Page 4 of It Should Have Been Me

He cringes. “You’re so crude sometimes. You know, I was an exchange student in your country, and I just never understood the obsessive need for vulgarity.”

I try not to roll my eyes. That joke barely scraped the surface of crude. “The vulgarity makes it funny...but your facial expression afterward? That makes ithilarious.”

“It just sounds so uncultured, but I understand that where you come from, that stuff is considered humor, so...haw-haw-haw. That is the best French laugh I can give to your crude American joke.”

“That was so awkward...it was almost cute,” I say with a suppressed snicker.

I’ve toned down my language since we met. Initially, he used to get so offended, but as we got to know each other, he realized my jokes are supposed to be taken in jest, and I realized I should curb my use of certain words. I don’t think I’ve dropped an F-bomb since we started traveling together, but this is our lighthearted compromise – a moderate level of inappropriate humor.

He crosses the bedroom to the closet on the other side to take out a pair of beige chinos and a crisp, white shirt. “Now, back to our discussion...I still don’t understand why you’re flying out today. The wedding is only in two and a half weeks. Why don’t you stay here until the exhibition of my new painting at the gallery and then we can fly there together?”

JP has not been as fortunate as me when it comes to his art career. Even though he’s an incredible painter, he’s struggled to get his work commissioned, but just three weeks ago, a gallery owner took an interest in two of his paintings. It’s an opportunity to get his name out there, and we both agreed that this isn’t something he can pass up.

I actually met him at an art exhibition, and we immediately hit it off because we have so much in common. Our mutual love of art laid a solid foundation for us. He asked me out several times after we met, but I declined because I just wanted to keep things casual at the time. My body and mind were in Europe, but my heart was still stupidly wandering around California.

Things changed when we started traveling together. We were spending more time together, and even though I started to develop feelings for him, I was very reluctant to have anything more than a friendship. I told him a few times that I wasn’t ready for another relationship, but he was so persistent. Clearly, I have a weakness for persistent men because I eventually agreed toonedate, and now here we are, eighteen months later, living together.

My wandering heart made peace with the past and finally stayed in one place long enough to fall in love again. Look, it wasn’t easy. This stupid heart of mine used to skip the country all the time, desperately seeking the man I left behind, the same man who had ruthlessly torn me apart inside, and yet the damn thing still refused to let go. I’d have to calmly convince it that that part of my life was over. Every time it happened, my poor heart returned from its travels aching and sore, but after I rationalized and explained that I didn’t need Scott Carter in my life anymore, it would settle down...Well, for a few weeks, and then it would escape custody and fuck off again.

But that hasn’t happened for a very long time. I managed to push Scott out of my head for good, and I haven’t thought about him in years...until I got that wedding invitation. I don’t know why, but I’ve been a jittery, anxious mess since then. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen Scott since my mother married Keith five years ago. He dumped me not even four months later. The memories cause a rush of bile and pain to leap up from my stomach, but I quickly suppress it and refocus my attention back on the conversation.

“Isabella wants me there,” I say to JP. “She’s panicking about every little detail, and she wants her big sister for support. Also, I want to spend some time with my family. I didn’t go home last Christmas like we planned. I miss them. If we wait for your exhibition, we’re only going to get there the Friday before. The wedding is on Saturday, and then we have to leave again on Sunday.”

He pulls on his shirt and buttons it up. “What if we change our flights so we don’t have to leave on Sunday? I’d also like to spend a little more time with your family and get to know them better.”

“We can’t stay longer than that, Bon-Bon. My new contract starts the very next week, so we only have a few days to pack up everything and fly to London.” An excited smile beams on my face, so bright I fear it may blind me. “That contract is going to change our lives. Imagine living all-expenses paid in the most extravagant cities in the world. Milan. Dubai. Zürich. I honestly can’t wait to start this new chapter of our lives.”

He smiles, and despite his reserved demeanor, I can sense his excitement, too. “We don’t have to imagine. That’s going to be our reality in about three weeks. I just hate how badly timed everything is. It’s no one’s fault. I’m just a little sad that you have to leave so soon. I’m...” He looks at the floor, shifting nervously from one foot to the other before he looks up at me again. “I’m going to miss you.”

I feign astonishment and gasp with surprise. “You’re gonna miss me?”

He rolls his eyes. “I take it back.”

“It’s out now. You can’t take it back.”

JP is an enigma of a person. He’s so open to trying new things, yet he is a little more guarded when it comes to matters of the heart. Effort is required for him to admit how he feels. It doesn’t stop him from saying it, but there’s always that stilted pause before the words leave his mouth. I find it adorable. Another quality I love is how affection-averse he is. He hates hugs and cuddling, and public displays of affection are a big no for him, but he’s come a long way. Every day I get a few more kisses, a few more caresses.

I rush toward him, hopping up and wrapping my legs and arms around him. “How much are you going to miss me?”

“It was going to be a lot, but now...only a tiny bit.”

Even though he tries to squirm away from the kisses I’m plastering all over his face, I still feel his arms tighten around me. “And how much do you love me?”

“Not much at all,” he replies with a straight face. “Very little. I like dancing more than you.”

There is nothing he hates more than dancing. He doesn’t understand why people feel the urge to move their bodies to music. To him, it’s an exercise in futility.

I try to pout through my giggles and lightly hit his shoulder. “You’re so mean.”

“You know you’re the love of my life.” He smiles, tilting his head up toward me. “You can kiss me now.”

He grips me tighter, and my lips land on his. Normally, it takes mere seconds for me to be seduced by his expert mouth. His lips are soft, and his kiss is always gentle, almost hypnotic in its sensuality. Making love to JP is exactly that. Sweet. Tender. He controls the pace, keeping it slow and leisurely. His kisses are a sheer appreciation of my body, like he wants to spend hours savoring me. And he does. His mouth leaves a trail of warm kisses down my neck. Usually, at this point, I’d be unbuttoning his shirt, wanting to be closer to him in every way, but today I just can’t get into it.

My lie about my stomach cramps has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. That ball of nervousness is coiling tighter and tighter. My palms are sweaty, and I can’t get my heart rate to slow down. My level of anxiety has skyrocketed. After five years, I’m going to see Scott again. See, the thing is, just shy of a decade ago, I fell madly, deeply, hopelessly in love with that douche. He broke through all my defenses and now I feel like I don’t have any protection against him, like I might be...vulnerable around him.

I know Scott still visits my mother every second Saturday, but I’ve never asked her about him because I’ve made every effort to move on and I didn’t want the details of his personal life to have any influence over the decisions I made in mine. Isa also stopped talking to me about him at some point because of some pact they’d made about not discussing their exes anymore, so I’m going there blind.

Not knowing anything makes the situation more difficult because I don’t know what to expect when I get home. I keep telling myself that a lot can happen in five years. Scott is probably married with kids now. He was the one who wanted to settle down, after all. In all likelihood, he’s probably already balding (hopefully), and I find comfort in the fact that he may just have a dad bod now. Why am I even stressing about this? I’m going to see him and it’s just going to be...one of those things. It's going to be fine. I’ve moved on. He’s moved on. It's going to be fine.

---