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What could I say? I had no choice but to force some lightness into my voice before replying, “Of course I understand, Phil.”
“I don’t want to stop talking to you, Megan,” he said. “I like our relationship the way it is, and I want it to continue. I still want to be friends.”
“We are friends, Phil,” I assured him, even though I could barely stomach the disappointment. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“So you’re not just going to say goodbye now, hang up on me, and never speak to me again?” he clarified.
“Would it hurt if I did?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he said immediately.
It felt wrong somehow. He was telling me he didn’t want a relationship right now. But he was also telling me that he needed to speak to me every day. He wanted to be my friend. It would hurt him to never speak to me again. Something was not adding up. Either I was just delusional, or he was in denial.
“Well, in that case, I’ll try not to never speak to you again.”
“Promise?”
I smiled despite myself. “Goodnight, Phil.”
“Promise me first.”
I didn’t want to promise him anything and yet somehow, without my permission, the words rolled off my tongue as if of their own volition.
“I promise.”
Chapter Seven
Phil
I hurried into my apartment and shut the door. As soon as I had gotten my coat off, I called Megan and collapsed onto my sofa. It rung for quite a while, but she didn’t pick up. Disappointed, I hung up and stared at my phone. It had been three weeks since the awkward conversation where I’d told Megan that it was probably best that we just stay friends.
True to her word, she hadn’t stopped talking to me. We had resumed our strange friendship, and it was almost as though that conversation had never happened. Neither one of us ever mentioned it again, but there were moments when I could sense unsaid words standing between us, anxious to be heard.
I dialed Megan’s number again. My impatience to talk to her was telling, and my disappointment that she hadn’t picked up the first time was not at all healthy, and yet I was still unsure about getting involved with her. She was beautiful and smart and funny and incredibly interesting. She was easy to talk to, she was a good listener, and she actually cared about her future and where she ended up. Her need to better herself aligned with my philosophy in life, and that shared goal connected us in deeper ways.
But something was holding me back. I hadn’t been in a serious relationship since becoming a firefighter, but it was more than just my job. A part of me wondered if I even knew how to make a relationship work. It wasn’t as though I had any real examples of functional relationships in my life. My parents’ marriage was a farce, and every other couple I had come across were far from happy.
“Phil,” Megan answered my call breathlessly.
“Hi,” I said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No,” Megan replied. “It’s fine. I was just cleaning the bathroom.”
“What?”
She was panting slightly, but her breathing calmed down after a minute. “Actually, I was giving the whole apartment a good clean.”
“Why are you doing all the work?” I asked, frowning. “Where’s Brent?”
“Please,” Megan replied. “I don’t think Brent has ever cleaned this apartment. It took me five hours, but I’m finally satisfied.”
“Wow,” I said. “You actually cleaned the whole place by yourself?”
“Everything except Brent’s closet.”
“Brent’s closet?” I laughed.
“I know, right?” she said. “He refuses to lock the bathroom door—even when he’s in there. But the closet is completely off limits.”
