Page 19 of Just One Moment
“Youasked.”Shelaughs. “Iwant to help, if anything, to show that b-i-t-c-h that she has no hold over you anymore.”
“I’llbe your official accountant, free of charge.”
Shewaves me off. “Youdon’t need to do that.I’mhappy todo it but give me a few days.It’snot every day someone asks me to be their girlfriend, let alone a fake one.Wouldit be okay ifIspoke toJo?She’smy only friend here andI’llmake her swear not to tell anyone.”
“Takeall the time you need.I’msureBoothhas already toldPatrick.”Ican’t believe she’s even contemplating this and without wanting anything in return. “Ifyou decide it’s too weird, there are no hard feelings.”
“It’snot weird, just a surprise.AndhereIthought a delivery of new cake stands was going to be the highlight of my day.”Shelaughs before pursing her lips in thought.There’snothing in her tone or expression that makes me believe her relaxed persona is an act, andIcan’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing.“I’llhave an answer for you byMonday.”
“Monday.”Inod, trying not to look too wishful.
Ifshe agrees,I’llbalance her books, file her taxes, and write up a business plan for her; no argument.
Weboth stand at the same time.Thishas gone better thanIanticipated.Well, that is untilIoffer her a handshake in the form of a farewell.
Whereis that meteor?
Shestares at my outstretched arm in amusement before slipping her smooth palm over mine, putting me out of my misery when she jostles our joined hands.
“Howvery formal of you, sir.”Shesmirks andIcan’t help but smile back. “I’llsee youMonday.”
“Right, yeah, have a good day.”Iwalk backward, wanting to savor up every last drop of her. “Enjoythe flowers.”
Herinfectious smile stays on my mind the entire drive into the city and most of the day.
Duringmy commute home, however,Ithink about how this would go ifIwere someone else.Thehappy moodIleft with after walking out of the bakery slowly evaporates and is non-existent by the timeIget back to my apartment.
Oncethe sun has set andI’vefrantically finishedmoving my schedule around for next week, making room forQuinnin the hopes she says yes, the sound of my laptop slamming shut is music to my ears.Openingthe drawer of my desk,Ipull out my worn leather journal.It’snot even old, butI’veflicked through the pages so many times, bending and folding the spine and edges, that it looks much more used than it is.
Mydad was the one who taught me to journal.Froma young age, he noticed how emotions would build up in me, making me feel overwhelmed or howIstruggled to vocalize my feelings.Iwas thirteen when he bought me my first journal.Ithad my favorite baseball team’s emblem on it, nothing like the boring brown oneIown today.I’velost count of how manyI’vegone through now thatI’mthirty-three.I’llnever forget the intense reliefIfelt whenIfound somewhere to put the thoughts that were so difficult to navigate.Likesomeone finally threw me a buoy after years of treading rough waters.
Tonight, the words come easily, despite their reminders of an embarrassing day, andIfeel ten times better when they’ve been scribbled down.
It’sthe perfect outlet for my emotions, and in the last few years of my andJenna’srelationship,Ifilled up dozens of them.Wehad been dating for a few years, when she found one of my old ones and recited some of the entries to me mockingly.Lookingback, her spiteful words should have made me realize we were always going to end in disaster.Noone should ever feel like they can’t express themselves freely in a relationship, yetI’dfound myself in a decade-long one.
I’vealways been quieter than most, that’s just whoIam.Ittakes me a while to feel comfortable around new people.Sometimes, words don’t come as easy to me, but if you give me a moment,I’llget there.
Myfriends and family understand and accept those parts of me, and at first,IthoughtJennaaccepted that side of me too.
Ijust wish it didn’t take me so long to realize how untrue that was.
Shetried to change me.Moldme into something she wanted.Andwhen she was done with me, she spat out a version of myself thatIno longer recognized.Whodoubts themself more.Overthinkseverything they say.
Idon’t like this version, but as my eyes scan over tonight’s entry,I’mnot sure how to be anyone else.
Ina world whereI’mnot awkward,I’dbe taking her out for dinner.
I’dhold the door of my car open for her as the skirt of her dress blows in the wind.
I’dlet her pick the music we listen to as we drive to the restaurant.
Iwouldn’t care when she picked food off my plate.
I’deat dessert for her.Fuck,I’deat her for dessert ifIcould.
Inmy ideal world, this would never be fake.
ThefeelingsIhave for her already scare me, andIknowI’masking for trouble proposing this idea.