Page 20 of Delayed Intention
When I get back into the truck, Ginger cocks her head at me, tongue lolling to the side. I pour some water into her travel bowl, which she laps up while I think for a minute. It has to be a muscle memory from hearing her voice. One word, and I turned back into a clumsy fourteen-year-old with a crush. Sipping my coffee, I absently pat Ginger on the head. Okay, I got that weird reaction out of the way, I hope.
I started an audiobook I had downloaded for the drive—a fantasy about a social worker for magical children that Michelle recommended. It’s distracting enough that I put Lily and my response to her voice out of my head. I feel myself start to relax as the brown, flat plains and distant horizons give way to the enclosure of a narrowing road, followed by steeper mountains and rocky hillsides. By the time the trees turn to pines and the air cools, I’ve nearly put Lily out of my mind.
Two hours later, I’m pulling into my driveway. Ginger hops out to go sniff the perimeter, as is her habit. I grab my duffle and head in, scooping up my mail from the basket behind the door.
On top of the stack I’ve collected, there’s a letter from Lily. I rub a spot between my brows with the heel of my free hand as Ginger runs past me into the house. I put the letter on the desk by the front door and moved inside. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I feel the urge to regain a sense of distance. I move the letter to the bottom of the pile and walk away.
The Bones
Josh, Estes Park
I open the letter and take a pull from my second beer. I’m being ridiculous and have put this off long enough. I’d left her letter on the catch-all by the front door for the last hour, pretending not to be interested. But who am I fooling? I’m the only one here and I can’t stop thinking about how I’d felt hearing her voice. Time to just read it and set it aside.
October 20, 2024
Hi Josh,
Thanks for your letter (and your email). First of all, please know: just because I wrote to you, it doesn’t mean you need to write back to me. At the same time, I’m happy that you did. I’ve missed our friendship. I’m not sure if I put that in the first letter; so sorry if I’m repeating myself. In the spirit of transparency, since we are sharing about ourselves, I drafted multiple copies of that letter. So now, I can’t remember exactly what went into it. Except for my apology, as that was the central theme. (Maybe one day I will be brave enough to tell you how many drafts—for now I don’t want to scare you off :)
There was a time when I knew I could tell you everything. Well, almost everything. Anyway, I’m glad we can start to put what happened—what I did— behind us, and I look forward to meeting up with you soon.
Okay, now something day-to-day about me.
I work in a local hospital. 7 days on, 7 days off. I love being a PA. I love that I didn’t have to go to grad school for longer than 2 years and still get to help people the way I do. Do you remember how much I struggled with school? That never got better. My first exam in PA school was for anatomy, and I failed it. I had to work so hard, but I made it through. I’ll never regret not forcing myself to suffer for 4 years. My professors felt so bad for me—they knew I studied the material and how hard I was working, but my brain has never been good at exams.
So anyway, I’m a little jealous, hearing about how much you love your job. Honestly, I can’t say the same. It’s okay. I have a best friend there, Abbie. She’s also a PA, and we work the same rotation. She makes it better than it would be. TBH, I still have a significant amount of imposter syndrome. It’s funny how, after years of doing my job, I still surprise myself by knowing how to help. I’ve had to learn to laugh at myself to survive. Abbie laughs with me (sometimes at me), so I won’t take myself too seriously.
What I don’t love about my current job is the pressure of trying to dispo people five minutes after you meet them and hear their story. It’s like I was programmed to try to diagnose and help or heal, and now I am reprogrammed to assess and get them out of the hospital ASAP. The work you’re doing in those clinics sounds kind of amazing. I bet your colleagues love that you are always available.
My other mixed feelings about my hospital are that everyone in my family works here. Even all my spouses-in-law. Right now, no one is talking to me (except Roselyn—she and her husband are team Lily), and I know you’ll understand when I say I am relieved, the rest of them are leaving me alone.
