Chapter 3
Chapter Three
DAMN KARMA
Connor
Dinner with the Fisher family was a mistake.
Damn Drew for the invitation. Damn me for not finding a good enough excuse to get out of it. Dammit to hell that I really, really wanted to see her.
And damn karma—the evil bitch.
“Gretchen isn’t what I expected.” Lauren’s voice snaps me back to the present.
“Why do you say that?” I ask cautiously as we walk back to my apartment.
“None of you told me that she was a freaking goddess!”
Stunned, I come to a halt on the sidewalk and Lauren turns to me. “What are you talking about?” While I agree that goddess is a fitting description of my best friend’s sister, my girlfriend saying it feels like a trap.
She hits me with a look of exasperation. “Connor, come on. She’s this dark-haired, tan, exotic beauty and I can’t believe nobody ever mentioned it. ”
I’ve intentionally minimized mentions of Gretchen in our conversations over the years.
There’s a zone of comfort I’ve created that I’ve kept limited to the most surface level facts: she’s Drew’s little sister who was around some when we were kids.
That’s it. The deeper truth beyond that, my best friend doesn’t even know.
Lauren, for all her good qualities, is pretty insecure.
She’s beautiful, yet constantly puts herself down.
She’s great at her job, yet constantly chases the accolades of her coworkers.
I’ve never judged her harshly for any of it because everyone has insecurities and she’s a great person in so many other ways.
My prolonged silence threatens to raise her suspicions, so I say, “Well, her brother doesn’t think of her that way and I mean…
I guess she’s pretty, but I’ve known her since she was nine so…
I don’t know, I’ve never really looked at her that way.
” That last part is a bold-faced lie because Gretchen most certainly did not stay a kid forever.
Neither did I. When she grew up—when we both did—I took notice.
Lauren hums thoughtfully, then spins on her heel and starts to walk again.
Our strides find their rhythm, heels clicking on concrete, car horns blaring in the distance, when she adds, “I guess I expected her to be more like Drew. You know, playful, full of life, never stops smiling. She just seemed like she didn’t want to be there. ”
Something sharp and heavy settles over me. Karma doing her thing.
Gretchen’s always been quiet; an introvert.
But the girl I remember would come alive around her family…
and me. Tonight, though, she looked like she wished she could be anywhere else except at that table.
I’m the one to blame for the apprehensive girl with the forced smile who avoided eye contact like the plague, who barely looked up from her dinner plate.
Except when she did, those magnetic brown eyes found mine, making my heart seize in my chest.
As we enter the lobby of my building, the knots taking shape in my stomach have me feeling sick. I suggest to Lauren that she sleep at her own place tonight. I may not be legitimately ill, but her comments have left me unsettled .
When her Uber arrives, I give her a kiss on the cheek and tell her I’ll call her tomorrow. As the car drives away, I’ve never been more thankful that we have separate apartments. Though we’ve discussed the possibility of moving in together plenty over the course of our relationship.
The first time the subject came up, we were a couple weeks shy of our one-year anniversary and I had taken her home to meet my family over Thanksgiving. While they would never speak badly about her to me outright, it was obvious she didn’t fit in with our family.
To be fair, Lauren wasn’t herself that weekend and I don’t entirely blame her. She was so nervous. Meeting your boyfriend’s family is a big deal, but I didn’t anticipate how uncomfortable she would be.
My mom, the warmest person on the planet, invited her to help her, my sister-in-law and brother’s girlfriend with meal prep.
Lauren politely declined. Instead, she retreated to the dining room to fuss with napkin folds that nobody cared about.
Meanwhile, my dad, top-tier conversationalist, couldn’t connect with her at all.
Once she started on about her privileged childhood—the Chicago penthouse apartment, full-service housekeeper and family chef—Dad checked out.
He stopped talking so she talked more thinking it would get him to talk, but he kept not talking so she kept talking and… well, the loop became insufferable.
Lauren’s upbringing has always stirred up my own feelings of inadequacy.
She’s not a snob or entitled, but she’s open about wanting the life she had growing up.
She wants the penthouse apartment and the husband who takes over her father’s company when he retires, but I love my cozy one-bedroom and owning a business has never been a life goal for me.
