Page 6 of Delayed Intention
And Lily. How could she stop talking to me?
If only I hadn’t kissed her.
I have friends, but Lily was the one person I could tell anything to. And now she’s gone.
People leave.
They don’t care if it hurts me. I now understand that I don’t matter to them. Since I had no idea Dad was leaving and I was wrong about Lily, I’ve learned I can’t trust my feelings. I thought she wanted more. I close my eyes, angrily swiping a tear away with the back of my hand.
I know when it changed for me. Lily was like another one of my friends—almost like a family member—until she wasn’t. Last year, it started with dreams—that’s what got the idea in my head. Then, at the end of summer a year ago, we’d be doing something together, and a thought would pop into my head. Like, I wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, to hold her body against mine. I found it would take everything I had not to stare at her boobs all the time.
This summer, as soon as I saw her, I knew it was more than a passing thought or two. I had heard of crushes. Of course, I have seen them in movies and TV shows. But feeling pulled toward her, physically, was one thing. The feelings I started to have this year seemed like something more. And now that I’d been to second base with a girl at camp in June, it was worse. Now that I’d had that experience, all I could think about when I was trying to sleep was how large my hands would have to become to handle Lily the way I’d wanted to. Last year, I could recite over and over,she’s your friend, don’t ruin things with your friend.But this year, the need to kiss her was too strong. It kicked all common sense out of my head and became all I could think about. How do I get her alone? How do I ask her to give me a chance?
Clearly, I don’t know shit about anything because now she won’t even text me.
I haven’t heard from Dad since June. He doesn’t return my calls. Neither has Lily for the last three weeks.
Fuck this.
I should have learned from my parents. Love does not exist. I know that’s not the only thing that hurts, though.
Beyond whatever the hell compelled me to throw myself at Lily, I thought our friendship would stand up to any test. No matter what, I thought we would stay friends. I have told her things I’ve never told anyone else, let alone a girl. I must be so unimportant to her that she can’t be bothered to write me a stupid text message.
Lesson learned.
A girl can be a friend or someone I make out with—but not both. Liking someone this much is bullshit, and I will never put myself out there like this again.Ever.
Sunday Night Is Date Night
Lily, Washington, D.C., August 2024
Richard, my date, isn’t looking at me as he reads over the menu. He hasn’t so much as glanced my way since we met at the front of the restaurant. In fairness, there isn’t much to see.
Clearing his throat, he closes his menu, setting it down in front of him. “So, the thing is, Lily, I don’t think this is going to work out.”
This may be a new record for me. I’ve only had two sips of the water on the table. We haven’t even ordered drinks yet.
He folds his hands in front of him. “I just don’t see the point.”
Me neither.
He glances at the time on his phone, which is a bit rude, but the fact that he’s in a hurry to get this over with suits me just fine—there’s no reason to pretend to be offended. When we make brief eye contact, he looks sheepish as if it had occurred to him to be embarrassed about his obvious desire to wrap this up. But he shouldn’t feel bad. He’s just correctly reading my I-hate-everything-about-this vibe. As far as I’m concerned, I can let him off the hook. I mean, I showed up with a messy bun, a sweatshirt, and the longest jean skirt in my closet. I was not dressing to impress.
“Hey,” I offer a smile. “Don’t worry about it—I understand.”
I really do, and I’m willing to go the extra mile to demonstrate there are no hard feelings.
“Richard, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go ahead and go. Is that okay?”
At first, he looks as if he’s going to ask me if this is a trick question. Then, my smile seems to win him over. He looks like he sees me for the first time tonight.
“Sure, Lily. That’d be just fine.”
We say our goodbyes, and I walk over from the dining room to the bar, feeling my shoulders relax down from my ears with each step. As I ease onto a stool and order a glass of white wine, the bartender nods at me in recognition since I’m here every week.
Years ago, when my mother decided I’d go on these weekly dates, I would make an effort. I would get dressed up and try to hide my anxiety, but my heart was never in it. I was awkward and fearful, and it showed. I could tell there was always something about me that put men off. They weren’t interested in making a life with me. It was unbearable because no matter what I tried, I seemed to say the wrong thing, and I just couldn’t connect with anyone. The few times I had any physical contact with a date, I realized no matter how attractive they were, I froze due to my stupid aversion to being touched. That put an end to it for me. I stopped trying because what’s the point? I’d never be a good wife or partner. I’m damaged beyond use.
These days, I know better and keep my expectations tempered. I arrive on these dates without putting much effort into my appearance, dressing more for my comfort. At one point, I was coming right out and explaining that I was there for my mother’s sake and that I don’t like physical contact with the opposite sex. But this got back to my mom, and the guilt she threw my way wasn’t worth it. That put an end to being upfront. So now I just deal in innuendo, and if I get the sense that they don’t want to be there either, we can part on mutually good terms without wasting our time.
