Page 51 of It Couldn't Be You
She pulled my laptop from me, opened up a Word document, then pushed the laptop back in front of me. “Let’s take it step by step. Don't think about the meeting tomorrow. This afternoon just think about writing something that gets him even more excited to drive hours to come and meet you face to face.”
I nodded. I preferred thinking about writing more than thinking about meetings.
After I got home, I sat at my kitchen table and did as my best friend said and wrote the article. I wrote in a way that made me forget I was writing for anyone other than myself. I wrote for past Emma, who was so scared it hurt, and present Emma, who cared so much it hurt. I was still Scared Emma, after all. But I was Scared Emma, who cared. I was Scared Emma, who tried.
I took my hands off my eyes, no more shielding myself, and put them on my keyboard.
I thought about my feelings for my hometown and how these feelings felt so tangled up with my feelings about my future, my dreams, and my relationship with Jordan. I wrote about how I loved this town, even though I wanted to leave it, just like I loved Jordan, even though I wanted to leave him.
About the sometimes-complicated relationship one can have with their hometown—the love, the nostalgia, the comfort of home, but also the growing pains, the moving on, the letting go. How it can be so similar to a breakup with someone who maybe you’ve outgrown, or who just doesn’t fit.
I wrote and wrote until there was nothing else to write.
I titled it, “I Love You, But.” Then I hit the “send” button, even though my hands shook.
Eighteen
We had decided to meet for coffee at 8 a.m. I arrived at Coffee & Commas at 7:30 and sat with Katie as she chattered encouragingly. My heart was rocketing out of my chest until I looked out the window. There was a tall, handsome man walking up the sidewalk. My eyes followed him as he opened the door to the café. He was wearing dark jeans and a navy cashmere sweater that made him look like the lead in a romantic holiday movie. For a moment, I wondered if Katie’s prediction would come to pass.
He walked in the door, and Katie turned excitedly in his direction, whispering to me, “Is that him?”
He walked a few steps into the shop, his eyes scanning the tables until he set his sights on me, quickly saying “Emma?” as he walked toward me.
I nodded and gestured for him to come sit down.
“Hi, Terrence.” His smile was wide and kind. His coffee-colored eyes were as dark as his skin. “I’m Emma Brown. I’m so glad to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he said, shaking my hand.
“This is my friend, Katie,” I said. I glanced at her and noticed her cheeks were flushed.
“Hi,” she said, her smile twisting up in a way I rarely see.
“Hi, Katie,” he said, taking his seat at our little table. “How are you guys this morning?”
“I’m great,” we both answered in unison, then laughed.
“How are you this morning?” I asked.
“I’m happy to be out here,” he said. “Ever since I read your piece, I’ve wanted to check out Sweet River for myself. I have a bad habit of wanting to see every place I read about.”
“It seems you found the right line of work, then,” I said cheerfully. He nodded to the coffee bar. “I’ll go place an order, then we can begin our chat. Would you like anything?”
“I actually already grabbed a cappuccino but thank you.” I held up my mug.
He stood up from the table, and Katie said, “Oh, here, I’ll actually be taking your order. We can walk together.”
“Lucky me,” he said, and my ears perked a little. I shot a look Katie’s way, but she was busy giggling at something he said as the two walked away. Katie helped him decide on what he’d like to drink, and he stuck around the coffee bar as she made the order.
It was a little while until he made his way back to our table. I briefly wondered if his latte was cold by the time he sat back down. Was this a bad sign? Him making me wait so long before our meeting? I was considering this, but I looked over to Katie. She was grinning as she cleaned the coffee bar. I decided it wasn’t a bad sign, or a good sign, because it wasn’t about me or our meeting at all. He was distracted by the gorgeous barista, simple as that.
He sat down in front of me, finally, and said, “So, your piece last night.”
“Yes, my piece last night?”
“It was beautiful. It was cutting. I’ve never been in that situation, but it felt universal somehow.” He sipped his drink. “It gave such a picture of Sweet River, of small-town Texas, or really of small-town community and sort of growing up in one place. I liked how it did that, but it was also such a universal dive into growing out of a relationship. I didn’t intend to publish it. I meant it as more of a sample of sorts, but…I forwarded it to our editing team and got the go-ahead.”
“Oh my gosh, really?” I was breathless.
