I Stay.

"I was wondering what took so long."

I told him I loved him. He made a joke. Eh… could be worse, right? At least he didn’t say, “We are just friends,” or “I don’t like you at all.” There’s a part of me that appreciated his response. If there was one thing I knew about Book Boyfriend, he wasn’t going to say something unless he meant it. That was a small kindness, I think. Maybe he feels it and just can’t say it? Maybe he doesn’t feel it? Maybe he's scared? Maybe my life isn't a storybook? (No, that can't be right.) I’m left perplexed. But I am confident in one thing: he will say it back. Someday.

I mean… I can’t be fabricating this connection, right? This is real? He likes me! I manage to stop my thoughts from racing, click out of the messages tab on my phone, and fall asleep. He knows now.

We still doing this?

The next time I see Book Boyfriend, I’m nervous. Really nervous. I told him I loved him. Will this change things? Will we still see each other? Is this goodbye? He’s coming over. What do you wear when a man might break up with you? Jeans? Sweats? Something with pockets for the tissues you’ll need later while crying and listening to Taylor Swift? I settle on a pink long-sleeve shirt and black leggings. I quickly decide to throw my hair back and add a bow. Who can break up with a girl wearing a pink bow? (Probably a lot of people, you weirdo. Stop overthinking this.)

Knock Knock.

No time to question what I’m wearing now. I answer the door. He’s standing outside wearing dark jeans, a gray flannel, and a thick black coat. (He really knows how to pull off the lumberjack look.)

I welcome him and direct him to sit on the couch. I have a speech prepared, but I give him a second to see if he will say anything.

Silence. Okay, cool. I got this. (Isn’t it funny how the speeches you perform in your head never end up sounding as confident or polished in real life?)

I sit on the other side of the couch.

“So…” I begin.

He leans forward and tugs on the bottom of my hair. “I like the bow.”

My cheeks turn the same shade of pink as my shirt. (Okay, good call with the bow, girl.)

I swallow. "Thanks. So..."

He leans back into his spot on the couch. “Yes?” he asks, staring at me.

“So I told you I loved you and you didn’t say it back. No big deal, but we should probably talk about our relationship a bit.”

He sits straighter, immediately looking uncomfortable. I continue ranting about how it’s okay he didn’t say it, but does he still want to be with me? And if so, can we start doing more “normal couple things?”

“What are normal couple things?” he asks, inching closer to me.

“I want to meet each other’s friends and families. I want you to hold my hand sometimes. It’s been a year. Maybe even… meet my son? I mean only if you’re interested in this progressing.” I blurt out the entire sentence too fast.

“I’d love to meet your son,” he replies after a few beats of silence.

“So… we are still doing this?” I ask.

“We are still doing this. Now… I’m starving. Can we get pizza?” he replies. (I mean he offered pizza, how could I not be in love?)

He takes out his phone and starts typing feverishly. “I found a place that’s still open. Let’s go.” He stands and starts heading to the door.

I stay on the couch watching him shrug his jacket back on, the slightest hint of flex in his forearm muscle before they are hidden again. (Damn jacket. It’s okay, little did I know that jacket would be hanging in my closet soon enough.)

I smile and meet him at the door. He places his hand at the base of my neck and leads me out the door.

Steps Forward

He parks on the street and we both brace ourselves for the chilly autumn air as we hop out of the car. We are both briskly walking to the pizza place when we realize we have to cross the street to get to it. He steps onto the street and throws his hand back at me. I stare at it, confused.

“Hold my hand, dammit.”

I can’t hide the grin forming on my lips. I guess he was listening after all…