Our priorities are very different; an issue that sends red flags flying at full mast in my brain any time she brings up the idea of living together.
I’m ashamed to say, I’ve continuously kicked the cohabitation can down the road with empty promises like maybe after the holidays or let’s talk when my lease ends in six months .
If we move in together, the next step is marriage. After two and half years together, I should want to marry her. But I don’t. I’ve been in such denial about the state of our relationship that I’m constantly reminding myself of all the reasons she’s great.
She’s gorgeous. She’s fun. She makes me laugh and loves to be the life of the party. She makes a really big deal out of birthdays and milestones. The people in her orbit always feel appreciated and seen. She’s great with kids and will make a kick-ass PTA president one day.
The truth is, the right guy— her right guy—would be lucky to have her.
Two hours later, I’m lying in bed, locked in a staring contest with my ceiling. My mind races with thoughts of nothing and everything.
Lauren. Gretchen. Drew. The Cubs game. Work. My lips on Gretchen’s neck. Lauren. Gretchen’s hands fisting the lapels of my jacket. Lauren. Work. Lauren. Gretchen.
Gretchen.
The rush of affection I felt when I saw her, the warmth that coursed through me when I hugged her, the ache that echoed in my chest with every second of eye contact, only reminds me of the self-inflicted wound I’ve spent three years trying to bury.
A wound that’s never healed.
I thought enough time had passed, but I was wrong. Terribly, horribly, unequivocally wrong.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone from the nightstand. I open up my texts, prepared to do what I should have done three years ago. My fingers hover over the screen as memories of that night invade my senses.
I remember everything. The black dress with the thigh-high slit that made my mouth go dry. Long onyx hair draped in waves down the bare skin of her back. The fire in her eyes right before I kissed her. And the hurt that replaced it when I made the worst decision of my life and walked away.
I need to make things right, but not like this. She deserves more than an apology text. Instead, I start small.
Me
It was good seeing you tonight, Gretch.
My pulse soars as I hit send. It’s only then that I look up and see our last text exchange from the day before Drew’s wedding.
Shame clouds my vision. Glutton for punishment, I scroll up.
Guilt shreds my heart on-site with each downward swipe of my thumb.
A year’s worth of texts. A year that felt like the start of what I hoped would be everything .
Until it became the end neither of us wanted.
I wait several minutes for three little dots that never come.
An hour and a half later, my phone pings. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I swipe the screen to life.
Gretchen
You too.
It’s fewer words than I had hoped for, but it’s a start.
Two weeks have passed since I texted Gretchen. I haven’t reached out again. I respect Lauren too much to be texting Gretchen while I try to figure out what to do about our relationship.
Lauren and I have continued on like normal.
We’ve gone out to dinner a few times, including a double date with Drew and Reagan.
She’s been at my place in the evenings, where we’ve ordered takeout and binged Netflix like we always do.
We’ve slept over at each other’s places several times, but neither of us has initiated sex.
I was too tired some nights, we were both exhausted others.
Through every moment spent together and apart, I’ve tried to remember all that’s great between us, to look past my reservations over marrying her.
I’ve told myself that our issues are all in my head.
I’ve imagined what a life with Lauren would look like and, honestly, it’s a great life.
There’s a nice home, a few kids, and a woman who’s an amazing mom and a supportive, faithful partner.
But, in all the visions of our possible future, I don’t see a woman that I’m madly in love with .
I love Lauren. But I’m not in love with her. It’s a reality I should have faced a long time ago. Instead, I’ve tried to will the puzzle pieces to fit, hoping that someday things would click and we’d make sense.
Except, the click never came.
I can’t ignore it anymore. The denial I’ve been living in, the issues I’ve made excuses for in the name of but she’s such a good person , have only served to give her a false hope of a forever together. That’s not fair to her.
Approaching the restaurant where we’re meeting for lunch, I spot Lauren through the glass windows. I bypass the hostess and head straight to the table. When her smile rises to greet me, the paralyzing guilt rushes in and it almost— almost —convinces me to scrap this whole plan.
I don’t want to hurt her. But if I don’t end things now, I think I’ll live to regret it.