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I delete the next photo, and the next, and the next. Each image brings back memories, all bittersweet and painful, like being stabbed in the back while enjoying your favorite activity. Each moment, captured in my phone tells a story. Our first date. Our first kiss. Our first road trip to the beach where she’d surfed and I sat on the sand, watching her have a good time.
Her kissing me on the cheek on our anniversary, cross-eyeing as she eats chocolate on Valentine’s Day. I delete them all, feeling a mix of pain and relief as I let her go. I realize I don’t miss her. I miss the fun, the adventures, and even the quiet nights in. I miss having a friend, a partner, a lover.
I miss laughter and play, pillow fights and spraying each other with the kitchen faucet head. I miss waking her with kisses or breakfast, grabbing her backside as we made our morning coffee, that smile she’d throw over her shoulder when she knew I was behind her.
And whisk away on a digital breeze ever last reminder of our time spent together. I don’t need those memories anymore. What we had wasn’t worth the effort to delete.
But now I have some foundation, some groundwork to figure out the kind of life I do want to lead. I want to find a partner who respects me, supports me, and loves me for who I am instead of the potential they see in me. I want to find a partner who makes me laugh, laughs at my bad jokes, and makes me feel alive. I don't need somebody to make me happy, I already have that. I need someone to enhance my experience in this life, someone to build with, to love on.
Someone who is loyal, honest, faithful.
Now I just need to find a woman whose list aligns with me and the kind of man I am, and I’ll be all set in the love department.
I lower my phone, feeling the burn in my arm as I try to imagine the perfect woman for me. Settling down more comfortably on my couch, I close my eyes, seeking her in the darkness behind my lids. What does my ideal woman look like? Not that looks matter, I’m just trying to visualize.
And a face fills my mind. At first, I’m stunned, then I let out a sharp laugh.
Emma. Her blue eyes, blonde hair, her angry expression.
The doorbell rings and I wonder who the heck is bothering me this time. And I nearly lose my mind. It’s Emma at my front door. Is this some weird fate moment? There’s no way I was just thinking about her and here she is.
I unlock and open the door. Her fast, sharp steps tell me she’s angry as she walks in front of me on the couch. I glance up at her, stunned by her transformation. The soft lavender skirt, her wavy loose blonde hair, her clean, make-up less face...
I sit up.
“Why are you here and why do you look like,” I gesture at her with one hand, “this?”
“Rude. For your information, not that it’s any of your business, I just got done with a date. A date you ruined.”
I lift both hands in a position of surrender. “I’ve been here all night, lady, I’m not the guy.” What could she possibly mean that I ruined her date?
She moves forward, poking my chest with her index finger. “I couldn't stop thinking about all the things you put me through today, or how mad I am at you.”
And suddenly I know the truth. A smile slowly creeps across my face and she stops, her eyebrows coming together angrily as she speaks. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re not here because you were mad, you’re here because of our kiss.”
Her expression blanks for a moment as if she’s about to blue screen blink out. “No.” She practically spits the word, but I can see right through her lie.
And I stand up, moving toward her as she dances back several steps. When she bumps into the glass, she lets out an audible noise of pure excitement before scooting toward the wall. I follow, then press my arm to the wall above her head and lean in.
She flattens as much as she can, then meets my stare. I can see her pulse racing under the soft skin of her neck. “If you wanted me to kiss you again, all you had to do was ask,” I say, lowering my lips to hers.
Chapter Six
Emma
He kissed me! Not once, but twice.
I try to put all thoughts of Clifton out of my mind as I dial my boyfriend's number for the tenth time, hoping he'll pick up. Once again, the call goes to voicemail.
“Hey, it's me again. Please call me back. I'm sorry about what happened. I swear I'm not in love with Clifton. Can we talk this out like adults?” As I end the call, I feel a lump in my throat.
I don't want things to end this way between us.
Heck, I don't want things to end with him.
He’s a good guy, someone I would be comfortable and possibly happy with. He’s nothing like my ex-fiancé, in all the best ways.
