You might consider me a misanthropist, but I’m actually far more selective than such generalities. My dislike for humankind only extends to men; particularly, those who manage to completely disrupt my sanity, to the point where I’m practically miserable despite my attempts to prove otherwise. You see, my life had never been this dull before, even considering the disaster I made out of my high school years. However, I actually can’t take the blame this time, because a certain individual disregarded the decency to gag himself if he was going to confess such ridiculous things to me.
“Shakespeare is depressing,” I muttered, tossing my well-used copy of Romeo and Juliet onto the floor by my bedside. I quickly rose from my prone position, experiencing an accompanying sensation of dizziness from the jarring movement, and roughly rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
My best friend, Amy, simply shook her head. “Shakespeare was a master of tragedy my friend.”
I combed my fingers through my honey-brown hair, working through the knots that had started to accumulate. “My love life is the real tragedy.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you left your apartment every once in a while you might actually meet someone new.”
I shrugged. “What if I don’t want to meet anyone?”
Amy huffed in annoyance and perched herself on the bed next to me. “I don’t think you want to try because you’re still in love with-”
“-Don’t you dare say his name,” I hissed, interrupting her before she could even form the first consonant.
“Fine,” she acquiesced, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “He Who Must Not Be Named, then.”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. “Your sense of humor is lacking.”
“I think you’re being pathetic,” she continued. “You keep denying it, but someone misses that cute Journalist who always brought her free coffee in the morning.”
Despite her teasing, I hated it when Amy was right. And as much as I didn’t want to admit it because I was inherently stubborn, I was still infatuated with James Parker. For example, even the simple act of recalling his name disrupted the normal pacing of my heartbeat with a quaint, nervous flutter. Yet, it also brought a lot of pain and regret. Especially considering our last meeting when James had uttered the three words I was completely unprepared to hear. However, I really didn’t want to end things between us, but I reacted quite poorly. For weeks, I ignored his phone calls, deleted his text messages and emails, and burned every last trace that he had ever been a part of my life. Furthermore, every time I even heard the words ‘I love you,’ I wanted to run home and lock myself in my bedroom to start another self-inflicted pity fest.
“You’re evil,” I told Amy and she smirked knowingly.
“You’re just embarrassed, Rachel,” she said. “You pretty much told him he didn’t mean anything to you when you ran away from his apartment.”
“I wasn’t ready to hear him say that,” I argued my case, although the rational part of me knew that fleeing was a terrible last resort.
She pointed a finger at me accusingly. “Obviously, you don’t know the first thing about communication. I’m sure a simple ‘I’m not ready for that yet, James’ probably would have sufficed.”
“Actions speak louder than words,” I countered.
“I agree, but I’d be willing to bet that it didn’t make him feel too manly when you totally ignored him after he professed his love for you. As if that isn’t a big step for a guy like James or anything.”
I glared at her because she was only making me feel worse. “I was scared.”
“Oh, you poor soul! There’s someone out there who actually loves you and would do anything for you! It must be hard to live with a man like that,” she sighed, sarcasm dripping from her tone.
“I’ve never been that serious with anyone before,” I said. “The closest I ever came was Eric back in high school.”
“I don’t think he counts,” she rebuked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Why don’t you let me take you out for lunch and see if we can forget about ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’?”
“I will if you stop referring to my ex-boyfriend as Voldemort.”
“Agreed.”
Mrs. Flowers, an elderly tenant who occupied the apartment next to mine, seemed quite insistent on operating the building elevator despite the ‘Out Of Order’ sign that hung from a nail hammered into the wall beside the shaft. “Mrs. Flowers,” I addressed her in a kind voice, “the elevator isn’t working today.”
“Is that so?” the old lady grumbled. “What’s the use of this contraption if it doesn’t even work?”
Amy held her laughter until we were outside upon which I proceeded to scowl at her. “She can’t help it, Amy.”
“As if you didn’t think it was funny,” Amy managed, holding her stomach as she leaned forward slightly as if overwhelmed by just how hilarious she found the situation.
I ignored her as I flagged down a taxi. “Where are we going?”
“Olivers,” she gushed. “I’m in the mood for Italian.”
The short drive to Oliver’s was hastened by Amy passionately discussing her college computer classes and the really attractive TA who assisted the professor. “He’s gorgeous, Rachel,” she swooned. “You have to come by one day after class and see him.”
I didn’t respond because I knew better than to trust Amy’s word. My younger friend had a tendency to exaggerate, especially when it came to men she perceived as attractive. You see, we held varying opinions on the subject, despite a unanimous agreement that Chris Hemsworth was, indeed, the superior Avenger. However, the distraction was nice, pushing my forlorn thoughts further and further away from the taboo topic of my former boyfriend.
