Page 53 of My First Time Fling

“You know the stupid thing?” I continued. “I think that I got over Tanner the day I met Mark. Or at the very least, soon after. And it wasn’t even just because I had a crush on Mark. It was because he made me feel—I don’t know, like I didn’t need Tanner. Like life was full of possibilities. And that what mattered was following my passions instead of holding out hope that some guy was going to come along and save me.”

Brooklyn made a face. “I mean, I know we hate Mark right now, and he’s an asshole and all that, but he does kind of have a point. And I hate to say it, but it probably applies now as much as it ever applied to Tanner. You don’t need a boyfriend to complete you.”

“I know,” I sighed. “Ugh. That's literally something Mark said to me once. And I know that it’s true, like, intellectually. But emotionally…” I trailed off and looked at Brooklyn hopelessly. “Emotionally, I just miss him.”

“I know, Jesse.” Brooklyn nudged me with his shoulder. “I know.”

“The worst fucking part about it,” I said, frustrated, “is that I can’t even blame him. Not really. I mean, he just didn’t care about me as much as I cared about him. I can’t get mad at him for that. It’s not his fault. You can’t make someone care about you. I just wish he’d told me sooner.”

“Maybe he was trying to figure it out?” Brooklyn said, twisting his mouth to the side in a grimace. “And he just wasn’t sure for a while? I know it sucks, and I want to be mad at him too, for hurting you. But—”

“But he seems like a good guy, right?” I rolled my eyes. “I know. That’s what I keep coming back to. I don’t think he was trying to lie to me. I’m sure he would have told me, sooner or later. I just…it just sucks, is all.”

“Yeah.”

Brooklyn sat there with me while I hashed it out for the next I-don’t-even-know-how-many hours. I told him as much as I could, without breaking Mark’s confidence—not that Mark had actually sworn me to secrecy or anything, but if he’d been worried about telling me he had PTSD, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t want me broadcasting it to everyone I knew. Strangely, I felt a little better just having someone to share my thoughts with. Having someone to pour them out to meant I didn’t have to keep them trapped, bouncing off the walls of my skull.

“Do you know what the most pathetic part is?” I asked, looking at Brooklyn plaintively. “I want to be mad at him, but at the same time, I’m just worried about him. I mean, he’s really going through some shit right now. I don’t want to get too into the details, but I think he’s in pain. I feel horrible that he felt like he couldn’t tell me about it, and that he feels like there’s something wrong with him. And there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even reach out to him and tell him I hope he’s doing okay.”

“Why can’t you?” Brooklyn asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Why can’t I reach out to my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart and say, ‘Hey, I know we’re not speaking, and you probably never want to hear from me again, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking about you, and if you ever want to talk, I’m here?’”

“Yes,” Brooklyn said, turning to look at me intently. “Yes, exactly that. Why can’t you text him those exact words? I mean, if you mean them.”

“I do, but—”

“And you mean them completely separate from the issue of your breakup, or his feelings for you, or what you want from him in the future.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Do it,” Brooklyn said. “Why not? I mean, fuck it, what’s the harm? You might never hear back from him, but at least you’ll be able to rest easier knowing that you said something. That you let him know he has someone who cares for him. And then you can begin to move on, knowing you did the right thing.”

I turned Brooklyn’s words over in my mind, trying to figure out if they made sense. Itfeltlike a good idea, but what if it just got me upset again, hoping I’d hear back?

“I’d have to convince myself that I was okay with him not responding,” I said out loud, thinking it through. “I’d have to, like, divorce myself from the result.”

“Can you do that?” Brooklyn asked.

I thought for a moment and then nodded. “I can try.”

So I did. I did send the text and I did try. I actually did fairly well, all things considered.

Brooklyn hung out for the rest of the evening, waiting for me to shower and then eating delivery from the Ogeechee Diner with me, since we’d never actually managed to do our brunch. I didn’t hear back from Mark that night, but I reminded myself that I’d known I probably wouldn’t. And by the time I went to bed, I felt one percent, maybe even two percent, better.

I signed up for all the shifts I could for the rest of the week and ended up hanging around Cardigan Cafe and the Flamingo even when I wasn’t working, just to give myself something to do. Charlotte, the Flamingo’s owner, eventually asked me why I was infesting the place, and I gave her the shortened version of events.

“You’ll be okay in the end,” she said, patting my hand. “Whether you two get back together or not, I promise you,youwill be okay.”

“I appreciate the confidence,” I told her. “Not sure I believe you, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“You’ll be okay because you’ve got a good heart,” she said. “And you’re trying to do the right thing. You know, my grandson, Tate, went through a rough patch with his relationship a little while ago, and it all turned out for the best.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Wait a second. Your grandson wouldn’t happen to live on Summersea Island, would he?”

“That’s the one.” She grinned broadly. “Have you met him? Was he stirring up trouble?”

“I hate to tell you this, but the last time I saw him, he was talking about drywall. So, no. Not really.”

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