Page 134 of Happiness for Beginners

Above our heads, the elevator made a kind of low groaning noise. We both looked up until it stopped. I pressed back a little harder against the wall.

“I had it all planned out. I even practiced. I was going to say it as soon as I saw you—but then, when I actually saw you, when you were actually right there, I chickened out.”

“You never chicken out,” I said.

He shrugged. “Once in a lifetime, I do.”

“What did you need to tell me?”

His voice was quiet. “You already know.”

My voice was almost a whisper. “Say it, then.”

He took a deep breath. “I was going to say: I never liked Windy. There was nobody on that trip I thought about or worried about or wanted to be anywhere near but you.”

I held very still.

“I don’t have a problem with wanting things I can’t have. I have a problem with wanting you. In particular. You are my problem. It’s not a dopamine addiction, it’s a Helen addiction. And I cannot seem to kick it.” He paused. “I’ve had a thing for you forsix years. You literally did not even know I was in the room, and you were married on top of that. There was no way I could even, like, ask you to coffee. But I made the best of it. I was fine.”

“Good,” I said, glad to hear he was fine.

“But then, you got divorced. Do you remember that day I helped you get your new sofa up to your apartment? Two flights of stairs?”

I thought back. No. Wait—Yes! He had helped me do that. “Where was Duncan that day?”

Jake pointed at me. “Duncan was in class. I didn’t even tell him I was coming over.”

“You didn’t?”

He shook his head. “I was going to confess everything—starting with the day I met you and ending with that very moment. Do you have any idea what I wanted to do to you on that sofa?”

I shook my head. Then the day came back to me. “I was a total basket case that day.”

He nodded. “You cried the whole time I was there.”

I thought back. “So not the best time for a declaration of passion.”

He shook his head. “Nope. But I was going to try again. I was going to ask you out before somebody else got you first. But then, before I could, I went to get a pair of glasses, and found out instead that I was going blind.”

I looked down. “So you never tried again.”

“Everything changed after that.”

“Not for sure, though.”

“No. I wasn’t sure until just before Wyoming. There were some stages of grief to get through—some denial, some bargaining. And there were many tests to find out how bad it really was. But I didn’t even think about asking you out after that. You didn’t even like me with twenty/twenty.”

“You know I don’t care about all that, don’t you?”

He shook his head. “Once I knew for sure, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t eat. My whole future was literally disappearing. Everything I’d ever wanted—to be a doctor, to have a bunch of kids, to learn to scuba dive—it was all gone. That was the day before you showed up at the party with Pickle.”

He paused.

“What?”

He looked up at the ceiling. “I had a plane ticket out to Wyoming when I saw you that night. I was supposed to fly out in two days. But once I saw you, two days was too long to wait.”

“You had a plane ticket?”

---