5. The Potential
THE POTENTIAL
PRESENT DAY
The ancient lamp flickered to life, casting a melancholic glow across the hood of his truck as Fisher sat, his grip a vice around the wheel. He’d arrived early, wanting to have plenty of time for the discussion that he’d sat up all night trying to plan for.
But after many hours of watching the trees sway in the park outside his bedroom window, and a long day of throwing himself into his work, he was no closer to figuring out what to say than he’d been when he’d walked out of her apartment the night prior.
And now he lingered, torn between his desperation and his indecision.
He knew that once he walked into her apartment, all bets would be off. But even in the unpredictability of the night ahead, he instinctively knew that the odds were not in his favor.
The passenger door opening startled him out of his thoughts, and he turned, eyes wide, to find Drie climbing into the truck, a curious smile stretching her lips.
“Hey, I saw you sitting down here and thought I’d surprise you. You know you can come up early, right?” She leaned sideways, stretching over the console, her eyes lowering to his mouth.
And Fisher panicked. The moment her lips met his in a simple kiss they’d shared a hundred times over, his mind fractured. He jerked away, the back of his head colliding with the window as the words sprang forward unbidden.
“We should break up,” he blurted. His eyes flared at the crassness in his tone, watching as she froze in place, unblinking.
“No. Fuck, I’m sorry. That came out so wrong,” he stammered. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I just—I think we need to slow down. I was, uh, in a bad relationship for a while, and I think it may have screwed me up a bit. We’re just moving too fast, and it’s making me—”
“I’m sorry,” Drie interrupted, her voice distant as she slowly pulled back, putting distance between them in the tight cabin. “I nee—can you just repeat that?”
He stared, his mind blanking. “Which, uh…part?”
Her lips thinned as she rolled them inward. “The first bit.”
Right. Of course. He nodded, steeling his spine.
“I don’t think we should continue dating.”
He could see it in her expression already; the metaphorical wheels turning in her mind as the shock of his announcement faded and reality settled in.
He reached across the console and grabbed her left hand, gripping it like he would a lifesaver while adrift in the sea. “You’re so amazing and sweet and kind. You’re the best person I know. But you deserve more than me. More than I can offer you.”
With that, her eyes finally returned, the blue sharp and cold, like the jagged edge of broken ice.
“I don’t need you to offer me anything, Fisher…”
He was already shaking his head before she finished, his mouth twisted in a grim line as he realized where her mind had gone.
How he wished it were as simple a matter as his career.
If that were the case, he would go to the ends of the earth to find a job that she considered worthy.
He’d walk away from his life in a heartbeat.
He’d climb that corporate ladder, do an apprenticeship—hell, he’d go back to school if he thought it would make Drie happy.
His job was nothing more than that: a damn job.
“I can take care of myself,” she finished.
He fought the scoff that rose in his throat.
He was well aware of the fact that she didn’t need him.
Drie was a natural leader. Motivated. Brilliant.
The only thing he brought to her table was his company, and yet…
she’d considered it worth keeping. It was a point that had plagued him relentlessly the night prior: his existence in her world was unnecessary. At her whim.
“That’s not what I meant,” he whispered, hating the words, hating the conversation, hating himself.
“I hope you know that I don’t care where you work. You could pick up trash for a living, and I would think that’s noble. I love you for who you—”
“Stop!” he shouted, slamming his eyes shut as he turned away.
His forehead thumped against the steering wheel, the ache a welcome reprieve.
He couldn’t bear hearing them again—those perfect, cursed words.
Drie jerked her hand free, and Fisher let her go, the echo of her touch making his fingers clench around empty air.
“I’m sorry,” he continued, his chest heaving as he sucked down oxygen. His head began to spin, but he forced himself to look at her. To look her in the eyes when he told her the truth. “I know those things already. You’re misunderstanding me.”
Her brow furrowed as she stared at him. And then through him. She’d always been so casually transparent, so unproblematic, that he’d become a walking, talking masterclass at reading her cues in no time.
