Just Another Reason I Could Never Forget You

My parents were basically fully gone. They had disappeared with no word (“I told you we were going a week ago, Holly”) on Friday and, aside from my pestering Friday afternoon, hadn’t spoken to me since. I was, admittedly, loving the space. I had spent Saturday morning bouncing around the kitchen making pancakes and using my dad’s mass of bougie coffee making equipment to slowly make coffee terribly. Both the pancakes and the coffee tasted like ass, but I wasn’t concerned. I would obviously get better with practice and not having bills and responsibilities meant I had all the time in the world to practice.
I wasn’t ashamed to admit my mood came from Alex.
I had spent two years holding back from John and every other guy I’d met, dwelling on Alex and the feel of him and the guilt of still loving him. Even with everything that had happened with John not even a month ago, I wasn’t dwelling on my guilt while wrapping myself up in Alex. Was it a comfort thing? Was I jumping into something else to avoid feeling my feelings? No, because I knew John was no longer around and yet the only person I missed was Alex.
Two years of ignoring him, ignoring my feelings and my needs, and he comes back into my life, stirring up a whirlwind I couldn’t ignore. Hearing I would see him sent me into an angry panic attack, hearing his voice almost knocked the dinner from my stomach, and seeing him smile all but made my knees give out. I didn’t feel that with John; I only felt that with Alex.
This was how I had spent the rest of my day. I’d used my motivation from the morning to finally submit my college essay, taking the giddy, I-can-take-on-the-world feeling I’d woken up with and channelling it into something productive. While dwelling on my feelings usually led to misery and moping, today it felt uplifting.
I began to feel certain, perhaps for the first time in my life, that I knew what I wanted and who I wanted. I would always feel uncertain about if it would work, who would get hurt if it didn’t, how long either of us could be happy for before something went wrong, but the best place to start would be in talking.
I waited until I knew he would be alone, in for the night, before I began to text him. Of course, while waiting for the appropriate time like some kind of freak, I got myself distracted by fucking Christmas movies of all things and it was almost 11 by the time I realised I should have messaged him a while ago.
You up?
Well, this isnt a text I expected from you ;)
I snorted into my phone at his almost instant reply, glad he was still making jokes despite my semi-anxious state and blatant attempt at forging a new friendship.
Fuck off you perv and come sit on my porch.
It’s december and I’m half naked. No thanks. My door is unlocked though.
This isnt a booty call. If I come to your room you’re gonna put your moves on me. Porch.
See you in 5.
I poured us both coffee into separate mugs (attempt number four at slowly brewing decent coffee), wrapping myself in my coat, blanket and fluffy boots, before going to meet Alex, already rocking on my porch swing as I opened the door. I beamed at him as he spotted me, his eyes lighting up at the sight of hot coffee.
“You say you’re not seducing me and then bring coffee: you’re a fucking liar, Holly.”
“Wait until you taste it before you sleep with me,” I scoffed, passing him his mug. He inhaled deeply, only mildly wincing at the smell of burnt grounds. I appreciated the effort, but I knew it was bad.
“It’s good,” he lied brazenly.
“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
“Bullshit: I lie to you constantly.” I took a large drink of my coffee, smiling into the mug at his continued lies (though that was wiped from my face when I actually tasted this attempt at coffee, somehow worse than the last).
“You can bring the coffee next time.”
“I think that’s best,” he chuckled. I wasn’t offended at how quickly he agreed, the memory seeping into my brain of the coffee he made me on his tour bus and how nice it had been given his lack of tools. “So, what’s up?”
I paused, staring at his expectant face while he smiled softly at me. Every ounce of the surety I had in me left my body as I was given the chance to actually do something about it. Alongside the memory of his tour bus came the memory of his rejection that last night, about his need for ‘space’ that I was now apparently ignoring. What the hell was wrong with me?
“I don’t miss him,” I admitted quietly, remembering something in me that I had realised today. It wasn’t a lie, it was adjacent to the real reason I was here, but without making him more uncomfortable.
“What?” He asked, frowning at me as I played with my hands, my coffee discarded next to me after that first drink. I looked away, down at my hands to see what they were doing, suddenly unable to look at him as I spoke.
“I loved John, I did,” I told him, still sure of that at least. “But being away from him doesn’t make me miss him. I miss being his friend, and breaking up hurt, but I don’t miss him or our shitshow of a relationship. I think I’m… happy, even without him.” I took in a breath, feeling somewhat more confident again now I had started. “And, I don’t know, that feels wrong. I missed you every day for two years, I missed you when we went home from tour even. Why don’t I miss him?” I looked up at him, not missing the way he gulped at my words, taking him in for a second before he inevitably told me something I didn’t want to hear.
“I think that might be my fault.” He scratched his cheek lightly, his fingernails catching against his stubble as I continued to watch him. “I think I was so intense with you for those first few weeks and days, and even before I saw you, that you ran to him before you were ready for someone else. You loved him, but you weren’t there just because of that.” I remained silent, not willing to admit he’d hit the nail on the head. Not willing to admit I’d known that, deep down, all along. “I’m not even sure I’m ready for someone else.”
I forced myself to breathe normally. Was he in the same place as me? Was he willing to give it another go? Or was I looking too far into this? Was he just saying that he wasn’t ready for a relationship at all?
“Why does five minutes with you feel like weeks with someone else?” He looked over at me, focused on my face and nothing else. It was like I could see the thoughts racing through his head, tripping over each other as my own had done.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve tried not to think about it.” I took the words for what they were: a rejection. He knew we were dangerous, that being around each other would result in falling just as hard and fast as we had back in school, and he wanted to stay away from that feeling. Wasn’t ready for it. He’d pushed me so hard because he thought he didn’t have a chance; a gut reaction to a feeling in his chest that he didn’t know how to deal with. I understood that at least.
“Thank you, for coming to sit with me.”
“I’ll always come to you, Hols, you know that.”

Notes