Page 123 of Mr. Picture Perfect
It was only then I wondered for the first time if I was wrong.
Was I making a huge mistake?
Maybe I was letting go of my only chance at true happiness, of the only person in the whole world who would see me for what I really am, who accepted me without any need to edit myself.
Like a perfectly written first draft. No errors and no revisions required. Sent straight to publish, ready to print as is.
I spent that night in my bedroom, ignoring all calls and texts. My mom brought me a plate of dinner and set it on my nightstand. “You’ve got to eat, baby,” she said so quietly, I barely caught it. “I love you so much, my … my sweet, sweet boy.” She stroked my hair, as I was turned away, cuddled up with a pillow on the bed. After she left, I sat up and nibbled on what I could manage. I was quite hungry, truth be told, and despite my emotional condition, it was rather illogical to starve myself.
Cole sent another text before he went to sleep. I didn’t get the text until three in the morning when I woke up needing to pee. So it was with a full bladder and crusties in my eyes that I sat on the edge of my bed reading his text. I began to type a reply, wishing to set him straight on where my mind was at, to at last “release” him from the obligation ofme, and to bid him good luck on the event. After typing a full reply, I stared at the words, rereading them, then frowned. I feared any correspondence at this point would be kicking open the door I was trying to shut. And if he woke up to this on the day of the event, who’s to say how it would affect him? It was perhaps in that very moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, glow of the phone on my face, that I realized how selfish I’d been.
There was such a better way I could have handled all of this.
I didn’t have to disappear on him like that, ghosting him like a cruel villain, and ending what we had without warning.
Except, worst of all, I didn’t even properly end it.
I just left Cole holding a pile of confusions and frustrations.
How was this helping anything at all?
I deleted the message I had written out, set my phone back on the nightstand, then went to the bathroom. Afterwards, I stood in the kitchen and drank a glass of milk, staring into the darkness with my thoughts. I wandered up to the door of the guestroom and peered in at my father’s train town. I came up to the edge of Windville to inspect the little people, the buildings and tiny plastic trees, and the caboose of the train with “I’m happy in this town!” painted across its back in tiny cursive letters. I stared at the town for what felt like half the night, thinking about Cole, about my dad, about this past month and all the events that have transpired since the moment Burton pushed me out of the Spruce Press building with the mission of finding a story at the festival.
Little did I realize I’d become the story.
Or at least a part of it.
Now Cole can carry it on from here, I thought to myself with the train tracks in front of my face, then returned to my room and put myself back to sleep.
There’s no telling how much sleep I actually got before I woke up in the afternoon to the sight of my mother standing over my bed with her hands on her hips.
“No,” she said. “This simply won’t do.”
I sat straight up, rubbing my eyes. “What?”
“I spoke with Dad. I spoke with your dear grandpoppy on the phone. I spoke with God. I spoke with my batch of Cute Tutes I just pulled outta the oven. I spoke with myself … and I even spoke withyouwhile you were sleepin’ and snorin’ away.”
“I don’t snore.”
“And all of us agreed. Including your sleeping body.” She sat on the bed next to me. “Cole is the best dang thing to ever happen to us, and what in ever lovin’ heavens are you doin’ to my future son-in-law and our happy family we could have together?”
I gaped at her. “S-Son-in-law?”
“He fits in with us so well here. And headoresyou, Noah. What else can you possibly need? Why did I have to send that beautiful young man away yesterday? Do y’know how much that hurt me?”
“Mom.” I sighed as I reached for my glasses on the nightstand and fumbled to put them on. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“No, it ain’t. You just need to quit overthinkin’. Who was it that said them words?” She drummed her fingers along her chin. I just then noticed she was still wearing her oven mitt. “Tommy … somethin’-‘r-other … friend of the family. He’d said: ‘Quiet people have the loudest minds’ …”
I frowned. “You think my mind is loud?”
“I think you talk yourself outta everything. I’m tellin’ you, you need to get out of your own way and accept the joy and happiness that is literally droppin’ himself on your doorstep. Sweetheart.” It was then her voice went soft. “Is somethin’ wrong with him?”
“No.” I let out a huff of frustration. “There’s … literallynothingwrong with Cole Harding.”
“Somethin’ wrong with you, then?”
I took a minute to gather myself. I grew quiet. “You … haven’t even seen the competition out there. These guys who will be going tonight to bid on a date with Cole … They arehot. They’restunning. They’restudlyandhandsomeand about a dozen other adjectives I could easily stuff an article full of.”
