3 Crushes and a Wedding Ch. 04

I tried to do the math in my head. She paused briefly then continued.

"You were getting tons of mentions congratulating you about starting your own company and about your engagement. It just felt awkward to reply so late. The timing was off and you had too much on your plate."

"Screw timing, you should've still reached out." I understood why she didn't, but geez, how different would things be if she had.

She shrugged it off. "I get to answer you in person now, that's far better. It meant a lot. Every word you wrote." She leaned toward the table and started refilling our wine glasses. The emptier that bottle, the more delicate our conversation. "Adolescence is difficult for everyone, but you were struggling a lot. Your mom thought it was a simple, morose, 'the world doesn't understand me' phase, but I felt you were having lots of trouble adjusting and understanding yourself."

I listened attentively to her recollection. For the first time, we were on equal footing and she was giving me a glimpse into how she perceived our past relationship.

"Maybe I was more sensitive to your pain because I saw a bit of my own in it. I don't know. I tried to help as much as I could, but I left before knowing for sure you were going to be OK." An apologetic look shrouded her face. "Reading that message, seeing you'd persevered through it all, and knowing I played a positive role, even if small, it all meant the world to me."

"Small?!" I felt the tears well up in my eyes. "I don't think I'll ever find the words to explain how much you helped me or how thankful I am." I reached out for her hand and didn't think twice before starting to caress it.

Coming from anyone else, this whole conversation might have made me feel like a charity case. But Megan's soft, empathic, loving tone hinted at many layers of feelings. I wondered if one of those was the same attraction and connection I'd always felt towards her.

She briefly averted her eyes then was drawn back to my insistent stare. Just like that piano moment, I saw confusion, passion, heartache, and indecision mixing in her eyes, but this time, passion seemed to be winning over everything else. A surge of hope filled me. I squeezed her hand and felt it melt under my touch. We were worth fighting for. Only a few more hurdles to overcome, only a few more topics to breach in order to get everything back on the right track.

After a few seconds of silent staring, I reluctantly let go and grabbed my wine glass, looking for any kind of contact to replace her. The cold of the glass barely appeased the fire in my fingers. She, too, immediately took back her hand and absentmindedly combed her hair.

Despite the ease with which we had reconnected and despite the shared complicity we had found again, this entire situation was still, undeniably, a little weird. I had been talking to her on and off for more than a day, but I still didn't know much about her current life, nor did she know anything about mine.

I sipped some wine and relaxed back in my chair. "What about you? Did you ever get engaged? Or married?"

I hadn't yet heard her talk about a partner or ex-partner, but that didn't mean there wasn't one. She was thirty-six after all, plus incredibly gorgeous, funny, and smart.

"No."

Huh, that was jumpy. The dryness of her tone and the abrupt silence following that answer intrigued me, but I didn't have to say anything for her to realize I needed more details.

After fiddling with her watch, readjusting her position, and not speaking for a few long seconds, she broke the silence. "Fine," she sighed. "I guess I've never had a long-term relationship... unless you consider five months long-term." She shifted in her seat. "I'm usually out by the second month, mentally if not physically, and then really out by the third or fourth."

Wow. I had not expected that. I tried not to look too taken aback, but I failed.

"See? This," she waved at my face, "is the reaction I'm used to, now. People run for the hills when they hear it, thinking I have commitment issues."

"Do you?"

"I don't know," she sighed with exasperation. "I'm becoming more apprehensive and cautious with time, you have to do that when you're in your mid-thirties, but it's never clicked, never felt really right. I tried with men, I tried with women, and I still don't know what the problem is."

She tried with women? She tried with women. She tried with women!!! Despite all the red alarms going off everywhere around me during that conversation, that was the only sentence that my brain registered. Once I heard it, all the other warning signs disappeared. She was bisexual too, so there was tangible potential for us.

"Maybe you haven't tried with or met the right person yet." What a banal way to suggest that we hadn't dated yet. I could do better.

"Or maybe I met them and it wasn't the right time." She briefly fixed my eyes then let hers wander in the distance. "You ever think how impossible this whole love thing is? You need to find someone who's right for you, you have to be right for them too, and it has to be the right time for both of you. Those are slim odds. It's like we've all been set up to fail."

She used to be so positive and hopeful. How did she become such a defeatist?

"It's not simple, sure, but I believe in miracles." I tried to funnel my optimism in a smile. She reflected it meekly, still not convinced. "Sooner or later, you'll find that special someone, Meg."

Way to go with the clichés, Zoe. But I was sitting right there, she didn't have to look far or wait long.

"How can you be so sure?"

'Because I found you, twice,' I thought silently and gulped to swallow the words.

"Because unexpected things do happen." Everything about the weekend had proven that to me. "Look at us now, the odds of us meeting again here were infinitesimal, and yet..." I sighed and smiled, "anything can happen."

