Page 13 of Marked By the Broken Orc
Instead, I find myself typing:
Mia…
Too much?
We’re friends.
I know. But…I’m not going anywhere.
The conversation moves to safer ground after that, but the undercurrent remains. She’s not pushing, not demanding anything I’m not ready to give. But she’s also not pretending the attraction doesn’t exist. I can accept that.
By the second of this budding friendship with Mia I’m looking forward to our texts so much I check my phone constantly. One night, when she doesn’t message by her usual time, I find myself wondering if something’s wrong.
The text finally arrives at nearly ten o’clock:
Sorry for the late message. Pulled a double shift today. Exhausted.
Everything okay?
Multi-car pileup on I-90. All hands on deck. Finally got home an hour ago.
You should get some rest.
Probably. But I wanted to ask you something first.
My pulse quickens.
What’s that?
Want to grab dinner with me sometime? That new Italian place downtown has been getting good reviews.
The words on my screen seem to blur as panic floods my system. This is what I was afraid of. The friendship evolving into something more, the boundaries I’ve carefully maintained starting to crumble.
I don’t do human dates, Mia. We’re just friends.
I watch as the three dots undulate as she finally responds:
Got it. No worries.
I stare at the phone, expecting…what? Anger? Hurt? Pressure to explain myself?
Instead, she sends a follow up text:
Rain check on the friendship dinner then. Maybe when you’ve settled into the job more.
Her casual acceptance should be a relief. Instead, it leaves me feeling oddly disappointed. Part of me, a part I don’t want to acknowledge, wanted her to push back, to demand an explanation, to fight for what could be between us.
Yes, I’m messed up.
Mia.
Yeah?
I start to type an explanation, then delete it. Start again, then delete that too. Finally, I settle on:
It’s not personal.
I know. You’re worth waiting for.
