Page 8 of If It Can't Be Us

Five months ago, I picked up the pace and made it a goal to go on one date each weekend. A few led to multiple dates, but they all ended thesame way: me, panicking about the possibility of having sex with someone who isn’t Ben, or someone who isn’t Ben trying to have sex with me.

I reach Sarah’s house, but the lights are off. I glance at my watch—it’s 11:50. I didn’t realize it was so late. Turning around, I head back to my house, admiring the adorable homes on my street. The night is perfectly warm, and the crickets are out—my favorite. After the accident, I moved to Sugarhouse, an eclectic neighborhood surrounded by walkable bars and restaurants. At the time, I had work projects in the southern suburbs of Salt Lake City and couldn’t bear driving through the canyon. Panic attacks would force me to pull over, so I just moved. I Airbnb our home in Park City. It’s a beautiful house that I designed and built with Walker Homes. Seth gave it to us at cost as a wedding gift, and even put a large down payment on it.

Being close to Sarah and Ryan has not only been the greatest thing for my healing but fun as well. They include me in Sunday dinners and constantly introduce me to new people. I have felt so much love and support from them.

I try to process what happened tonight as much as I can before turning off the lights and heading to bed.

Bentley...Ugh. Fuck him!

* * * * ** * * * *

I wait for Sarah on the porch. As she approaches my driveway, I cut across the lawn to meet her, prepared to crush her spirit. She is grinning at me.

“Tell me everything!” she exclaims. Her eyes filled with hope.

I raise an eyebrow, giving her a look that clearly asks, “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Oh no, that bad?”

“Worse,” I say, as I begin recounting what happened with Bentley.

We round the corner to the coffee shop, a block from my house.

“Are you joking?” she says, her voice resonating with disbelief.

“I wish I was joking, what’s wrong with me, friend?”

“What do you mean, ‘What’s wrong with you?’ What’s wrong with Bentley? That’s the real question. He’s an ass, Viv. Only a shitty person could respond to what happened last night the way he did. You dodged a bullet, babe.”

It’s my turn to order. I ask for two grande lattes with extra foam.

“I know. I really do know that, and thank God I’m not wasting any more time on him.”

We step aside to wait for our lattes.

“I hope he wakes up this morning with balls so blue, he looks like a Smurf.”

Her comment pulls a smile from me. “I doubt that,” I scoff. “He probably jerked off on the car ride home. Didn’t seem like the kind of guy who could last very long… if you get my drift.”

We grab our lattes when my name is called and start walking toward Sugarhouse Park.

“Could you imagine if you had slept with him? He would have spilled his load in ten seconds, and you’d be lying there thinking, ‘I held out all this time for that?’ No, that’s not acceptable. When you find someone you’re ready to go all the way with…” She grabs my hand and looks at me intently. “And you will find someone,” she says fervently. “Fireworks are going to explode from pleasure. You’ll lie there afterward, knowing that Ben would be happy for you, and you will be so grateful you didn’t waste any more energy on Bentley or any other douchebag.”

I meet my friend’s eyes as we approach the park, trying not to cry.

“Thank you.” I squeeze her hand. “Thank you for that.” Sarah always knows how to lighten the mood and lift my spirits.

The conversation shifts to more uplifting topics: work, Ryan, our families. As we complete our loop—1.4 miles—I stop her.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Anything,” she says.

“I’ve been thinking about something… for about a month now. I didn’t want to talk to you about it until I knew it was a possibility. This whole experience with Bentley is solidifying my feelings, but I need to know your opinion,” I say wearily.

She shakes her head, coaxing me to continue. “Go on, the suspense is killing me.”

“What are your thoughts on me moving… back to Chicago?”

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