Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
I didn’t hang it for Maeve.
I hung it for me. Because I love it, and I love making her happy. So she’d feel at home here.
All these other pictures? I didn’t take them so she’d have a record of all our days together. I didn’t take them so she wouldn’t lose a memory.
I took them…for me.
So I’d have them.
So I could look at them.
So I could return to them.
As I return to each one, I finally see what I was doing seven, five, four, three, two years ago from behind the lens of my phone.
I was slowly, over time, day by day, falling in love with my best friend.
Miles was right. He was so damn right.
I circle back to the lavender photo in the kitchen. That Summer Memory. My heart thunders mercilessly in my chest. It hammers so hard it nearly hurts.
Because here, after midnight, with Maeve sound asleep upstairs, and me being chased by relentless thoughts all day, I have an answer I didn’t know I was searching for.
My heart isn’t broken.
I don’t come with an expiration date.
I’m not radioactive with romance. Nothing lasted after I met Maeve because I was falling in love with her all that time.
And I didn’t even know it was happening. Last night, I realized how I felt. But now, I can see this feeling started years before we made a pact at her brother’s wedding. I run my finger absently along my silicone ring as I stare at the photo in the dim light of the kitchen, wondering how I missed this all along.
I can’t miss it now, and I feel freer, lighter, joyful even at the realization. I’m more than capable of love—for all this time, for all these years, it was always her.
I’m not cursed at all. True, my other relationships didn’t last for more than six months. But the real six-month curse is that half a year was as long as I could be distracted from the actual love I’ve felt all along for Maeve.
I breathe out a long, relaxed breath, feeling like one big, huge question has been answered.
But in its place is a whole new one. How do I get my wife to fall hopelessly in love with me too? Ideally, before she moves out at the end of the season.
41
THE GREAT BANGING
Maeve
I don’t wait long to tell my friends. I can’t keep news like this from them. On Sunday morning when I’m alone and Asher is working out, I head to the terrace, savoring the view of the backyard. There, I fire off a text as I drink the chai latte he made me before he left.
Maeve: *taps mic* I have news.
Josie: *Sits up* *bats lashes*
Leighton: Don’t make us wait any longer.
Fable: I’ve already been waiting too long. Spill.
Everly: It really better be good.
Maeve: Oh it is. As in…we banged. We banged again. And again.
Leighton: I’m so shocked.
Everly: And they say text doesn’t have a tone, but I heard all the deadpan in that, Leighton.
Leighton: As you should.
Maeve: Hello! Did you forget about me? Does no one want to know how it was? ASK ME HOW IT WAS!
Josie: I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say TELL US NOW.
Maeve: Let’s just say I used to think vibrators were the gold standard. Safe to say my husband is.
Fable: Well, marriage-of-convenience has clearly been good to you. And I believe this calls for drinks and dish this week. I want to know everything.
Josie: Yes, like…WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?
Maeve: I’m going to be living with him for the next few months, and my “palace” is now vacant.
Josie: I meant, what does it mean in an existential sense, not necessarily a practical one, but good to know you’re becoming a landlord.
Leighton: *raises hand* I need a place to stay. My roommates just started hooking up and they’re LOUD.
Josie: Oh god. I have secondhand embarrassment. Or is that firsthand since I hooked up with my roommate?
Leighton: You started a trend. And now I’m suffering from it!
Maeve: Consider it done. My place is yours.
As I finish the latte, Leighton and I message separately about my sub-lease, where I tell her she’ll become a sub of a sub of a sub, or something like that.
Leighton: Sounds fun. And like the perfect place for a photographer trying to eke out a living.
Maeve: You can take pictures of pigeons fornicating on the windowsill. That’ll really add to your boudoir portfolio. But they might be as loud as your roomies.
Leighton: Former roomies, you mean?
Maeve: Why yes I do.
Leighton: Also, that sounds more like sports photography :) Which works for me too.
And I feel good that I’m helping another artist. I’ve been lucky that I’ve had friends—like Asher—who’ve helped me. It’s nice to return the favor. But as I set the mug in the sink, I return to Josie’s question. What does this mean? I wish I knew. I don’t, though, so I get ready to paint. At least with my brushes, my sketches, and my imagination, I always have answers.