Page 2 of Let It Be Me
My thoughts turn selfish for mere moments. What does thatmean for me? How do I move forward? What happens next for me?
“I–um, what?”
What happened next was a blur. Chance tells me what little he knows, which as frustrating as his lack of information is, is better than nothing. I took off from work, packed some clothes, and drove straight to Pennsylvania. I remember Kamryn doing her best to shut me out. But I put aside my grief and focused on her. That may have been where I went wrong in neglecting myself to help her. But if I refused to focus on myself, then I could focus on her. And that seemed like a better choice at the time.
I stumble againas that time plays like a movie in my mind. The realization that I failed my friend when he put his faith in me is something I rarely talk about. Not only that, but it’s been hard for me to talk to Kamryn, my best friend and roommate from college, without thinking about Liam. While she lost her best friend, I lost someone I grew close to while helping him reach his dream. And since then, I’ve continuously doubted my career choice path. What did that say about my ability to wanting to become an agent?
I remember the day I met Liam. His good looks tripped me up and for a brief moment my mind went to some not so friendly thoughts. But then I saw the way he looked at Kamryn and knew that they had the potential to have something incredible. So I nixed those dirty thoughts and placed him firmly in the brother-friend category. But who knew that the something incredible between the two of them would lead to tragedy?
When the news broke on the accident, a lot of lives werechanged that day. The invisible thread that tied us together snapped in the middle.
A lot of Liam’s friends placed the blame on Kamryn which sent her into a deeper hole. A deeper spiral. I lost two friends that day. The Kamryn I grew to love was a shell of herself. The shadows that I never imagined would weave around my best friend, proved they were there to stay. Kam wasn’t the only one to lose something. Her childhood best friend, Emily, lost her fiancée that day. Those two suffered a loss that no one their age should have had to. But eventually things turned around. Both of them are slowly finding happiness in their own way and on their own terms.
While I’m...not. Happy, that is. I’m not sad, but I’m not overflowing with happiness. I figure that’s normal. We can’t be happy all the time.
When I was reevaluating what I wanted to do with my life, I found love. I’ve been with my boyfriend, Paul, for three years. We went to the same high school but rarely crossed paths. We bumped into each other when I came home after college and things clicked with him. Our friendship was new and easy and watching each other succeed made our friendship blur to more. Happiness finally became more attainable with him because he gave me a sense of worth.
And when I got the job offer in Cincinnati over a year ago, it was too good for me to turn down. It was everything I wanted. But since then, we’ve been doing long-distance and it is not for the faint of heart. And because of that, our relationship has been strained. And I miss him. So much that my heart aches.
Missing him is what’s at the forefront of my mind when I see a car parked at the end of my driveway and a figure pacing the length. My stride falters before I realize I’d recognizethat form anywhere and sprint the last twenty yards home. His head flips up at the sound of my feet smacking the pavement.
“Baby!” I exclaim as I run into his arms and he hooks his arms under my legs to keep me from falling. My legs are high around his waist and I bring our lips together. The physical connection is what we’ve been missing. That was the easiest part for us to grasp while the rest clicked into place like the final puzzle piece. Where my drive was high, his was higher. It made for more than one sleepless night and zombie-like mornings. But it was worth it. He was worth it.
Paul breaks away from the kiss and I look into the sparkling brown eyes that stopped me in my tracks that Monday at the coffee shop. His chocolate brown skin is still holding onto the summer glow, which is easier for him to keep since he lives at the beach and spends most of his weekends playing beach volleyball. He keeps his hair trim with a fade and his beard has not one hair out of place.
My face drops when I don’t see that familiar light when he looks at me. No smile to greet me and no teasing quip about how I’m sweaty and probably ruining his clothes. He slowly releases my legs and steps back when I’m on two feet.
“Oh.” My voice drops, not only in volume but in strength too. “You’re not here for that kind of visit.” It’s not a question as much as it is a statement. His lips are pulled taut as he shakes his head.
I’ve never felt dread around him. Elation? Yes. But never dread. I guess that’s what happens when someone puts you on the highest pedestal. Their disappointment never touches you.
Paul and I talk on the phone as much as we can. But with our busy jobs, those calls and texts have become lessand less to where we’re lucky if we talk to each other once a week.
Motion from the side is a reminder that we’re in my driveway. And I don’t want anyone to bear witness to what might happen.
“Come inside,” I say without any of the excitement I was feeling when I saw him in my driveway.
I turn, not waiting to see if he’s following me. And each step I take to the door feels like a death march. My vision blackens on the edges until all I can see is the step that’s in front of me. My mouth pools with saliva and I feel like I’m going to be sick. This can’t be happening. How is this happening? I’ve always made sure the people in my life knew how much they meant to me. That’s my cursed people pleaser tendency that’s been my driving force since high school.
I unlock the door and push through, holding it open for Paul and flicking the lock when he’s in my foyer. Resting my back against the door, I watch him survey my space. He’s been to the city once and I wasn’t even living in this house. I suspect he asked my mother for my address instead of asking me. But now that I feel the end is right on the other side of the door, what does that say if I couldn’t even read the signs that were big and neon right in my face? Were my rose colored glasses that thick?
He finally turns to me and I take in his appearance. His shirt is crumpled and I’m not sure if it’s from the hug or his flight here. But he looks less put together than usual. He looks less like that man I’ve been loving for the last three years. Has our distance been a factor in this distraught look?
“I love you,” he starts, although he might as well have just shoved a dagger in my chest because no good conversationever starts with a declaration of love. “But this is too hard.”
“What is?” I ask, almost desperate.
“The distance. Dealing with your freak outs is not what I signed up for. And if I’m honest, just being with you is hard, Sarah.” Paul says and tucks his hands in his pockets. “I can tell you I love you as many times as I want to. But the truth is that you’re hard to love. And I realized that loving you is not the solution.”
I don’t touch on my “freak outs” that Paul calls them because he’s always made it clear where he stands on mental health. You’re either fine or you’re not. And if you’re not fine, damaged, or broken, in Paul’s eyes you’re not worth the work for him. So I did my best to hide my manic episodes from him. Apparently my best wasn’t good enough and he uses this chance to bring it up.
“How am I hard to love? Is it because I didn’t fold the first time you said it? Was it something I did? Tell me, please.” I hate myself for begging and I almost feel like I’m clinging to him, my life raft, to keep me afloat and tell me what he needs.
“If you were easy to love and I loved you as much as I thought I did, I would have come with you when you asked me. But you are too hard to love and I need an easy love.”
Ouch. I rear back like he slapped me. The realization that I’m really not good enough hits harder than it should. But Paul pointing it out in not so simple words is him shoving that dagger in further. “Am I really hard to love or is there someone else?”
His gaze drops to the floor and my stomach falls out of my butt. “She just got out of the first trimester.”
