Chapter 29
Liz, May 22
At home, I throw my keys across my living room as soon as I’ve crossed the threshold. I am so utterly confused I don’t even know where to begin. This is why I have always avoided feelings and relationships. What a mess.
My eyes catch on a yellow legal pad sitting atop my coffee table. I drop to the floor and grab a nearby pen. I quickly scratch out “Matt” and “Ben” across the header and split the page in two columns. I try not to notice the symbolism of splitting that paper, though it stings.
Now, focus. I need to think honestly about these two gentlemen. What are the reasons why I should be with Matt? “Lives close,” I write as I say it aloud. “Cares about me, plays hockey, is fun, makes good money.” I stop. Am I really that materialistic? I cross out the last one.
Alright, Ben. “Caring,” I begin writing. “Funny, sexy, listens.” As I keep writing, my brain is flying. I’m remembering all our great conversations and how much I adored talking to him. “Easy to talk to” makes the list. The list is easier for Ben; I feel like I could write all day. But I stop, pen hovering, and sigh.
I notice the echo: I’m doing exactly what Ben did. He walked away for me, thinking it was best. And now I’m forcing myself to be practical, to protect my own heart — even though every fiber of me wants him. I circle “lives close” and add “is already mine” to Matt’s list. My chest tightens. I can feel the ache in my stomach, but I convince myself it’s the right choice.
Sadness washes over me. I feel like such a bitch. Here I am, unbeknownst to the two men I am writing about, still torn between them. I am shocked by how unfeeling I am at this moment. Matt is here, pouring out his heart to me daily and spending time with me. Ben is home, in London, being irrationally selfish in a way that makes my chest ache.
This is not a contest. I suddenly can’t believe I ever thought it was.
I pause, staring at the list, letting the truth settle. I can’t see it being worth the fight with Ben. I can’t risk the heartbreak it would bring, even though I know it would be electric, alive, real. I have to step back because I can’t see the outcome being worth the pain.
Grabbing the pen again, I circle “lives close” and reinforce “is already mine” for Matt. Then, confident, or at least resigned, that I have finally realized what is right in front of me, I head to bed. For the first time in a few months, I think I’ll sleep. But the ache in my chest reminds me that some choices are never easy, even when they’re practical.