7. The Edge of Yes
T he apartment is quiet, like the stillness of hesitation, but my mind isn’t.
I’ve stripped my work polo, showered off the smell of chlorine and sun, and thrown on a clean tee and boxers.
The day’s heat lingers—not just on my skin, but deep inside, tight and unsettled.
The air conditioner hums in the corner, pushing the cool air.
On the counter, the receipt with Kevin’s number lies flat and smoothed out, damp from where it sat in my back pocket all afternoon.
Kevin saw me. He saw me outside the café last Sunday and said nothing, but today, he did. He walked right up and said hello as if it were nothing, like it hadn’t been four years since everything flipped upside down and never got put back.
I should feel relieved, satisfied, or maybe validated. But what I feel is off guard, like I’ve been stripped of the choice and called out on a bluff I didn’t realize I was making.
I keep walking past it.
The toast from breakfast is stale, and I’m still full from lunch, but I nibble at it anyway.
I stare at the half-dead pothos plant on the shelf, turning the radio dial until I land on something low and melancholy—instrumental jazz.
It fills the space but doesn’t change it.
The room still feels like it’s watching me.
I consider calling and think about what I’d say and what I wouldn’t.
Kevin had said, “Talk soon?”
And I had replied, “Definitely.”
Then I walk to the window and look through the oak branches and leaves at the cars parked along the curb. There’s not much to see, only someone walking their dog in a ratty T-shirt and pajama pants. The city never really goes quiet; it slightly softens.
And suddenly, it comes back, like a flicker in my periphery, like a memory tapping me on the shoulder.
He used to say life’s full of tiny detours. The gas station you don’t mean to stop at. The old friends you didn’t expect to run into. And I’m there again. Back before I ruined it.
~
(Four Years Earlier)
I’m not even sure why I’m here. The fight wasn’t new—same old shouting and silence after. Stacy slammed the door behind her, and I grabbed my keys like I had somewhere to be. The truth is, I only needed space and air.
I’m standing in the fluorescent glow of a convenience store, walking between shelves of general merchandise—a whole grocery store condensed into one short aisle of overpriced basics.
I don’t need or want any of it. I’m not hungry.
I’m drifting, killing time before going home to apologize for whatever she says I did or didn’t do .
I sense movement in the next aisle—someone’s shoulder, the rustle of chip bags, the weight of a gaze. Then I hear it.
“Daniel?”
I freeze. It’s been a couple of years, maybe more, but I’d know that voice anywhere. I look up and see Kevin standing at the end of the aisle, eyes wide, a small smile breaking across his face like he’s unsure if this is real.
“I don’t believe it,” he says.
“Hey, bud,” I manage, the words tumbling from my mouth like muscle memory.
He steps around the endcap, his hand out like it’s high school again. He has the same clean look and the same posture, though slightly older and weary in the eyes. He pats my shoulder as we shake hands. I try to keep it casual.
“So, what’s new?” he asks.
I shrug, hands deep in my pockets. “Not much. Same old stuff.”
“You working? Not in school, right?”
“Hell no.” I laugh, even though nothing’s funny. “You know how much I loved school. I’m working for my dad again. Got married, too.”
Kevin blinks. “No shit. Married to who?”
“You remember Stacy? We got married last year. Got a place a few blocks away.” I don’t mention that it’s only a rental, an old single-wide in a trailer park that smells like mildew and burnt coffee. I don’t mention the part where I sleep on the couch half the time.
Kevin nods like he remembers, even though I can tell he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter.
“Well, congratulations,” he says, but something in his face shifts—like he’s doing math that doesn’t quite add up.
“Thanks, man,” I say, but my voice tightens. “She’s a bitch, though. Big mistake. We fight all the fucking time. That’s why I’m here. Needed a breather.”
Kevin nods, slower this time. There’s a flicker in his eyes—something like understanding or pity.
“Sorry,” he says. I wait for more, but that’s all he gives me.
Then Kevin says, “Hey, I was grabbing snacks for a movie with Alice. You remember her. My aunt.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, smiling without meaning to. I remember her barging into Kevin’s pool party when his parents went out of town on vacation, yelling at us to shut it down.
“She’s cool,” he echoes. “I’m staying with her right now. Want to come chill with us?”
I hesitate—one breath. I don’t know what I’m walking into or what this is. But something about the way Kevin looks at me, the way his voice dips low, makes it inviting and easy to say, “Sure, why not? Got anything to drink? Want me to grab some cold brewskies, dude?”
“Yeah, sure, beer is cool,” he says, and I can hear the eye roll in his voice. Still, he’s smiling. That warmth is still there, buried under whatever weight he’s carrying now.
We grab our things and head to the parking lot.
“It’s just a few blocks away,” he says, tossing his bag into the passenger seat.
“I’ll follow,” I say, slipping into my car.
As I pull out behind him, I feel something shift in my chest. I don’t know what tonight is, but it beats loitering at convenience stores, stuck in a toxic marriage, letting life happen to me, waiting for change without ever causing it, just becoming someone I never meant to be.
~
The ceiling fan clicks above me in the dark. I’m on my back in bed, the memory of that chance reuniting echoing through my brain like it just happened, like I’m still in that pool, suspended between choices I couldn’t name.
He said it first. But I didn’t stop him. And then I walked away.
That was the worst part.
I ran. I always run.
Now he’s here. In this city. At that café. Stepping out of that gym with a smile and a number on a folded receipt sitting on the table beside me.
I grip the spare pillow and hold it close to my body, closing my eyes.
What I want is unclear. What I remember, though—that’s vivid.
And I’m standing on the edge of yes—again—and still unsure if I’ll jump.