Page 124 of Crazy In Love
Yes.
No.
When I would send:I’m thinking of you. And I’m just about to step into the shower.
I’d receive:On my way.
When my emotions got heavy, and Alana was unavailable to talk, I’d say:I’m in my feelings today because I just remembered Alana named Hazel for me. It’s kind of a big deal to me, and I’m annoying myself by obsessing over it.
He’d send back:It’s a big deal.
He always acknowledged that I spoke but never provided reassurance that my words were welcome. That’s where he and I differed. It was between those cracks that my doubts crept in, and my lacking self-esteem became a smothering blanket I never quite escaped.
But now, cloaked in New York confidence and nerves that’ve been bolstered, I type the things I forced myself not to send last night.
Last night was for me and Taylor Swift and a bottle of beer.
I have a million things I never told you and a million more insecurities I never shared. Because, duh, they’re embarrassing. They’re my reasons for the way I am. They’re why I said that thing about friends on Saturday.
They’re not excuses. But they are context. And it’s that context that will help you understand why we’re probably not a good fit.
I hit send and glance at the elevator control panel. We’re still in the teens, so I look down again and keep typing.
I’m crazy, and you’re calm. I’m spontaneous, and you’re… not. Ironically, we’re both children of trauma. Though unironically, that trauma manifests differently in each of us. I haven’t even told you about my parents yet.
All of the things you crave, I can’t be, and all the things I am, make your skin itch. I’m the shirt that doesn’t fit quite right, and the sheets that are a bit scratchy.
And sure, you could still wear the shirt and sleep within the sheets, and life would go on, and everything would be okay. But… I don’t want to be the reason you’re never quite at peace.
I hit send again, and gulp when I receive instant read receipts.
Jesus Christ on a cracker. He’s reading my wordsnow.
I fooled myself into hoping you would follow me back to New York last night. Maybe you would’ve been waiting for me at the luggage carousel, or where the taxis line up, or… and this was my last-ditch hope… maybe you were sitting in the hall outside my apartment when I got home.
I would’ve run into your arms and made it into a whole big thing—which you would’ve hated. Man, oh man, my little Disney heart wanted it so bad. But alas… this isn’t the first time I’ve made an idiot of myself.
Little girls often wish for declarations of love. Like at my daddy-daughter dance at school, when I was sooooo sure my father would arrive with a bouquet of flowers and all my peers would ooh and ahhhh over how lucky I am.
I hit send each time my texts become too long. Then I keep typing.
I got my first boyfriend when I was thirteen, and I made damn sure he was entirely inappropriate. He was older and a smoker and an all-around bad boy.
I did it hoping it would bring my dad back, because him shouting at me about choosing wrong is still a declaration of love. I wanted that declaration so freakin’ bad.
I hit send and push on.
I convinced Alana it was okay for her to leave New York and move back to Plainview. I even called her while she was driving, egging her on.
But all along, I was kinda hoping she would turn around and siege my office in Manhattan and shout: COME WITH US, FOX! Come to Bumfuckville Hillbillytown.
Butttttt… kind of like how I said you and I were only friends, I never shut up about how small towns suck, and the chicken poo was a deal breaker for me.
How could she possibly ask me to come when she was so sure I would hate it? She’s too pure for that. Too kind. So the fact I hoped she would ask is, frankly, dumb.
You and I were never just friends, Chris. In fact, I don’t think we were ever friends at all. We’re yet to have a conversation that doesn’t include fighting with each other. But you wanna know when I fell in love with you?
It was just after Alana had the baby, and she asked for family time. She didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but hoh boy! I took it the way it sounded. I wanted to walk back to the apartment by myself because I wanted to cry. Sooooo much!
