Page 48 of Yours, Unexpectedly

“What scares you?” That question has so many different answers, I’m unsure where to start.

“Have you ever been in love?” is what I settle on, keeping my head down so I don’t have to look him in the eye.

“You love him?” he whispers back, surprise evident in his tone.

“I don’t know. But if what I’m feeling for Anders is even close to love, what happens when it inevitably all comes crashing down. I never felt this way with Jack and that breakup wrecked me.”

“Yeah but losing Jack isn’t what wrecked you. Feeling unlovable and like you weren’t good enough—which is complete bullshit by the way—is what wrecked you. Jack was fine, and you guys were fine together, but you didn’t stir each others’ souls. I could tell just by looking at you. He also got aggressive in the end, which had nothing to do with you and everything to do with him.”

“Anders could wake up any day and realize that I’m not what he wants anymore. It feels so much easier to keep him at a distance.”

He ponders that for a moment. “To answer your question, no I don’t think I’ve been in love, but I can imagine that it is quite a terrifying feeling to give yourself so completely over to someone. To trust that they choose you and will continue to choose you. But you are worthy of being chosen, Bex. What happens if you let Anders prove that to you?”

Tears prick the back of my eyes before I shove them down. But I know the dam is close to overflowing if I don’t figure this out soon. I lift my head from where it’s been resting on the table and meet Jules’ eyes.

“Hey, JuJu,” I say, using the nickname I gave him when we were kids. I fold my hands under my chin to prop it up.

“Yeah, BB?” he replies, also pulling out a childhood nickname.

“I think he stirs my soul.”

Mimicking my position until our faces are level, he says, “I know, BB.”

I’m leaving the Coffee Shop when I see Gabe’s Honda Civic parking across the street. I start to jog over there to give him a hard time for skipping work when the door pops open, and a petite woman with curly hair steps out.

Bex.

I trip over myself, spilling my iced coffee down the front of my shirt. A hushed “shit” slips out, much to the chagrin of the mom and her toddler walking by.

I’m so used to seeing Gabe in the car he’s had since before I met him, I forgot he passed it down to Bex.

I could say hi—I want to say hi—but instead I go back in to buy another iced coffee. And maybe get some napkins for my shirt.

The gala for my mom’s charity is rapidly approaching, and I have to find a way to get Bex there with me. She is still avoiding anything resembling a relationship, going so far as to say that she, Luci, and Riz had the tradition of spending all of Valentine’s week together so she could avoid having to do anything too couple-y.

That didn’t stop me from delivering a single red rose and her favorite homemade artisanal pizza to her front step that night.

She sent me a red heart emoji in return so I think that means she liked it?

I really have no idea where I stand with that woman, but I get the feeling that she needs me to keep showing up, so that’s what I’m doing. I don’t let a day go by without letting her know that I’m thinking about us because that’s the truth. Not a day—frankly, not a minute—goes by that I don’t think about her.

But I also don’t want to freak her out.

I’m a tightrope walker, offering my hand out to Bex to join me. I can see her desire to take my hand, take a step, but she has yet to do it. And it’s getting lonely out here on my own.

My phone buzzes while I’m on the way to Monday’s Intro to Acting class—another one of my many alarms that have become helpful post ADHD diagnosis—and I have to balance mine and Bex’s coffee in one hand so I can pull it out and turn it off. Instead, I see that it’s a text from my father.

Erik Olsson

See you this weekend. I have a room at The Plaza reserved under your name. Check-in is at three. Your mother expects you in the ballroom by seven.

I grimace and tuck my phone back in my pocket.

“Hey, killer. What’s got you so moody?” I hear her voice behind me and my shoulders instantly relax. She’s my own personal Prozac.

“Just my dad,” I reply, turning toward her with a smile. I hand over her coffee cup and almost go in for a kiss before realizing where we are. Not before Bex notices, though, and widens her eyes in surprise. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Forgot where we were for a second.”

A smile crawls up her face. “It’s fine.” She hesitates for a moment. “So, not a big fan of your dad?”

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