Page 27 of If It Can't Be Us

The thought of grappling with him sends a wave of excitement through me, an electric anticipation I can’t quite shake. I imagine his body close to mine, the intensity of it all.

He extends an arm, offering me his hand. “Have coffee with me?” he says sweetly, smiling. He can be so damn charming when he wants to be.

I grab his hand and climb over the wall that separates our patios.

Chapter 6

LEO

Wednesday, October 11

Six Weeks Later

“Is it rude of me to reschedule to a later date?” Vivian looks up at me from her kitchen table, her eyes searching for reassurance.

“If you don’t want to go on the date, then don’t go,” I say, trying to keep my tone gentle but firm. “But if you’re just going to keep rescheduling because you’re putting it off, then just cancel the damn thing. Don’t string him or Kara along. Why’d you tell Kara you’d go out with him if you don’t want to?”

I stand, clearing our plates to take to the kitchen sink. We’re at her house, having just finished dinner after a long day of work for both of us.

“I don’t know. I have a hard time telling people no sometimes. It makes me feel guilty.”

I nod. “Yeah… guilt can be tough. Do you think it ties back to something from your past?” I ask, as I scrape the dishes and place them in the dishwasher.

This is my second time over here this week. Vivian is a great cook, and we’ve realized how impractical it is to be cooking for one person or to each be picking up dinner when one of us can grab dinner or cook for both.

She studies me quietly, contemplating. “I’ve never really analyzed it. Guilt is just… part of me, I guess. Always wanting to do right by people. I’ve always been this way.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being kind, but sometimes setting boundaries is also important,” I remark, stacking the plates neatly. “You’ve known Kara a long time; you should be able to tell her your feelings.”

“Right.” She pauses. “But it’s hard to backtrack once you’ve committed, you know?”

“Are you not allowed to change your mind?” I ask, taking a seat across from her.

She considers this, drumming her fingers on the table. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I should be able to tell her that I don’t want to go. But I won’t.” She shrugs. “Maybe it’ll be fine. Maybe he’ll be really hot, and funny, and nice.Maybe…he’ll be everything I could ever want, and our connection will be so crazy good that come Sunday, I’ll no longer be a born-again virgin. And then you can stop being so concerned about me getting laid.” She laughs at her own joke.

I chuckle, rolling my eyes at her. “I hope for your sake that is exactly what happens!”

“That’s right. Let's manifest that shit! Up top!” She calls out, putting her hand up for a high five, and I meet it with mine.

All I know is, whoever does end up in Vivian’s bed someday… is a lucky motherfucker.

She’s in a playful mood, so I decide to tease her while we’re on this topic. “So why haven’t you had sex in so long? Still hung up on an old flame?”

She gives me a playful glare. “Nope. That’s not on the table for discussion tonight.”

I press on, teasing gently. “C’mon, at least tell me something about this guy who has you so hung up that you’ve completely closed yourself off to sex. You’re practically celibate.” I prod, grinning.

She opens her mouth to say something and then closes it, looking down. Her silence intrigues me, and I lean in slightly.

Staring at the top of her forehead, I ask, “Was he that big of a dick?” I know I’m close to getting her to share just a tiny morsel, but also close to her shutting down and pushing me out.

“He wasn’t a dick,” she says, surprising me. She sighs. “He was someone that I loved… someone I loved so deeply, I don’t know if that kind of love comes along more than once in a lifetime. Sometimes I think it’s pointless to even try to find it again.” She pauses and then adds somberly, “I’m not ready to talk to you about it, but please trust me that when I am, I will. You can stop psychoanalyzing me now.”

I consider that for a few moments and search her face and body language for clues. There is no malice or anger, discounting the possibility of an affair or abuse, which leads me to believe that something sad or really tragic might have occurred. And that makes me really fucking sad.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I say. “I respect that. I won’t mention it again.”

“It’s okay,” she says, forcing a smile. “I appreciate your concern over whether I get laid.” She laughs softly.

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