Page 85 of Miss Understood

I know what I want.

I reach out, I get it.

Luce is not a prize to be won—she’s everything.

The eyes I want to look into when I wake up, the arms I want wrapped around me when I’m too tired to stay awake.

I might be incapable of loving a woman the way she expects, but I’m going to love Luce with all I have, and I’m going to prove it to her.

30

Luce

Incasemyemptyapartment isn’t reminder enough that I’m destined to spend my life alone, Kennedy and Monica bailing makes it perfectly clear. I tried to be an understanding friend when they called to bail on celebrating my first day at a new job, but they are going to owe me endless lemon drops to make up for this.

I roll my eyes and press the button on the elevator. Maybe it’s for the best. The last thing I need is to be hungover on my second day at my new firm. Adjusting to my already growing caseload is going to be difficult enough without adding a migraine to the mix.

Except, even that sounds better than what’s waiting for me in my apartment. Silence.

Solitude I used to appreciate. It’s another reminder of how Jesse got under my skin and hibernated. It’s not like I needed to come home to anyone before. I had work to keep me company. And if all else failed, there was always reality TV.

I miss the routines we shared that I didn’t notice until they were gone. Like how he’d bring me tea on late nights, sweetened with a spoonful of honey from that stand at Pike Place Market. Or how he’d hand me my glasses before I even asked for them when he saw me picking up a book from the nightstand. Or how he always seemed to notice when I was running low on my favorite yogurt and it would magically reappear in the fridge, even if I was too busy to go shopping.

Now I’m headed home to an empty fridge, and I’m pretty sure I’m out of coffee.

The elevator dings on my floor, and I pull my heels off as I make my way down the hall to my apartment. Everything that used to revive me is now exhausting. If I could, I’d curl up in my bed and never come out again.

Twisting my key in the lock, I open to the dark coldness of home. I drop my purse on the table by the door, and as I’m about to close it, I realize I’ve stepped on something. An envelope that’s been pushed underneath.

Not just any envelope, a manila folder.

The sight of it makes my heart sink. I guess Jesse just couldn’t wait to get this over with. He probably signed the divorce papers right away and dropped them off on his way out to a bar to pick up some willing replacement.

Shutting my apartment door behind me, I can’t take my eyes off the floor. Picking the envelope up makes it real, makes this not my imagination. Not that there’s any use avoiding it. Ever since walking out of Jesse’s apartment, I’ve been standing in front of an oncoming train. Watching the light close in at a distance, anticipating the contact. Wondering if I’ll be blown to pieces or finally feel free.

I pick up the envelope, move to the couch, and sit down, opening it with a big breath. But instead of signed divorce papers inside like I’m expecting, there are two identical white envelopes. There’s one word written on each in Jesse’s messy handwriting.

“Truth”and “Dare.”

I open the one labeled “Truth”and peel out a single sheet of paper from inside.

Luce,

I suck at making the words that come out of my mouth match the ones in my head. That’s why you were always better on the courtroom floor, and I was better on paper. It’s also why I know I’ll fuck this up if I try and say this to your face (as proven by that morning two weeks ago), so I’m writing it down instead.

Here are my truths:

I used to sleep in the middle of the bed. It’s why I hated letting anyone share it with me. I preferred stretching out, taking up space. But I never felt like that with you. I still can’t go near your side. That half feels cold, and I don’t know how to fill it, even with myself.

I’m perfectly capable of brewing my own coffee. I keep it simple. Drink it black. I’m only realizing now that you must have done something different, because it doesn’t taste the same. Nothing does, actually.

It drove me crazy how every morning you’d be on your phone before your eyes were even fully open. Always working. I know you had ideas about my view on how and why you got the job, but I’ve never met anyone who works harder. Including myself. I should have told you that more often.

I lied to you once, when you asked about the scar on my knuckle. I said I got it in a bar fight in college because that sounded cooler than the truth. Really, I cut it when opening a can of beans while camping.

And, on that note, blood freaks me out. Not sure if I ever told you that. But I couldn’t even look at the wound. Serena had to patch it up for me.

I never hated you, but you terrified me. I’ve never met a woman who could simultaneously take my breath away and knock me off my feet. I always thought I was a smart man, but you make my brain do the dumbest things.

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