Page 34 of The Problem with Perfect

I nod but don’t say anything.

“You know, I’m not sure if I should be saying this to you considering the fact that you’re Abby’s older brother, but I’ve always had doubts about relationships. For a long time, I didn’t think monogamy or commitment were things that had a place in my life.”

“Trust me, I remember,” I tell him, my mind recalling all the days when he would tell me the single life was the only kind of life he wanted.

“But I guess the real truth of it is that, for the right person, anything is possible. Anything can be true. Abby is that person for me in a way I never could have expected. I mean, when I think about her, I can’t help but think about the future. And who knows? Maybe Bellamy is that person for you.”

I give him a tight smile. “Maybe. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

“Nah. I think this is it, man. I think Bellamy is your person. I mean, I wouldn’t have come to you about Abby if I wasn’t absolutely sure things with her felt different than they’d ever felt with anyone else. I’m assuming the same is true for you and Boyd.” He pauses, seeming to consider his words before he speaks again. “You know, after what happened with Hailey, I was really concerned for you, man.”

I scratch at the back of my head, not wanting him to dredge this up but knowing he’s going to.

“I never thought the two of you were right together. Something just never really…fit, you know? And the way she dropped you when everything happened with your parents…it only confirmed for me that she wasn’t your person. I think this thing with Bellamy is proof of that, you know?” He lets out a sigh…a happy one that sounds like he has all the optimism in the world bolstering his confidence in me. “Like I said, I’m stoked for you.”

Jackson returns his attention to the panel samples leaning against the wall behind him, seemingly having decided he has finally gotten enough information from me to feel satisfied.

All I feel inside my chest is turmoil. It’s been there for a long time, and now it’s beginning to leak into my personal life as well, everything feeling amplified by this relationship with Bellamy. It’s like I’m on the precipice of something, like everything I’ve worked so hard for might slip through my fingertips if I make one wrong move.

I try to shake it off, attempt to focus my attention back on the work in front of us.

Instead, the little voice telling me I should be worried about what’s to come doesn’t quiet, and the turmoil rages on.

* * *

It’s after 10pm when I finally drop down onto my couch with a beer and a sigh of relief, wanting nothing more than to chill out with both my mind and the A’s game on mute—but I still need to talk to Bellamy about family dinner, so I pull up her number as I take a swig of our summer pale ale and hit call. It only rings twice before she picks up, her voice quiet.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Everything okay?”

She pauses, but just for a second. “Yeah,” she replies, drawing the word out. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just…sounded like you were trying to be super quiet. Wanted to make sure you weren’t hiding from a serial killer, is all.”

Bellamy giggles, and the sound brings an unexpected smile to my lips.

“No, I’m just out on the dock, and I’ve heard enough times from Mrs. Garley that the sound carries.”

“I’m surprised she can hear you over the sound of her own self-importance,” I toss back, and Bellamy laughs again, the sound muffled like she’s trying to stay quiet.

“Have you ever seen the way she walks through town with her dog in her purse like she’s in Hollywood or something?”

“Yes, and she lets that little rat out to poop on the street and doesn’t pick up after it,” I add, causing Bellamy to launch into laughter again.

“Don’t call Mr. Gregory a rat,” she begs between breaths.

“Its name isnotMr. Gregory.”

“Itis. It totally is. And her cat’s name is Lady Bernadette.”

At that, I start to laugh too, and it sounds like an old car coming back to life, like something in my chest has loosened slightly. It’s like clearing out my lungs after a bad cold, the tightness beginning to dissipate.

Eventually our laughter begins to fade, the quiet settling into something easy.

“You’re just sitting out near the water?” I ask, picturing Bellamy on the familiar wooden dock that extends out from the Mitchell family back yard.

“Mmhm. I come out here a lot, lie flat on my back, and stare up at the stars.”

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