“It is.”
“You didn’t want to marry her?”
The silence in the room is deafening. “I did. She didn’t.”
My reply snaps the tension, and Sofía whips around, shock marring her pretty features. The brown of her irises glimmers in the room’s low light, and I get lost in her subtle freckles, connecting each dot like a constellation of stars.
“You proposed to her?”
I hum, any real response caught in my throat.
“And she said no?” Sofía continues. She chuffs—loudly. “Well, that was stupid.”
For a long minute, her words don’t register. I chalk it up to shock. But then the ringing in my ears starts, and my fingertips tingle, anxiety and shame churning in my gut.
It’s one thing to daydream about scenarios—to make up hypothetical conversations in your head to prepare for a response—but it’s another to cling to hope that all of thosesituations are wrong, only to find out the reality is far worse than the daydream.
She’s speaking, lips moving, but the words are muted as my mind spins.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Her hand grazes my calf, and her voice becomes clear again.
“Jett?” Panic laces her voice.
With as much courage as I can muster—which, at present, is negligible—I whisper, “I don’t think it’s stupid to want to spend your life with somebody, even if they don’t feel the same.”
Sofía studies me, her head tilting before recognition flashes across her face and she crawls to me. “I think she’s stupid, not you. Foolish of her to let you go.”
A kernel of hope plants roots within my heart—a pesky thing I don’t know how to eradicate. It’s been growing, taking shape as the days pass by.
“Will you tell me more?” she asks. “About you and Grace, I mean.”
My eyelids flutter shut, and I lean my head against the headboard. Her fingers press into my thigh muscles, a reassuring touch. There’s no way out except through. This either changes her perception or it doesn’t. Resigned to that, I take a hard, deep breath.
“We started dating freshman year of high school. She was my next-door neighbor. We were inseparable, spent every waking moment together until we graduated. We went to different universities, though, and I think that’s where the differences began. It was harder and harder to talk to her. She was always busy. The time difference. Classes. Always some excuse. When I came back for the holidays, she was distant. After I dropped out and the channel started taking off, I thought it was the logical next step. I loved her. And I thought she loved me.”
Sofía perches on my lap, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. The look in her eyes is soft, understanding.
“But it wasn’t the denial that hurt the most, it was what followed,” I breathe. “The brutal truth about how she had grown to perceive me. Somewhere along the way, I became the opposite of what she wanted. She wanted someone to provide for her, who had stability and security. Someone with a bright future. I was—am—none of those things.”
It’s hard to choke the words out, to present the insecurities to someone else—someone I admire and am carving room for in my heart—and allow them to lay judgment.
“Have you dated anyone since?”
The question surprises me, and from the way her head tilts, I don’t hide it well. I’ve never been great at shielding my emotions, and Sofía sees more than most, always watching, anticipating what others may need.
“Doug and Molly tried to set me up with someone from their dance class, but that date didn’t go so well.”
“Oh?”
“I took her to a sushi restaurant. She had a deadly allergy to shellfish. No one told me.”
Sofía tips her head back in loud, shocking laughter, the strength of it shaking both of our bodies. She wheezes in a long breath. “I’m so sorry,” she chokes out before another fit of giggles hits her. “Allergic to shellfish,” she yells, hitting my bicep.
It’s impossible not to join in on her infectious joy, even if it’s at my expense. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life than when she texted me from the front of the restaurant to tell me. Barely made it through the date, I was so mortified.
She didnotcall after.