Meanwhile, the taxi finally pulled up to the sidewalk outside of the restaurant. A quick scan of the building revealed that Oliver’s held its usual modest lunch crowd. But what could be expected of New York when all the stockbrokers liked to partake in their mandatory lunch breaks at high noon? More often than not, we had to wait for the stuck-up, loud-mouths to finish their small portioned pasta before we could finally have our turn at the menu.
I let Amy put our names down on the list and the two of us waited by the main doors. While Amy dedicated her attention to her phone screen, I looked around the restaurant, admiring the peaceful decor. If you ignored the never-ending stream of conversations, the restaurant held an admirable elegance. One that was abruptly broken when my eyes landed on someone I wished they had the decency to skip over.
His dark brown hair was shorter compared to our last meeting, and his chocolate brown eyes scanned over the menu he held between long, dexterous fingers. I watched as they passed through his messy hair, remembering the way they felt when intimately combined with mine. I nudged Amy, my elbow jarring into her forearm with more force than perhaps necessary, but I was completely unprepared to see him again. “Can we eat somewhere else?”
Amy smiled mischievously, and I inwardly groaned when his eyes finally met mine. It became abundantly clear to me what had happened: I had been set up by my best friend. My only ally had conspired against me.
Amy forced me to look at her. “Rachel, this was all his idea. The two of you are made for each other. Don’t let one stupid mistake ruin everything.”
I swallowed past a heavy lump in my throat and forced my legs to carry me to James’ table. An achingly familiar smile crept onto his lips and I almost bolted right there. I stood awkwardly in front of the table, tugging my skirt down. The action sent James’ eyes wandering carelessly over my long legs. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” I said breathily, drinking in his visage.
He gave me a knowing look. “I figured this would be the only way I could talk to you.”
Hearing his voice sent a shiver down my spine that wracked my whole body with nerves. I tentatively sat down across from him with trembling legs. “You look good.”
Actually, he looked amazing.
James chuckled and pushed his menu aside. “You look beautiful.”
I felt my cheeks burn with an annoying blush. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pursed my lips, determined not to break down in the middle of this pretentious restaurant. But what do I say to him? Sorry for running out on you after hearing you profess your undying love for me? Sorry for never returning your calls, but I’ve never had a guy tell me that he loved me before?
Thankfully, James spoke first. “I want to talk to you about that night, Rachel.”
I bit my lower lip. “I figured you would.”
“Amy told me that you weren’t expecting that kind of confession after only six months of dating. To be honest, I wasn’t planning on telling you that I loved you that night either. Everything was fine, but I had to ruin it by speaking out like an idiot.”
I didn’t think he was an idiot. I thought he was sweet and the way he looked at me made me feel like we were the only two people left in the world. I cleared my throat as I fidgeted in my seat. “I’m not an expert on relationships. Since we’re being honest, I want you to know that this is the longest relationship I’ve ever been in.”
James seemed genuinely shocked. “I didn’t know that.”
I nodded and hurried on before I chickened out again. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, so I was scared when you told me you loved me. I had never been in that position before.”
James nodded and reached for my hand. His fingers ran softly over mine. The contact between us was electric. “I never gave up on you, Rachel. For weeks I tried to get in touch with you. This was my last resort.”
“I’m glad you did it,” I said, fighting back tears. “I was too embarrassed to do anything about it.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” James assured me. “I do love you Rachel, and I think the real reason you ran out is because you might feel the same way.”
The truth behind the confession was staggering. Moreso, because I hadn’t taken the time to really consider the extent of my feelings for him until that moment. His honesty was the wakeup call I desperately needed. Behind every kiss we shared, beneath every touch, and every moment we spent together, was real, authentic love. I almost lost this man and it made my heart clench painfully. “I don’t want to lose you.”
He smiled, his eyes full of relief. “I’m glad to hear that.”
I laughed and the tension between us whispered away like the clouds rolling in the sky as if my unfortunate mistake was completely forgotten. And later that night, standing beneath the threshold to my apartment, James leaned in and kissed me softly. His heavy musk, a mixture of mint and ax, was captivating. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer to his lean form.
I pulled away and traced one finger down his arm. “Why don’t you come up to my apartment?”
He grinned and kissed me again, only pulling away to whisper softly in my ear. “I love you.”
I looked at him and admired his features. Then, for the first time in my adult life, I delicately whispered, “I love you too.”
The words rang strong as he took me into his familiar arms. For once, I felt perfectly and irrevocably happy.
Thankfully, I didn’t disappear this time.
It had to be the outfit.
© 2019 Everything Writes
