Page 44 of Yes No Maybe

“What would you call it?”

“Routine maintenance,” he says in a breath. “Fucking lonely, if I’m honest. I wouldn’t buy any of them flowers.”

His confession shocks me. The hot guy with a constant rotation of backyard parties and overnight romps—how is he lonely?I can’t fathom theeverybody-wants-meattention he’s used to, but part of me leans into what he’s saying like a plant toward sunlight. Iknowloneliness.

“Then, that’s how you’ll know,” I say after several silent sips between us.

“Know what?”

“When it’s real—you’ll want to buy her flowers.”

His boyish smile returns like he might be picturing it—a proud stroll into a florist shop for the woman he loves. He’d turn it into a creative mission, choosing only the most meaningful and unique flowers.

Even my sweet imaginings make me sad these days.

“Nice thought, but unlikely,” he says, clearing the air. “So, tell me. Did your rules help? And how did you establish them?”

“My rules were part of my dating profiles on the sites Mira made me join.”

“Made you? Not a fan of online dating?”

“Not a fan ofdating… I’ve had an embarrassing number of no-shows, turnarounds, or never-call-agains.”

He doesn’t seem surprised. “You mean, guys that don’t show… presumably because they see you from afar?”

“Right. My profile pics always showed my scars, too, but seeing me in person still surprised them. A few made it to the table before turning around. One guy saw my face and said, ‘hell no’ before leaving.”

“Pricks like that aren’t worth airspace, let alone your time, Rowan.”

“I only signed up for the sites because Mom and Mira were worried about me—Ididn’t want to do it. I thought having rules would weed out idiots—they probably helped. But a few snuck in, anyway.”

Jack sits up, crisscrossing his legs and turning toward me. “There’s so much to unpack here, I don’t know where to begin… Why were Christine and Mira worried?”

“I hadn’t dated in a while.”

“What’s a while?”

“Few years.”

“Why not?”

At my hesitation, he pops up, rushes to the kitchen, and returns with the wine bottle. He tops off our dwindling glasses before resuming his position on the floor.

I take a long sip. “I was in a bad relationship, and after, I didn’t want to date.”

When I don’t continue, he stares at me over the tops of his eyes. “It’s okay. Tell me about the prick.”

These are things I don’t talk about.But you should, I hear Mira saying like a little devil by my ear. But it’s Jack’s loneliness confession that eases me into it. His vulnerability tugs at strings I keep tied tightly, loosening them.

“I’ve had my…featuressince I was fifteen,” I say, stealing Renita’s word. “When everyone else was going out and getting boyfriends, I was stuck in surgeries or at home recovering.” I pause as a memory resurfaces—vague like a ghost rounding a corner. “There was one time… in recovery after a skin graft. The boy in the bed next to mine flirted with me.”

Jack’s head cocks curiously. “Given your cheesy grin, he must’ve had a nice bedside manner.”

“It’s funny—I didn’t remember until now. Isn’t that weird?”

“Memory is a mystery, elusive sometimes. Tell me about it.”

“I don’t remember much. He had shockingly red hair. His name was… Caleb. He’d had a skin graft, too, for burns on his hands and arms. A botched arson, he claimed, but I didn’t believe him. He was funny. Talking about movies, music, and books with Caleb was the most normal thing I’d done in months. Gosh, I can’t believe I’d forgotten… I thought about him for so long after. Every time I went to the hospital after that, I looked for him. Sounds silly, but I hoped I’d see him again, that fate would give us a re-do so I could do things better.”

---