Watching her then, as she put the pieces together, was how he imagined it must feel to see your life flash before your eyes.
But instead of being at the end of a long life, watching it replay as he welcomed death, Fisher found himself standing at the start and watching as the potential life—the beautiful, joyous, peaceful life he could’ve had with Drie—died a painful, pointless death before his very eyes.
Understanding darkened her expression, and heat gathered behind Fisher’s eyes as he watched her heart break in real time.
He would have thought his was breaking right alongside hers, but that would have required the presence of an actual fucking heart in the first place, rather than the treacherous disgrace of an organ beating within his chest cavity.
“You don’t love me,” she said aloud. It wasn’t a question.
He ground his molars, sucking in a swift breath through his nose. Fisher was not about to fucking cry—he had no right. He shook his head jerkily.
“And you don’t believe you ever will.”
He wanted to lie. The words were already primed and ready to go. No. I’ll find a way. I’ll wait forever.
But then his eyes slid to her apartment building, and he remembered all the nights they’d spent together.
Fisher had been told his entire life that love was powerful.
He’d seen it firsthand, with his parents, his cousins, and his aunts and uncles.
It was meant to hit you like a freight train.
To consume you, body and mind. It was supposed to make you crazy.
Make you want to fight a war. Make you rage with jealousy in one moment and then elope to Vegas in the next.
But life with Drie was the opposite of all that.
From the first moment he’d seen her, even when he’d been a bumbling fool, her presence had brought him nothing but peace.
He didn’t feel threatened by other men because she was a safe place.
She was security and loyalty and all the best things a person could be.
Drie didn’t make him think about doing crazy things.
She just made him want to do pointless, boring things, like watching movies until they both passed out on the couch or sitting by her side with a laptop, searching the internet for new recipes to try, and debating ingredients as they made a grocery list for date night.
All that time they had shared one-on-one. Six months of dating. He’d had so long, had already stolen so much of her life, and he couldn’t lead her on forever.
“Say it,” she snapped, making him jump.
He met her eyes. “No. I don’t think I will. And I can’t listen to you keep saying those words to me when I can’t say them back.”
Drie breathed in, long and slow, and with the exhale, she nodded. “Alright.”
But when she reached for the handle, Fisher lunged, snagging her hand before she could leave. “Listen to me, Drie. You are truly, truly my best friend. This is killing me.”
She scoffed, and the noise, the disbelief, tore at him. But why should she believe me? All this time, she thought they were moving forward, while he kept his secrets.
Despite this, he couldn’t help but make his plea. “I don’t want to lose you completely, but I couldn’t keep us going this way. It’s unfair to you. And I know it’s something people say all the time and don’t mean, but I do mean it. I am your friend, always, and I hope you will still be mine.”
“What you’re asking is unfair,” she whispered.
He nodded. “I know that. I’m an asshole, but I’m an asshole who is still shamelessly asking you not to cut me out entirely. I want to be friends when you’re ready.”
She sighed. “You mean if.”
“When.” The words were harsh, demanding, born of desperation and a terrible sense of foreboding that he’d already gone and destroyed any possibility of friendship by pursuing a relationship in the first place. But he had to try. He could fix this.
“Sure, Fisher. When.” The words were weary, her voice detached. He didn’t buy it for a second. “I’m going inside now. Get home safe.”
“Drie, please. I’m sorry!” The door had already slammed shut by the time he’d finished his sentence.
For a beat, he simply watched in horror as she hurried back up to her building, her frame hunched.
The image tore at him viscerally, like she had dug her way into his soul and had ripped a fragment out with her when she jumped from the truck.
The ache was what drove him from his seat. It wasn’t right. Fisher didn’t understand it, but he knew he had just fucked up something important. Something vital. But by the time he’d reached the locked doors of her building, she was already stepping into the elevator across the lobby.
Her eyes met his as she faced the doors, and the bright glistening he saw nearly brought him to his knees. Long after the doors slipped shut, he remained on the stoop, wondering, why, if this isn’t love, does it have to hurt so fucking much?