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My amusement slips.
“As I was saying,” Ricky goes on. “I had a feeling Aaron and I would hit it off, but that was the problem. I like going out, hooking up occasionally. I enjoy my space and not having to answer to anyone. It’s not like I didn’t imagine settling down one day, I just didn’t think I wanted something serious now.”
Delilah takes the third seat around the table, giving up the pretense of tidying around her shop. “What made you change your mind?”
He hooks his thumb toward me. “This idiot. Watching you deny how ass-over-heels in love you are with Naomi knocked some sense into me. As far as I see it, we don’t get to choose when we meet that one person who makes us better or who that person is. We either hop on board for the ride or we miss the bus. I decided I’d rather change my preconceived notion of what I thought my life should be than miss out on something potentially amazing.”
I slump deeper into my seat and rub my tired eyes.
With Naomi, I started bending my rigid schedule. Nothing drastic, not like my current state of disarray, but I forgot to stress about my place in line or where I played cribbage with Gran or staying up late on a weeknight, and my panic attacks didn’t return. If anything, I felt better than I have in years. With her, I laughed easily. I felt challenged and looked forward to seeing her at the end of each day. I brooded less over my five-year plan and lived more in the moment, like at the Spring Fair. I was trulyhappy.
Then I let her go.
“She invited me on her trip,” I tell them. A vulnerable offer I instantly declined.
“Oh my God.” Delilah grips my knee under the small table. “You have to go.”
“I can’t go.” I gesture half-heartedly at nothing. “I have a job and responsibilities.”
A job Ilove, but when I closed my eyes at night this week, I pictured Naomi and me hiking through ancient ruins, meeting other travelers, tasting new foods, exploring together, and I felt bereft. Like I’m missing out on something amazing. Then I’d think about my college days, how messed up I was after the shooting. The anxiety. The stress. None of which I ever shared with Ricky and Delilah.
I look at my two closest friends, unsure why I never opened up to them, but telling Naomi gave me a sense of relief. Maybe telling them will help me muddle through this turmoil, since it all seems to be linked.
“I experienced a pretty traumatic event in college,” I say, keeping my focus on the table as I spill the details of the robbery, the woman shot—Nancy Rutlidge—bleeding out on my lap. How my coping mechanisms after E’s disappearance got more intense. “It was like having a strict routine kept me together. Like, if I could control my daily activities, nothing bad would happen, which was fine at the time. But I’m still clinging to the easy path of predictability, and honestly…I’m not sure why.”
“First,” Delilah says gently, “I’m so sorry you went through that. I can’t imagine how terrifying it was and how hard it was to deal with in the aftermath. But I’m so proud of you for getting help and getting better.”
Ricky presses his hand to my forearm. “You’re a fucking rock, man. I’m always here if you need to talk.”
I nod my thanks, wishing I’d shared with them earlier. Better late than never, I guess.
“If you shake things up by traveling with Naomi,” Delilah says, “are you worried your panic attacks will come back?”
I think about the anxiety that hits when I’ve toyed with the idea and shake my head. “I don’t think so. The prospect of quitting my job and leaving on a whim makes me anxious, but not in the same hard-to-breathe way. And I have a therapist I see virtually. If anything happened, I have resources.”
“Maybe you’re afraid of getting hurt.” Ricky’s words are firm but kind. “In all the years I’ve known you, you haven’t dated anyone long term. I’ve always wondered if having your best friend disappear on you fucked up your ability to be vulnerable the way a relationship demands.”
He has a solid point. In the aftermath of E vanishing, I was devastated and confused. I eventually trusted Ricky and Delilah, but I haven’t dated anyone long enough to feel deeply connected with them. Until Naomi. I’ve only recently told people about the robbery and shooting.
“It’s possible,” I concede.
“Opening up to someone is scary,” Delilah says, firmer. “But love doesn’t come around often. Once, if you’re lucky. If fear of getting hurt is what’s holding you back, you’ll end up living with some serious regret.”
From my experience, the slight edge in Delilah’s tone isn’t directed at me. She’s likely thinking of how E broke her heart. I used to hope he’d come back for her, sweep her off her feet. Now, if he returned, I think she’d shoot him in the nuts.
I nudge her foot with mine. “If I ever see E again, I will murder him.”
“If I ever see E again,” she says viciously, “he’llwishyou had murdered him.”
Yep. She’d castrate the guy.
Fueled by her feelings over E or not, her words penetrate my thick skull. Gran has said similar things to me over the years. Coaxed me to live more. Break up my routine. She said I’ve gotten so used going through life with blinders on that I’m missing the good parts.
What if they’re all right? What if planning ahead and living small is only half a life? I might experience less risk, but I could wind up with regret and misery just the same.
“I can’t just pick up and leave,” I say, veering back to the reason I’m irrationally glued to this seat.
Aside from leaving my boss in the lurch, the fresh food in my fridge would spoil. I have a dentist appointment next week. And trips like this take months to plan and organize, which…is kind of the point? Leaving on the fly would be doing the exact opposite of what I’d normally do. Throwing caution to the wind. Still, the idea of pulling the trigger has me queasy.
