Liz: I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think it was a big deal. I just didn’t feel like it.
Damn it. Have you ever consciously tried not to be an ass, only to find it made you one? I fumbled for a reason to end the conversation without doing further harm.
Ben: Okay
Liz: Are you really that upset about it?
I was really upset that I doubted her, but I couldn’t very well say that. I tried for a simpler answer.
Ben: Just didn’t seem like a big request.
Liz: I’m sorry.
Ben: It’s okay, really. No worries. Hey, I have to go back to work. Speak soon?
Liz: Absolutely.
Honestly, I was on edge for the rest of the day. I knew the time was coming when I would have to spill my feelings for Liz out, lay them all on the table. My constant fear of her accusing me of lying to her by omitting my true feelings clipped me to my secret like handcuffs. I was a complete chicken.
That night Liz and I texted during her hockey game. I was already home, sitting on my couch in my comfy clothes and listening to some great tunes. One of my flatmates was shuffling around in the next room, loud enough to make phoning impossible, not exactly ideal for confessions of the heart. I was contemplating ways to just come out with it when she asked a question that caught me off-guard.
Liz: Why me?
She handed me a perfect lead-in. My chest tightened. I could just say it, right now. I’d love to tell you I took the bait and poured my heart out. But that would be a lie. I played it stupid and coy. Relentless as always, she continued to press me. I turned the tables on her, asking her why she continued to stay in touch with me. My heart pounded as I waited for her answer.
Liz: Well, you’re charming and sweet. You make me laugh. You have an amazing body. But also it’s because you wouldn’t let me disappear into the background. Most people lose interest if I stop calling them or texting them, you don’t let me disappear. You initiate conversation.
I rated myself against her personal scale: charm and humor. She never called me honest, and I already knew where my omission rated on that one. On her three-point scale, I was barely a two. And the worst part? Liz knew it too. The truth of it hit harder than I expected.
I threw all caution to the wind; it couldn’t hurt worse than this, right?
Ben: You’re funny, you’re sexy, but you’re also shy. You act like you’ve had your heart broken before and you’ve lost all faith in love. Despite not believing in it myself, it almost makes me want to find a way to prove to you that it’s real. But mostly I can’t get you out of my damn head, I think about you all the time. That’s why I wouldn’t let you disappear. I replay our conversations (clean and dirty, by the way) almost all the time. It’s ridiculous, honestly.
I still am proud of myself for the words I chose. I was honest, I used the L word, but I was careful not to come on too strong. She kept pushing.
Liz: Sounds like you like me a bit, haha.
It was tempting to say, “like? No, it’s love.” Instead I went for, “a bit more than I meant to,” which was also true. I sat up straight, waiting for her to tell me the same. My chest buzzed with nervous energy, like I’d just cracked open a door I could never close again. In my head I imagined all kinds of scenarios: she would confess to loving me and I’d move to America to be with her, she’d tell me to fuck off for lying to her and never speak to me again, she’d suddenly knock on my door and reveal that she’d been in London for days, too afraid to see me.
For once, I wasn’t afraid of any of it. I just wanted her answer.
Instead, her reply landed like a bucket of ice water:
Liz: There’s been an injury, I have to go.
I stared at the words, stunned. One second I was bracing for a life-changing confession; the next, she was gone, pulled away by someone else’s pain. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Liz was already benched from hockey because of her own injury, and still she was thinking of everyone else before me.
I stayed frozen, phone in hand, the silence around me suddenly deafening. I’d finally said the words I’d been choking on and she wasn’t even there to hear them.
Chapter 12
Liz, February 26
I play hockey twice a week here in Arizona. It’s a great way to take out aggression. But that night, thanks to a stupid injury about three weeks ago, I find myself sitting in the bleachers instead. I’m watching my team play in a tournament and aching with frustration that I can’t be on the rink. Naturally, I turn to the one distraction that never fails—texting with Ben.
The conversation starts out light, nothing important. But all morning I’ve been chewing over questions about relationships, and I decide it’s time to get Ben’s viewpoint.
Liz: Ben, can I ask you a question?
