Page 25 of Road Trip to Forever
What thehelldoes it mean?
I was half-conscious when I heard his alarm go off yesterday.
I remember bits and pieces of the morning, disjointed glimpses like I was watching from above. Him, pulling the covers up to my chin and making sure the curtains were closed so I could sleep a little while longer. Me, mumbling something incoherent about birds. Bone-achingly tired and in the middle of a pleasant dream, I’m not sure if the kiss he pressed to my cheek was real or something I made up.
I’m starting to think I’m making the last forty-eight hours up, some figment of my imagination where I’ve become attracted to the man I’ve known for two decades without any sort of warning.
I’d like to keep this new discovery to myself and ruminate over it alone without the risk of feeling embarrassed or putting a name to an undefinable thing that has no merit. Opinions from outside sources, though, might be exactly what I need to sort through the contradicting emotions and determine what, exactly, is going on.
“Why are you blushing?” Jo asks.
I sigh and take a seat on the chaise lounge chair in Henry and Emma’s living room. I pull a pillow out from behind my back and set it in my lap. My emotional support cushion, I’m dubbing it, as I take a deep breath and quietly admit, “Something happened with Patrick,” to my best friends.
The sounds I get in response startle me.
A plate goes flying off the glass table and chocolate chip cookies scatter across the floor. Rebecca claps and Jo lets out a high-pitched squeal so loud, I think I might be hard of hearing for a week.
Emma yelps. She marches across the carpet with bare feet and a dress that swishes against her calves, taking a seat on the sofa beside the other women while her eyes sparkle with glee.
“Spill,” she says, and I know I have no choice but to comply.
I grab my glass, the heavy pour of red wine the liquid courage I need to share the rumblings whizzing in my head, a tornado of over-analyzation kicking up every memory from the last two decades and playing them back like a View Master.
“We were on his couch the other night and there was a—god, this sounds so stupid to say out loud. It makes me seem like a girl with a playground crush, not a woman entering my mid-thirties with a 401k.”
“If you don’t tell us,” Jo says, “I think I might die.”
Their enthusiasm makes me smile, and I feel warm inside knowing they want to hear because theycare,not because they want to poke fun at my apparent lack of awareness.
“We had a moment,” I say. I play with the fringe on the pillow, braiding three strings together to give my hands something to do. “We were talking on the couch, and the next thing I knew, Patrick was leaning in close. He was in my space, staring at me, and I thought… I thought he was going to kiss me. For the first time in my life, I think Iwantedhim to kiss me.”
“Have you and Patrick ever kissed before?” Rebecca asks.
“No. No accidental mishaps or drunken hookups. No eyes locking across the room and running for each other. There’s never been anything physical between us. We’re friends.Justfriends, and we’ve never crossed that line. Until two days ago, I never considered it a possibility.”
“This might be a dumb question, but why not?” Jo asks. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to kiss someone, even if that someone is your best friend.”
“I know. I’m… well, I’m afraid. Fucking terrified, really. You all know I avoid relationships for a reason. Life is easier that way. The less involved I get with someone, the less upset I can be when one of us leaves. I can’t imagine going to the next level with Patrick, taking that step only for it to not work out. For it to be weird or awkward or contrived because it’s something we think wehaveto do. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me, but long term, we want different things. He likes emotional connections, I like physical connections. He wants forever, I want for right now. If we try to fight that, if we go against the innate urge to be who we are, we could ruin our friendship beyond repair. I can’t—I can’t lose him.”
It comes out as a rush of words, a tsunami of gibberish even I have a hard time deciphering.
But what if… what if there was an alternate universe where Patrickhadkissed me?
A timeline where I didn’t read the room wrong and misinterpret his actions.
A timeline where he kissed me and I faced my fears, confronting the dreaded panic head-on.
I close my eyes and sink into a fantasy of us as a couple.
We’d make dinner together. He’d belt out Elton John or Bruce Springsteen songs into a wooden spoon and spin me around. Etta James melodies when he wanted to hold me close and slow dance under twinkling stars and a full moon. I’d laugh at his terrible voice. The spaghetti sauce on the stove would bubble over, and I’d apologize for making a mess. He’d clean up after me with a paper towel and a heart-stopping grin, and it would be sogood.
It’s similar to how we are now, spending time together and laughing until our bellies ache, but the stakes would be much, much higher.
A fight, a breakup, a decision to end our relationship could push him out of my life forever, the experiences we’ve shared cracking into a million little pieces and fading away with every passing year, eventually withering to nothing, no proof of our friendship ever existing at all.
Patrick is the center of my universe and the most constant beacon of joy in my life. I cannot imagine a world where he’s not in it.
There would be a year or two of elation—that honeymoon phase where nothing can go wrong—before things took a turn for the worse. He’d want to stay here in Boston, loving his job and needing his routine. I’d get the itch to travel. He’d go to bed early. I’d stay up late sewing and fall asleep on the couch.
