Page 3 of It's a Date (Again)

“That’s your heart.”

“But that’s different.”

“Is it?” His brows knit together. “Because I don’t think it is. This man is asking for your love. Do you have love to spare?”

“Well, yeah.”

“You said you were scared that it might end. That’s why you said no. But love is endless. It has no end. Ask yourself, do you love him?”

“I think—”

“No.” Hank cuts me off again. “Don’t tell me what you think. Tell me if you love him.”

“I ... I ...” My eyes close for a moment. I picture him in all the ways I’ve seen him and in all the moments we’ve shared. I see his smile. It’s as bright as he is. His goofy faces that can flip my mood from sad to happy in a nanosecond. His pensive look, reserved for when he’s working or listening intently. His laughter that’s so genuine and infectious, it makes everyone laugh too. His frown that he lets only those closest to him see. My skin begins to tingle just thinking abouthim. My heart beats a little faster. I feel a warmness come over me like I’m nestled up by a fire rather than standing outside in the middle of October. And then I picture him not in my life. Like earlier, when he turned and walked away without looking back at me. What if he never turned around again? What if he simply kept on walking ... right out of my life? A coldness runs through me, leaving me both numb and in pain. My stomach feels empty and sick at the same time. And my heartbeat, it’s barely there, thumping just enough to keep me alive but not enough to feel alive.

Realization sets in, and my eyes spring open. “I love him.” The words tumble out of my mouth as though they’d been tucked underneath my tongue, waiting to be uttered.

“I know,” Hank says with a chuckle.

“But it’s too late. I already told him no.”

“Nonsense. It’s never too late.”

“You didn’t see his face.” I let out a sigh. “I broke his heart. No, I more than broke it, and I don’t think there’s a way back from that.”

A group of twentysomethings walk past us, giving Hank and me a once-over. They whisper to one another and cross the street, glancing back a second time. I refocus my attention on the wise, kind man standing before me.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Peyton. There’s always a way back.” He points off in the direction I came from. “Now, go tell that boy you love him.”

“But what if—”

Hank holds up his large hand, stopping me from rattling on. “What did I tell you about what-ifs?”

“I know ... okay.” I nod several times, trying to perk myself up enough to follow through. I’ve built walls so tall around myself, they seem impossible to break down. But if I don’t do it now, I’ll never see what’s on the other side. I have to. I can’t keep everyone at arm’s length because I’m scared to lose them. I repeat Hank’s mantra silently tomyself:It’s better to live with a broken heart than to never let anyone into it in the first place.“I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him right now,” I say.

“Then get.” He flashes his teeth and motions for me to go with a flick of his wrist.

“Thanks, Hank,” I say, turning on my foot.

“No, thank you.” Hank waves me off, and I burst into a full, wobbly sprint. These heels were barely made for walking, let alone running.

“Follow your heart. It’ll never steer you wrong,” he yells, and I can’t help but smile. It’s so simple, yet I’ve never followed it.

At the end of the block, I kick off my heels and choose to carry them instead, fearing I’ll sprain an ankle if I continue. Despite the thick tights I’m wearing, I can still feel the cold pavement on the bottoms of my feet, but it doesn’t deter me. I’ve been running away from most things nearly my whole life, but now I’m finally running toward everything I’ve ever wanted. Right as I come to an intersection, the crosswalk signal lights up. It’s as though the city is escorting me to my destination.

I can’t believe I told him no. I always do this to myself. Deep down, I must have known I was lying as soon as the words left my mouth, but I couldn’t help it. The easiest person to lie to is yourself because you don’t question your own thoughts. You accept them as facts, even when they’re not. They’re just reflections, like looking in a mirror. We see ourselves, but we don’t see how others see us. We get a distorted version. My feet slap against the sidewalk. Raindrops fall from the sky—real ones this time. They’re thick, cold, and scattered. And then all of a sudden, they burst from the clouds buried in the sky above me.

My phone rings, and I stop abruptly, nearly tumbling over. My hand dives into my purse, scrambling to retrieve it. Maybe it’s him. Maybe he could sense I was running back to him. The screen reads,THEFUNNIESTPERSONI KNOW ISCALLING. It’s Maya. She changed her name to that in my contact list years and years ago, and I never changed it back because it’s true. I click “Accept,” hold the phone to my ear, and pick up my pace again, running down the sidewalk. I’ve wasted enoughtime, and I’m not going to waste any more of it. I’m just a few blocks away from his apartment and the life I should have been living all along.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey girl hey. Wait, are you out of breath? Oh, did I catch you in the middle of s-e-x?” She giggles.

“No. But Maya, I’m done.”

“Done with what?”

“I’m done with serial dating, short-lived relationships. I’m done with all of it, Hinge, Bumble, Tinder, and all those other dating apps. I know who I love. I know who I want to be with.”

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