20. Ashley #2
“Anyway, I get it. But we’ve been out a few times already, and I really like you,” he continues.
“I’m not asking for a huge commitment, but maybe we could press pause on seeing other people while we see if this could be something.
I’d rather not get too involved physically while we’re both dating other people. ”
He looks so sweet as he gives an awkward laugh.
My heart beats a little faster, but it feels more like nerves than love.
What is wrong with me? This guy is the whole package—looks, humor, commitment, and we get along so well.
Yet all I can think about is Sebastian’s whispered words last night, the feel of his hair when I run my fingers through it, his crooked smile when I’m teasing him and he’s pretending not to enjoy it.
While these things are running through my mind, Jared leans in. I can tell he wants to kiss me again, but he’s waiting for me to respond.
I bite my lip, suddenly shy, and instruct myself to say yes, we can try doing this.
It’s not a lifelong commitment. I’ll stop sleeping with Sebastian while we figure out if what Jared and I have is a good thing.
That was the whole point of the arrangement.
Sebastian is probably with someone else at this very moment.
Jared would be a great boyfriend, and I could make him happy.
I open my mouth to say yes, let’s try, but what comes out is “I can’t.”
He looks taken aback. “Oh, um, okay. I thought—”
I’m so surprised by my own answer that it takes me a moment to reply.
“I’m so sorry. You’re a great guy. But I realized as you were speaking that I’m not over someone else yet.
I thought I was ready to move on, but apparently I’m not, and it’s not fair for me to be exclusive with you when my heart’s not there yet.
” I look down and can’t help but add, “God, I’m an asshole. ”
“You’re not,” he says, his tone much kinder than I deserve. “If you were, you would have just strung me along.”
I blink back tears, not wanting to force him to comfort me when I’m the one who messed it all up. “You deserve someone who’s all in, and I’m sorry I can’t be that person right now. I hope you find her.”
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “If you work through whatever’s going on and want to try again, feel free to reach out.”
“I will,” I say, even though I’m not sure about that, about anything. “I should go. You take care, Jared.”
“You too.” His eyes are full of empathy as he watches me get up to leave. I take the long way home, spending some time alone with my thoughts, confusing as they are.
The rest of the evening is a blur. I open my phone to text Laurel and Stevie—they knew I was going out with Jared again—but I have nothing to say.
I’m sure my silence is sending the wrong message about my date, but I can’t make myself tell them what happened.
Was it only a few weeks back that Sebastian was teasing me about never keeping secrets from my best friends? Now I can’t tell them anything.
Whatever they say to my face, I’m sure they think Sebastian and I are playing with fire. And telling them I let a great guy like Jared go because of him will confirm it. They’ll be compassionate, and that will be the worst part somehow. I can’t do it.
I go to bed early, but I can’t sleep, images of Jared and Sebastian running through my head.
I end up on my phone, going down online rabbit trails like “How to know if you’re in love” like a confused teenager.
I’ve been in love before, haven’t I? I remember the heady, overwhelmed feeling of falling in love with my first boyfriend in university.
I dated Ben for over a year in my mid-twenties, thought I’d end up moving in with him.
I loved him enough that I was a mess for months after he dumped me.
That was why I started running and met the Milers in the first place.
But things with Sebastian are different and have always been.
Love hasn’t crashed over me like a tidal wave the way it did in my previous relationship.
It’s crept in with every silly text message, with all the hours we’ve spent with our heads together analyzing post views or social media strategy, with every flirty look and kiss we both knew were a bad idea but did anyway.
Shit. I love Sebastian. Sometime around one in the morning, the realization hits me, and I don’t know what to do with it.
I love the very person who told me he wasn’t that guy.
And yet he’s the one who started this and took it to the next level.
Him and his stupid, poorly timed emotional crisis. What the hell do I do now?
I finally fall asleep after ruminating for what feels like weeks, waking as the sun hits my window because I was such a mess that I forgot to close the curtains.
I don’t feel rested or relaxed. Instead of the high I’ve always associated with a new infatuation, the bubbly, joyful, wonderful sense of being crazy about each other, there’s a pit in my stomach.
I can’t keep acting like nothing has changed, but telling him could blow everything up.
My brain in the daytime is as hazy as it was last night. I throw myself into work, choosing the most mentally demanding tasks so I can’t think about anything else. I double check my accounting spreadsheets. I write copy for some of my clients. I input some billing. None of it helps.
In the evening, I go for a run to clear my head.
Laurel would happily accompany me, but I need to be alone with my thoughts—or whatever my heart is telling me.
Plus, I feel silly asking her to listen to me weigh the pros and cons of whether I should tell Sebastian I like him when she’s practically married now—she’d roll her eyes at me for saying that, but I’m sure it’s imminent.
She’s out of this life of overanalyzing men’s actions.
And what if she tells me to walk away? I’m not ready to hear that.
Same with my sister Samantha. I slow down and pull out my phone to message her, then put it away again. She’ll probably roll her eyes like I’m a teenager with a crush; it’s just me and my running shoes to chase after some clarity.
I run at a brisk pace, enjoying the warm breeze, trying to live in the moment while my brain throws new images and concerns at me with every intersection I cross.
I picture Sebastian and me in a million different romantic scenarios, both the sexy ones we’ve already enjoyed, but also domestic ones like curled up on the couch together, taking road trips, trying out new recipes.
But in the back of my mind, a voice keeps whispering You’re going to lose him.
If you bring that up, he’s gone. He doesn’t do feelings.
But what if he did? But what if he stuck around? What if he meant what he said the other night?
What if we could have it all? Friendship and love and sex all in one package. Walks on the beach, carving a pumpkin in the fall, cutting down a Christmas tree and throwing snowballs at each other.
Geez, Ashley, get a grip. You’ve never cut down a Christmas tree, and your last snowball fight was twenty years ago. This isn’t a movie.
Still, what if we could have all the normal things?
Paying bills and going out to eat when we’re too tired to cook and snuggling on the couch and falling asleep together later.
Christmas Eve with my family, Christmas Day with his—in my fantasy, I conveniently ignore the fact that both sets of parents are divorced.
He told me he loved me. He was almost asleep, but he said it. Maybe he can imagine this too. He might be doing that right now.
I run harder, trying to will my mind to focus on the other possibilities.
This might ruin everything. What if we can’t be friends anymore? What if our story—that I’ve hooked up with a colleague, and not only a colleague, but someone who hired me for a job—somehow comes out and it damages my career?
I can imagine the relationship fallout if it doesn’t work out.
Writing out a funny text to him and then thinking twice and deleting it.
Avoiding his face at class reunions. Running into him on the subway and having to do the fake smile and catch-up conversation but talking about nothing that matters.
Knowing that one day he might finally work through his baggage and decide it’s time to settle down, and it will be with some other woman, someone who won’t laugh at herself when he jokes about her love for stage musicals.