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Then he grew literally an entire foot the summer between ninth and tenth grade.An entire foot, people!Everyone lost their freaking minds over it. He was on the scrawny side because his body hadn’t adjusted to the new height yet, but over the next year, he packed on the pounds…and the muscle from his football workouts. So much muscle. Suddenly, he wasn’t a “nerd” anymore. He was every girl’s dream, and they let him know it. He rarely gave them the time of day, but it was hard for me to ignore what was happening. There was always some girl asking me to put in a good word for her, pretending she wanted to be my friend just to get his attention, or asking me if I’d back off if I wasn’t going to date him. It was exhausting feeling like I was competing with every girl in my grade, so I told myself that the crush was over. I told myself I didn’t actually have feelings for him after all, and I moved on with my life. I dated other guys, while he dated other girls here and there. I ignored the pit in my stomach every time I saw him holding hands with someone or kissing someone. Now that I’m grown, I can admit how terrible it was. Everything has been strictly platonic between us ever since I buried those feelings down deep where I all but forgot about them.
I haven’t thought of him in that light since high school. In fact, I’m convinced I only thought I had a crush on him because he was the only boy I really knew at the time. I was so awkward around all the other boys back then that I just didn’t bother trying with them.
I don’t know how to explain what’s happening now, though. I know how to talk to men. I know how dating apps work. If I really want to find someone new, I could download all the apps and set up dating profiles. Or I could get dressed up and go out somewhere to try to meet someone. But I’m not at all interested in getting involved with anyone new right now, so what is going on with me?
Maybe it’s because I just got out of a relationship and my emotions are all over the place. I’m simply heartbroken and looking for any little bit of kindness and tenderness I can find. And Josiah is the definition of kind and tender. I’m serious—his picture is in the dictionary next to those words. Or maybe it’s just my personal dictionary since I drew a very poor rendition of his face there when I was bored in 11th grade English class.
I think his sweetness is the result of being raised by a single mom whose best friend had a whole bushel of daughters. Hewas surrounded by women and little girls for the first seven or so years of his life. He was forced to play Barbies and dress up all the time—and I don’t mean super-hero dress up. No, full on princess dress up. I have a whole stash of pictures of him wearing poofy dresses and tiaras. I even have one of him in one of Devon’s ballet tutus from one of her first dance recitals. It’s my absolute favorite picture. I keep it stashed in the back of my underwear drawer, and I pull it out whenever I need a good laugh. He can’t find out about it, or he’d destroy it in a heartbeat, and it would be a shame to never see that freckle-faced boyish grin in a sparkly tutu ever again.
I stir the cup of coffee clutched in my hand, and a slow smile spreads across my face as I think about the kids we used to be. Jolene and Merrily come into the kitchen chatting. They’re both finishing up work for the day, while I’m just getting ready to leave for my shift at the hospital. I dream of the day that I’ll no longer have to work night shift. One of my coworkers is about to have a baby and plans to seriously cut down on her hours. I’m hoping I can snag her shift. I love the women and the one guy I work with, but I was not meant to be nocturnal. I’m not holding out much hope, though. Someone with more time on at the hospital will get it before me.
I take a sip of my coffee. It’s still too hot, and it scalds my mouth. I jerk from the shock and splash hot coffee all over my freshly cleaned scrubs. And these were my favorite ones. I was excited to start my work week with my most comfy pair. Now I’ll have to change, and it’ll probably make me late.
“Have you looked at the video?” Jolene asks.
“I watched it after you sent it to me,” I say, dabbing at the big brown splotch on my chest with a dish towel. It’s not helping at all. If anything, I’m just making it worse and simultaneously getting the dish towel dirty.
“No, I mean have you looked at the views and thecomments?” she asks. She slides a sly grin over to Merrily that makes me a little worried and extremely curious. I know what the comments must be saying. They’re dissecting every little look shared between me and Josiah, the exact same way I did when I watched it. I’m just going to continue to ignore it and live in denial.
“I haven’t,” I say, moving to leave the kitchen and rush upstairs to change my scrubs. If I can do this in two minutes tops, I can make it to work on time.
“You should look at it,” Merrily says with a dreamy sigh. Now I’m really curious. Why is she sighing like some middle school girl watching a cheesy chick flick? I know Merrily loves to romanticize everything, but a knitting video? Girl needs to get a grip!
“Uhh, okay. Sure thing. Gotta finish getting ready for work, or I’ll be late!” I run upstairs and rush to change. It doesn’t go well. In my hurry, I turn into the clumsiest person to walk God’s green earth. I pull my shirt over my head and completely ruin my messy bun that was so perfect that I squealed with excitement when I saw my reflection in the mirror. I’ll never get it back like that. As I rip my pants off, I fall over onto my vanity table. The sharp corner stabs my hip, and I yell out in pain. It’s for sure going to leave a nasty bruise, and of course, it’s in a place where I can’t show it off. Sorry, if I’m going to endure such pain, I at least want to be able to show it to others so they can commiserate. Maybe that’s a weird nurse thing?
