Page 87 of In For a Penny
What does this mean?
I concentrate on taking deep and even breaths as I look up at the clouds, trying to focus on slowing my heart rate. I’m so nervous I don’t know what to think. It seems likely that whatever is written here is not hate mail. In fact, I get the feeling that these were written with romantic intent. At least I hope so. Because,God,wouldn’t that be amazing?
Except it wouldn’t, though. Not really. Had he given this to me over a week ago, then maybe. Or had the whole Tom thing never happened, definitely. But if I thought I wasn’t in a good place to be with anyone before, I can’t stress how unlikely it is that I’m ready for anything serious right now. I mean, I’ve onlyjustbeen able to admit to myself that I have feelings for him, you know? And I’ve tried not to have them. I’ve tried really, really hard. And now I absolutely regret not having been able to just be strong enough to accept and pursue them.
Sure, the idea of being in another relationship had scared me so much that sometimes I felt like I was going into anaphylactic shock, but who knows, maybe I would have been able to overcome that fear. Instead, I chose to take a very immature and self-destructive route. But hey, hindsight is twenty-twenty, right?
Oh, God, what am I supposed to do now?
I’m going to have to see him eventually, right? And whether I read what’s in this notebook or not, we’re going to have to talk about it and our argument and the fact that I decided to stay in London and finish out my program.
So…fuck it.
I take the cigarette out of my mouth, take a deep breath, and open the notebook to the first letter.
Dear Penny,
I made a note on my computer a few days ago about the twenty-seventh day of us first being introduced. Now, normally, the fact of someone remembering twenty-seven-plus days of knowing someone could be considered to be quite creepy, even a little borderline stalkerish.
I snort, smiling, and continue reading his first letter.
But I have an amazing memory! The fact of the matter is that on the twenty-seventh day of us knowing each other, I couldn’t sleep—at all. I had decided then and there that from that day forward, I needed to be more than just friends with you. The friend zone was not somewhere I wanted to be.
Now, this places me in quite a bind, as I obviously do not want our friendship to end, but I also would not be able to live with myself without telling you that, well…I like you. I like you in more than just a let-you-eat-my-granola-bars kind of way.
Don’t get me wrong—I love taking care of you. I love that you need me and want me to help. Bringing you food and emotional support whenever you need it feels like a privilege to me. But I confess that I want more.
I came to London to recharge my batteries, and never in my wildest dreams would I have dreamt that I would have found someone as beautiful, charismatic, funny, and caring as you. Maybe you can be a bit misunderstood, but it’s because those who don’t understand you don’t know you. Hell, I don’t know you as well as I’d like to, but I think I know who you are underneath all the details that make up a person.
I saw a side of you the night we played Risk that I am sure not many people in your life have seen. And not a second goes by where I’m not immensely grateful for you lowering your emotional protective barrier and showing it to me.
I like you, Penny. I really, really like you.
And I gotta say, sometimes I think you like me too, but I’m not sure you’re ready for that yet. Like today, for example, we spent all day alone together, walking the Salisbury Cathedral and sharing desserts and talking endlessly about absolutely everything and nothing at the same time, like we were together (I absolutely love that you and I both agree the Oxford comma is the shit). But then there’d be these moments where I could tell you were panicked. Where I could tell it was too much for you.
And that’s fine, Penny. I know you’re not ready, and I would never push you to do anything you didn’t want to do. And to be honest, maybe I’m not ready yet, either.
I’ve almost asked you out so many times, but we always get interrupted. Have you ever noticed? Someone always walks in the room, or one of us gets a text, or whatever. It’s almost comical! After the fourth time, I just decided it was fate telling me to wait. So, I’ll wait. I’m cool with that.
Anyway, I know that you’ll probably never read this, but, Jesus, Ihadto get this out of my system.
Yours,
Josh Fox
My heart squeezes in my chest, and it’s hard to breathe—but in a good way.
Josh likes me.
He likes me, and he wrote the most amazing letter ever because he proved heunderstandsme. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask me to get over it and give him a chance. He gets it. I needed time. Need time? I sigh. I don’t even know anymore.
He wrote this first letter the night of the Salisbury-Stonehenge trip. God, I was exhausted that night—and not just from all the walking. The emotional exhaustion from that trip was real. It was like a fucking rollercoaster of emotions.
I think back to our interactions the past few months, looking for clues of his crush. Of course, there were days where I was so scared that he was into me or had feelings for me, but I never allowed myself to think that. I was so scared of losing him I think I was just in denial.
Did it ever really seem like he was about to ask me out? I guess maybe that afternoon in the library, perhaps? I remember he had started to say something but never went back to it once Jane and Oliver came into our study pod. I didn’t think anything of it.
Have there really been other moments? I can’t believe it. Have I really been so blind?
