Or I could do something deserving of Mel’s words, the ones I wanted inscribed on my body someday.
I want to spend it as happy and grateful and well-dressed and brave as I possibly can.
I wanted to be brave, and though I was reasonably sure this hadn’t been what Mel had in mind when she’d said it, I used her words as motivation.
I dug for my phone in my purse and texted Luke.
Can you come out for a second?
He responded unusually fast.
Sure. Out where?
I bit my lip.Your driveway?
Okay,he wrote.
I hopped out of Mel’s car and walked back to the front door. A slight breeze had picked up, and I hugged my arms around myself, feeling cold and vulnerable in my halter top and bravado.
A couple of nerve-destroying minutes passed before the front door opened. Luke slipped outside, forcing an unhappy Sydney to stay inside. He had already changed into a pair of pajama bottoms and a hoodie. I could have bet money he hadn’t been wearing the hoodie when I’d texted, but I still wasn’t sure about the pants.
He looked at me, curious. Maybe he was surprised I was at the front door when I’d told him the driveway. Maybe he thought I’d be home already.
Either way, I took a step toward him.
“I’m sorry. I just needed to do something, or I’d have to figure out a way to physically kick my own butt and keep doing it for all of time,” I rambled.
An amused grin lit up Luke’s face. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, taking another step toward him, my heart drumming wildly in my chest.
Then I did it.
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, saying everything I’d wanted to say for years.
He was caught off-guard, for sure, but he recovered quickly enough and gently pried me off him.
“Jessi,” he whispered, still close enough that our foreheads were touching, and he sounded so, so sorry. “I can’t.”
NOW
I need a time machine.
I need a way to go back to this afternoon and my conversation with Luke, to tell him how batshit crazy the whole thing is. We’re going to pretend to be together to make Mel happy?
There is no way we’ll be able to pull it off.
Furthermore, there is no way Mel will buy it. We are just too ... obviously not together.
He can barely even look at me. And honestly, maybe things are better that way.
He doesn’t have to be reminded constantly of how much he hates me now, and neither do I.
I knock twice on Ernie’s door and call out to him. “Ernie, can I come in?”
“You better. I’ve been talking to myself for fifty-seven years, and it’s getting strange,” he shouts back.
I grin and go inside. He’s sitting in his favorite rocking chair, his glasses on his nose, as he reads the piece of paper in his hands.
