen. “I should have something in here we can use as a mixer.”
Angela follows, looking over my shoulder into the refrigerator. “So much for healthy coping mechanisms. Oh, that bottle of Coke should work fine.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s flat.” I grab it anyway, along with two glasses to fill with ice before setting them down on the counter to mix the drinks. “Might as well use this up since I’m the third person you tried passing this off to. It’d be wasteful not to.”
“Wasteful.” She nods, smirking. “Right.”
“Shut up and drink your flat Coke and vodka.”
“Whatever you say.”
We clink glasses and sip. In the silence, I can’t help but think over everything I just admitted to Angela. I don’t want to lose him. Before talking to her, I assumed breaking up was an inevitability. But maybe…
“I love him.” Angela looks up at me, surprised. Even I’m a little surprised by how easily the words came. “I don’t want to be the kind of person who’s too afraid to try. Pushing him away isn’t doing either of us any good. It’s just hurting us both now rather than later, when maybe we can actually make it work and neither of us has to hurt at all.”
“Love, huh?” Her smirk is wobbly, masking the fear I’m fighting not to feel. “That’s a big word.”
“I mean it.” As if I’m rewarding myself for saying it out loud, I down the rest of my drink before pouring a second round. “Is it really that crazy? That we could maybe love each other after everything?”
“No.” Angela softens, then downs her drink like she’s the one with the big revelation. “Just promise you won’t forget about me when it all works out with you and Theo.”
“Are you kidding me?” I pull her into a hug and her arms wrap around my shoulders like a vise. “Never.”
“You should tell him,” she says, excitedly. “Everything you told me. He deserves to know how you really feel.”
I suck in a breath, anxiety spiking in my veins at the thought. But it’s accompanied by something else, something dizzying and giddy that makes the organ in my chest pump harder. Excitement.
“You’re right.” I nod, grab the phone from my back pocket. “I’m gonna tell him.”
“Yes!” Angela throws an arm around my shoulders. “Tell him how you feel! But maybe wait until the morning, or a more appropriate time of day.”
“You’re right,” I say, but this giddy energy isn’t going anywhere. If anything, it turns to anxiety. “But what if I lose my nerve in the morning?”
“It’s not possible to schedule texts, is it?” She frowns as I shake my head. “Damn.”
“It’s not even ten yet.” I show her my lock screen, where the time is displayed. “How bad would texting him right now be? I have to tell him, and I have to do it before I lose my nerve.”
