Page 44 of Delayed Intention
Wow. That was quite a letter.
I hope you know how beautiful you are—inside and out. I certainly see you that way. I’m also really thankful we’ve become friends again.
I’m not going to lie and tell you that I don’t find you attractive.Of course, I do. The thing is, I’m just not relationship material. I never have been. Using your words, we have too much history between us—being casual isn’t possible—you have to understand that. I don’t want us to hurt each other. I hope you can see why this is the only way forward.
Your friend,
Josh
Folding the paper, I shove it into a random envelope before heading out into the dark to walk to her place with Ginger by my side. It feels like a shitty letter—part of me doesn’t want to give it to her. The temptation to be reckless is there—but that would be the worst possible move. Maybe not for a night or two, but I know better. As her friend, as someone who cares, I know this is the best thing for her. For both of us.
It’s a crisp night, and the smell of impending snow is in the air. It’s almost metallic—the atmosphere feels incredibly heavy, which matches my mood perfectly. When I arrive at the motel, I find the room where I’d dropped her off earlier. Before losing my resolve, I shove my note under her door.
Don’t Even Think About It
Lily, Estes Park, February 2025
Rolling over to turn off my alarm, I noticed an envelope on the floor, just inside the door to my room. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I remember that I’m supposed to check out and drive home after Josh and I have breakfast this morning. I need to try to get out of town ahead of a colossal snowstorm that is due this afternoon. Checking the weather app on my phone—I have a few hours before I need to get moving. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to make the trip out by myself this time—if not I’d have to leave in time for Josh to drive me out and get himself back before the snow gets too heavy. Picking up the envelope, I recognize that it is not paperwork to check out; rather it’s a note in Josh’s handwriting.
Crap, he must have read my letter.
For a few blissful minutes, I had forgotten about pouring the contents of my head onto a piece of paper and handing it to him. Now, of course, it is coming right back to me like a slap across the face. Wary, I open the envelope and read its contents—his note is brief and to the point. He may be attracted to me physically, but that’s it. Even that is not strong enough for him to want to tangle with a mess like me. Message received. It makes sense. What do I expect him to do—attach himself to a head case? And this business about not being relationship material… Every red-blooded person in the world who has ever wanted a man knows that is code for—you are not the one.
I start to get dressed, thinking about my next move. I wait to feel upset or hurt, but for some reason, I don’t. He’s being straightforward, and I guess I can do the same. Searching my feelings, I’m surprised to realize that I am okay. It’s more than okay, and now I’m wondering, what if I was making a simple issue too complex? Maybe I’m also merely attracted to him physically? That would explain why I don’t feel hurt. He is the first man I’ve tolerated touching me, let alone entertained the possibility of more than that, in a long time. Maybe that’s all this is? It is not like I have any recent experience with any of this.
The embarrassment I feel when I think about how long it has been since I have been intimate with another person. All these years, trying to convince myself I don’t need anyone. That I’m fine on my own, without that type of closeness.
I’m an island.
Any physical need I’ve felt for intimacy with another person in the past was buried long ago. It was short-circuited by the difficulties I have with being touched. As for the rest of it, I know I do experience some desires. But I have always taken care of all of that myself.
When I’m longing for romance? I can read about it, and watch it play out in a movie from the safety of my seat. Looking for love? I can hold a kitten. Or my niece. Like I said, I’m an island. But now…
I realize that I’m standing here with my toothbrush in my hand and the sink water running. Turning the water off, I blink at my reflection, a realization dawning on me. This may be my one shot. I mean, I could meet someone else, someday, that I’m attracted to and am able to be touched by them without feeling I need to push them away and run in the opposite direction. Sure. With my luck, that could totally happen to me again.
Someday. When pigs fly through a frozen-over hell.
However, right now, there is a man just a few blocks away, and even if he doesn’t want a relationship beyond friendship, he does care for me. He has proven he can be a selfish asshat, but he would never intentionally hurt me; of this, I feel certain. As certain as someone with a thousand and one anxieties can be.
I finished brushing my teeth and texted Josh.
Me
I am going to need more time, woke up late. Give me 20 min?
Josh
Sure
I hop in the shower. Afterward, I carefully use all my frizz-taming products before attempting to braid my hair into a low bun. I pull out a few face-framing strands and scrunch them to submission with the last of my hair wax. Then I put my knit hat on to flatten the golden-brown mane as much as I can. I use all the hotel lotion to moisturize since I didn’t bring any. I applied the little makeup I did bring—mascara, lip gloss, and tinted moisturizer. I put on a black tank top, jeans, my boots and throw on a sweater that is part of my sleep set, but it’s a cream-colored oversized cardigan that falls off my shoulder intermittently—a look I’ve generally considered to be irresistible. I survey myself in the mirror and opt to leave my cardigan and coat open for now.
I grab the hotel stationery to write a quick note.
Dearest Josh.
Of course, I want to be friends, and I wouldn’t presume to ask for more than that! You’ve made your position on relationships crystal clear.
I think you misunderstand me. I want to hook up, not get married. So… I think it’s called friends with benefits? What do you think? I have a couple of days off…