I rush back downstairs after getting my fresh scrubs on and run out the door. I run back in and grab my coffee from the counter and run back out. I make it to work exactly one minute late, thanks to ignoring every speed limit sign between home and the hospital. Thank heavens I didn’t see any law enforcement,or I would have been doomed to pay my firstborn child in ticket fines.
I get a look from the charge nurse as a silent warning, but thankfully, that’s it. I toss my things into my locker and get to work. It’s a slow night. Right now, we have zero laboring patients, so I spend my time working on reports—my least favorite part of my job and also one of the most time-consuming parts of it. It’s unfortunate.
My mind is not on the task. It keeps wandering to Josiah and that stupid video. I guess I should just get it over with and have a quick look at it. I have to eventually, right? I can’t ignore it forever. I’ll just finish this one…
Who am I kidding? I can’t wait another moment. I pick up my phone and pull up the video. I have tons of notifications from all the likes and comments. Thousands and thousands. The video has almost half a million views, which is honestly so weird to me. We’re knitting, people! I open the comment section, not sure what I’m going to find. The three most common things I’m seeing are:Can he see? Why is he holding it so close to his face?Why can’t I find a man who looks at me like that? I never knew men knitting could be so attractive.
They’re all very valid points. All I ever wanted was for Brandon to look at me with adoration in his eyes. Maybe he did when we first started dating, but then I just faded into the background of his life. He treated me more like support for his work or a side character than he did a partner. I tried so hard to get that look back.
With Josiah, I don’t even have to try. I can just be myself, and he adores me. I could be wearing my grungiest clothes, with my hair all a mess, and Josiah would still look at me like I hung the moon in the sky. I was so busy worrying about my own self that I didn’t even notice that look until I was watching it all back. That look that says way more than wordscould ever say. That look that shakes me down to my core. That look that makes me worry things might never be the same again.
I scroll and scroll and scroll. Everyone is in agreement—if we aren’t dating, we should be. But these people don’t know anything about us. They don’t know that there are twenty-six years of friendship on the line here. They don’t know that Josiah is basically a part of my family, and if this all goes wrong, it could ruin so much more than just our friendship. Family dinners and holidays would never be the same. How could I ever show up for Christmas, see him sitting there with Aunt Carly, and pretend that everything is the same as it always was? I simply couldn’t, which is why I can’t let myself pursue this, no matter how much I might want to.
11
Ellis
I am quickly learning that I despise cooking. I dragged Valerie along with me for this third task since Josiah was busy, and I think she’s almost as miserable as I am. I found a cooking class through the local community college. It’s every Thursday night for six weeks. I was so excited it happened to fall on one of my nights off, but now I’m not so sure it’s the blessing I initially thought it was.
The teacher is a haggard old woman who looks like she just wants to move into a cabin in the middle of nowhere and never see another human being for the rest of her miserable life. And honestly, after interacting with her for five seconds, I really think she should go for it. She’s so mean that she shouldn’t beallowedto be around the general public.
I know it’s ridiculous that I didn’t previously know how to properly chop vegetables, but I wasn’t harming anyone with my incorrect methods. I got the job done efficiently enough—or so I thought. Mrs. Josephine let me knowotherwise, though, and she yelled at me as I attempted to chop an onion and bell pepper the proper way. At least I was able to blame my tears on the onion. I don’t want everyone in the class to know I was actually crying because I was scared of the five-foot, seventy-year-old woman.
I’m starting to think Mrs. Josephine doesn’t actually want anyone to enjoy cooking, because she’s making everyone in this room miserable. Earlier, a poor eighteen-year-old girl ran out of the room sobbing because Mrs. Josephine threw her homemade pasta in the trash. She said it was garbage and only fit for the opossums and raccoons to eat. It was downright ruthless. Valerie took pictures for proof that it really happened.
“Ellis, how much more of this torture must we endure?” Valerie asks as she drops her homemade pasta into a pot of boiling water. On one hand, I really want to see how the pasta turns out. I’ve never eaten homemade pasta, and I don’t know when or if I’ll get another chance. But on the other hand, I’m tired of shaking in my boots every time Mrs. Josephine walks by. I’m one mean look or word away from joining the eighteen-year-old and running out of here in tears. There are so many other things I could be doing with my night off—actually fun things.
I look around the room. Everyone in the class looks so sad. This can’t be what the school was hoping for when they started this class. I turn off both our burners on our stovetop, and Valerie’s eyes are full of relief.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re an angel! A goddess! The most merciful mistress!” she says in the worst version of a British accent I’ve ever heard. Heads around the room are turning to look at us, curious as to how we’re happy at a time like this.
We grab our things and run out the door, listening to the shouts of the evil dictator, Mrs. Josephine, close behind us.