So, not much has changed there. Ros—she and her husband, David—are ER docs and have a daughter together, Emunah, who is my favorite of the Mendes clan. Roselyn and I started to become close once we were college-aged. She told me she started to recognize that I may have an anxiety disorder when she was training. The rest of my family went to the same medical school, but they didn’t see me that way. She can have compassion when others find only reasons to be irritated with me. Her daughter, Em, has struggles too, which sucks. But, it has brought Ros and me even closer.
I spent Yom Kippur and Sukkot with Roselyn’s little crew. They are the only local family members that celebrate any of the Jewish holidays. We did the whole thing—meaning 3 days of yom tov for Sukkot because of Shabbat—Emunah and I even spent a night in the sukkah, which was nice and reminded me of camping in CO. Except it’s still quite warm here.
I’m not shomer Shabbat, BTW, but Ros and David are. So, I tend to do all the holidays with them and follow their lead, out of respect.
Okay—wow. Clearly, I could go on and on, but I’ll stop there. Hopefully, I haven’t bored you. I hope you had a good Sukkot (if you celebrate), and I’ll see you soon.
Lily
Sipping on another beer, I re-read the letter. Her openness after so much time makes me uneasy, but I’m not sure why. When I got her first letter, I tried to find her on social media, but her accounts were private. After how weird I was on the phone just from hearing her voice, I’m thinking I need to see what she looks like before she gets here. I finish reading her letter a second time, and I’m certain I don’t want to proceed with a casual hook-up to settle anything unfinished between us. Not that I was seriously thinking about doing that.Mostly.
I set the letter down. Even setting aside her grandmother’s potential disappointment in me—not to mention my own mother’s—no matter what happened in the past, I can tell from the letter, she’s a very cautious person. My previous anger has already faded into something like compassion if not just simple understanding.
She’s someone who has struggled with her mental health, and if I were to attempt to treat her like a fling—well, honestly, I don’t think I could do it. She may have hurt me once, but I don’t have it in me to be indifferent to her. Not to mention what I experienced on the phone earlier—my feelings are complicated. It’ll be best to just keep this in the friend zone.
On that note, when I think about what her giggle did to my insides, I realize it would be better to send a friend request after all. The picture on the public profile is just a flower. She accepts my request quickly, which is unnerving because that means we’re both in this virtual space, aware of each other’s presence, at the same time. She follows me back right away. She is about to see a whole lot of Ginger and a few photos of me. I opened her profile to see what almost twenty years had done to her.
“Holy shit,” I whisper as I lay eyes on Lily’s solemn face.
She isinconvenientlyhot. Long, curly, light brown hair framing a familiar face, but now… It’s as if she has grown into her features. Grinning, I remember how much she worried about her nose—I always thought she was pretty, but now—she’s gorgeous. High cheekbones and those almond-shaped brown eyes, set under full lashes. There are some full-body images, and those are no help to my nerves. She’s filled out in every place that I find attractive. To say she’s always been full-chested would be an understatement. I swipe the photo away frantically to go back to one of just her face. I don’t get a respite, though, because… her lips. I think of what it would be like to…nope.Shut that shit down right now.
I grab my beer and take several gulps before I put my phone down, rubbing the back of my neck. Then I flip the thing over as if her image will pop back up on the screen of its own volition.
It’s best that I’ve seen her now and can lock my reaction down. We don’t need any more shit between us, and that is all this lust will lead to. That’s all this can be—lust—I hardly know her. And as an adult, I’ve come to understand that I don’t catch feelings for women beyond the physical. Once again, I think of all the reasons it would be a terrible idea if I were to have some sleazy hook-up with Lily. Because that’s all I’m capable of—casual sex. Not only do I know love doesn’t exist for me, but I have also proven, with some very beautiful and incredible women, that I’m not capable of anything more meaningful than that.
I look over at Ginger, who is whimpering in her sleep, curled up on her spot on the sofa. She looks like she’s running away from something in her dreams.
