Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Impossible to know.”
“If you didn’t know me right now and you saw me at a party, would you come up and talk to me?” She turns to me, a half-smile curling her full lips. “And don’t say it doesn’t even matter, because it does or I wouldn’t be asking.”
“Like I said, impossible to know.” I don’t like thinking about what ifs, only certainties.
I know for certain, I’ve been engaged to this woman my entire life.
I know for certain, we’re getting married in August.
I know for certain, my mother is dying.
I don’t waste time living in alternate realities.
“Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if it wasn’t all predestined?” she asks. “Like maybe you’d have met the love of your life somewhere random, like at the supermarket. Maybe you both reach for the same baguette and your hands brush and you smile and somehow that turns into the two of you deciding to split it and that turns into a date.”
“I think you think too much.”
“I’d rather think too much than not think at all,” she says.
“You don’t have to share every thought you think.”
“Is it bad?” she asks. “Wearing your thoughts on the outside instead of making people guess and assume all the time?”
“Aren’t you tired?” I check my watch. It’s past nine. If we were at her parents’ home, I’d be in bed by now.
“A little.” She adjusts her arms behind her head, breathes in, and closes her eyes. She’s been up with me since 6 AM, when she randomly decided to join me on my run—which necessitated me to run at half speed so she could keep up.
When it was over, she insisted on taking all the same supplements as me. Said she was curious to see if she’d feel any different. I told her it’d take more than a day to get the full effects, but she was adamant about trying anyway.
As annoying as it’s been not having an ounce of alone time today, I have to give her credit for making an effort. It’s more than I can say. I’ve never once attempted to show interest in her hobbies, a move more intentional than she could possibly know.
The last thing I want is to get attached. Not just to her. To anyone.
I watch her for a few more minutes, noting when her breath steadies to an even pace and her expression turns fully relaxed.
She’s out cold, looking like a real life Sleeping Beauty.
The idea of kissing her crosses my mind like an intrusive thought. I won’t do it as it would be random and out of context, but I can still imagine the way her lips would feel pressed against mine.
Warm, soft, inviting.
I’ve spent my entire life intentionally pushing her away. It’s become such an essential part of our dynamic now that I don’t know how to change it without coming off like some kind of psychopath. If we woke up tomorrow and I was suddenly buying her flowers, holding her hand, and having genuine conversations with her, she’d probably take me to the doctor and get my head checked.
Sometimes I’m certain I’ve sabotaged any chances we have at ever truly being happy together.
Everyone who has ever met this woman loves her—everyone except me.
And god damn it, I should.
She’s beautiful inside and out. Funny. Genuine. Intelligent. Serene. Generous.
I want to change … I do.
I want to be the lovestruck moron who can’t stop grinning because five months from now he’s going to be the luckiest man on earth.
I just can’t bring myself to do that.
But I’m going to try.
For her.
For me.
For us.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, distracting me from this rabbit hole of uncomfortable self-awareness.
It’s Oliver.
“Hey,” I answer, keeping my voice low. Oliver calling this time of night on a Friday isn’t normal. He’s usually at the boathouse bar, working on his third Tom Collins of the evening as he mentally calls dibs on all of the beautiful women walking in. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t want you to panic,” he says, breathless, “but your mother was just rushed to the hospital.”
.
Slade—
Wellesley is no joke. I wish I had something more riveting to say but I’ve been buried in mid-terms, study groups, and research papers. My brain is basically scrambled eggs. I don’t think I could come up with a passive-aggressive insult if I tried.
Campbell (age 19)
Campbell—
Thanks for wasting a postage stamp and fifteen seconds of time I’ll never get back.
Slade (age 20)
Slade—
Wow, okay. You want to be entertained? Fine. Let me tell you a little story. Last month I went to a party in another town with my roommate. I met this guy. His name was Seth. He was funny—life-of-the-party type. Hot lumberjack looking guy with muscles for days and the most emerald-green eyes I’ve ever seen. I’ll spare you the details beyond how sparks literally flew through the air the second our gazes intersected, but let’s just say the night ended with a hardcore make-out session and him asking for my number. Do you realize how badly I wanted to give him my number?! But I didn’t. I can’t. I don’t have that luxury. I can’t even casually date anyone because I’m afraid I’ll get attached and I’ll have to break it off because, well, you know. The end.