Page 37 of I Will Always Love You (Maybe)

I just need to figure out what I’m going to do about it.

TWENTY-THREE

COLBY

When I wake up, Josie is gone from the room, but her clean skin scent lingers in the air. My arms immediately wish she was back here. I’m a cuddler. I’ve always been a cuddler. But much like everything, I thought this piece of me had died along with Amelia.

Clearly, though, it didn’t.

I remember years ago recording an episode about the importance of skin-on-skin not only for babies, but for adults, too. That it lowers heart rates, reduces stress, releases that much-needed oxytocin so the couple can bond. So sure, I knew the logistics and remembered the way I felt snuggling with Amelia. But I had no idea how much I’d missed physical touch.

We’d grown so close, so quickly, but I didn’t know if I’d be comfortable sharing a bed. But the moment Josie lay down and inched towards me, it felt like I put on my favorite cozy sweatshirt after the first chill in the fall air, but the scent was different. Familiar and foreign all at once. Legs entwined, heartbeat to heartbeat, never breaking contact even as we rolled and adjusted. The tingles of it being new, but like I was never meant to sleep any other way.

Something shifted last night. Josie stopped feeling like a guest.

She felt like home.

When I look outside, my heart sinks. There is no more snow coming down, the roads are supposed to be clear, and there’s no reason that Josie can’t go back home. She has a life, and a job, and I need to get back to recording my podcast, so I still have a job. I should be happy, getting back to routine. What we’ve had here this week isn’t real life. It isn’t sustainable. But yet, there’s an ache, starting low in my chest, building at an uncomfortably speedy rate and spreading through my body. I’m not ready for her to leave.

“It’s a big day,” I say to Kona and rub her fur. “We’re gonna have Josie take a look at your wound, and if everything’s good, I think you can ditch the cone of shame for good in just a few short days.”

Kona cocks her head. But when I release her from this plastic monstrosity, she’ll understand. I drag myself from the bed, tug up the covers, and take a moment to sniff Josie’s pillow. Well, it’s official. I’m not going to change the sheets for a few days once she leaves. I’m going to hug the pillow, pretend it’s her, and wait for the smell to naturally fade.

Another scent fills the air, not unpleasant, but one that I can’t totally identify. Kind of doughy maybe, but not like baked goods. Hmmm. I make my way down to the kitchen with Kona trotting next to me. At the stove, Josie’s stirring a wooden spoon over a big pot, and my breath locks in my throat. Messy, wet pink hair from the shower, cherry-laden scrubs on her body. There’s a finality in seeing her in scrubs. If any indication exists that today is the last day of her staying with me, Josie not wearing my clothes is it.

“Morning, sunshine,” she says.

I peek over her shoulder and try so hard, yet fail miserably, to not scrunch my nose at the mushy, and very, very gray contents. “What… do we have in there?”

“Do not even give me that look,” she says, even though she can’t see my face. “You’ll like it. I think.” She gives me a quick hip bump and I retreat to the corner to fill up Kona’s food. “Yesterday on my walk, I remembered when me and my dad went camping, he’d make oatmeal in this huge pot over the fire, and I got so hungry for it. I hope you don’t mind I raided your fridge. And pantry. And basically used the last of the sugar.”

God, I’m going to miss this so damn much. Most likely not this meal, per se. But this. Having Josie here, navigating around each other in the kitchen, having her watch me cook, watching her hand-wash dishes. Making me smile.

“I don’t mind at all,” I say. “Can’t wait.” I actually can wait. I’m a little terrified.

As she continues cooking and I continue pretending that I’m thrilled to eat whatever she’s got stirring, I squat next to Kona and peek at the incision. “I think we’re getting close to taking the cone off. Before you leave, can you take a look and let me know what you think?”

The words drag out of me harder than I thought they would. I need to get a grip. Josie’s leaving, and that’s that. It doesn’t mean I’ll never see her again. Of course I will. I just… Who knows how often? When I come into town for my weekly cupcake run? Or if she comes out here? We’ll probably go back to our text-message-only friendship, even though I know in my heart I want more.

Holy shit. I know in my heart I want more. I want to be more than friends with Josie, and everything in this moment crashes into me. She’s what I’ve been missing all these years. And even though Amelia will never be replaced, this might be a moment for a new start, a fresh new beginning, with someone else, who fills different needs.

Josie is quiet at the stove, but glances over her shoulder at me. “Yeah, of course I’ll check out Kona’s leg. When you finally take off that cone, you’ll have to send a video. It’ll be damn near ceremonial.”

Send a video. I need air.

Outside, I walk Kona around the house as she sniffs out a spot to go to the bathroom. It’s sunny out, almost blindingly bright as the beams ricochet against the blanket of white, but it feels gloomy. The silence that I once craved, that once I needed to breathe, I no longer need. Now, it carries the threat of impending loneliness.

A dark void starts in my chest. I don’t want Josie to leave.

Inside, Josie has two fresh cups of coffee nestled up to two heaping bowls of oatmeal, with what looks like every nut I owned sprinkled on top. I vow right here and now no matter what it tastes like, I’m going to eat the entire thing with a smile on my face.

Here goes nothing. I lift the spoon to my mouth and… oh thank God. “Yum. This is delicious. You guys made this over a fire?”

“Yep. And thank you. Such comfort food, too, right? Carbs, sugar, and cream. What’s not to love?” She says it with a smile, but I can tell she feels the heaviness of the situation, too. The oatmeal is good, but not enough to warrant the long bouts of silence as we both stare out the window and keep eating. Finally, she sighs. “Ugh. Don’t make me go back to work. Can you and Kona just kidnap me or something? Keep me hostage? She can be the guard dog, you can make up fun little ransom notes, I can take a picture of me with my wrists bound…”

“I can go to prison… sign custody of Kona over to you.” I chuckle, then pull in my lips. Because really, besides prison time, I’m kind of loving this idea. “It’s going to be quiet without you here.”

She scoops a heaping pile of oatmeal onto her spoon. “I snore, don’t I? Be honest.”