"So I should disregard fifteen or so years of relationship failure and keep believing in love, just because I met you again here and you said so?" A playful tone gradually snuck through her words.

"Pretty much." I grinned. "And I can find you twenty other similarly lame and corny arguments if you keep doubting it." I shook my index.

"Alright, I yield, Cupid." She bowed and laughed.

Her dimples were nowhere to be seen, but I spotted a little glimmer in her eyes. The topic merited some more unpacking, but for now, leaving things on a high and positive note was the smartest decision.

Our laughs slowly died down, leading to a long silence. I closed my eyes and enjoyed it. I was coming to the conclusion that I could never be this comfortable around Valentina or Scarlett, or any of my previous real boyfriends or girlfriends, or even my ex-fiancé, for that matter. But with Megan, I easily found peace in silence, in laughter, in silly or serious chats, and in the most uncomfortable discussions. Nothing about that had changed, despite the years and distance. Her mere presence grounded me. I was attracted to her, there was no doubt about that, but I also felt something deeper, more meaningful towards her, as if I'd found my own holy grail in her.

"I can get used to this." The beach, her, us.

Even if it wasn't perfectly visible in the dark, the sea was everywhere around us. Its sounds punctuated the silence, its salty smell scented the air, and its humidity hung around us. The overall effect was even more calming on my senses and so much different from the constant noise of Chicago. I had never lived near the beach, but I knew that deep down, I was a sea and ocean person. I felt a sense of belonging with them that no lake or mountain or city was ever able to invoke.

She inhaled and exhaled audibly, the serenity on her face echoing my own. Another reminder that we had always been and still were in harmony. "Yeah. I keep thinking I should move to the coast. I do most of my work remotely, so I can live anywhere. Why not go somewhere warmer?"

I nodded, though my brain shouted that she should come live with me in Chicago. I couldn't promise her the beach or warm weather, but I had other ways to get her hot and wet.

"I just realized I don't know what you do now or where you live. Last I remember is you took that gig in Paris."

"Oh, right." She picked up two of the three chocolate truffles she'd brought, handed me one and unwrapped the other. "I lived in Paris for three years and taught ESL classes." She took a bite from her truffle and moaned a little -- lucky chocolate!

"Did you also take those intensive French classes you were interested in?"

She looked at me for a second too long, smiling, clearly appreciating that I still remembered our last exchanges from over a decade ago. "I did. Living there helped too. Toward the end of my stay, I almost sounded like a native, and not an American."

"You certainly did when you told me the name of that book author, Jules something."

She laughed again. My heart summersaulted at her dimples' brief re-appearance. "You won't memorize that, will you? Jules Barbey d'Aurevilly."

My stomach clenched a little as she rolled her Rs. A brief image of her whispering naughty French words to me while fingering me floated in my head. I'd be like putty in her hands.

"I just enjoy hearing you say it." I winked. One of us had to put flirting back on the menu.

She smiled and side-stepped my remark again. "I don't sound nearly as good now. But I try to read French books and listen to some music and podcasts to keep myself from getting rusty."

"I'd offer to help you practice but I only know one French sentence."

"Bonjour, comment ça va?" She asked cheekily.

"Okay, two sentences." I knew fully well where I was leading her. "The second is from Moulin Rouge." I grinned as she worked it out and blushed.

"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?" She repeated the lyrics with her perfect pronunciation, making my heart swoon and my insides growl.

I don't know how I remained still, but I looked deep in her green eyes, that forest of purity and simplicity, and said, "Oui." Yes, this was the sentence; yes, this was the answer too. She didn't take her eyes away, probably trying to decipher what I meant.

Another peak reached, time to retreat again.

I brought my attention down to the piece of chocolate in my hand and busied myself with unwrapping it then took a bite, all while feeling the silence stretch between us. "Mmm, I like the pistachio bits."

This change of pace and topic brought her back to me. "Oh mine is a praline, here," she gave me the remaining half piece that she was still holding. I handed her my pistachio half. To think that this lucky chocolate had already touched her lips and was about to touch mine...

"Soooo good," I finally said. Her, the chocolate, us.

She nodded.

"So do you still teach English now?"

"No. I moved back to Michigan City to be near my family, but there weren't any immediate teaching vacancies there." She shrugged. "I struggled a bit then gravitated to online freelance editing work and liked it. Been at it for... well, ten years actually. Wow."

My mind immediately calculated the distance between Chicago and Michigan City: ninety minutes. If she still lived there, it'd be great.

"Sounds like a good gig."

"It's very fun." She said emphatically. "I get to choose my hours, spend my day reading like I've always wanted to, and learn new things." A content smile spread on her face. "There's a bit of everything in the websites I edit. Fashion, gossip, culture, cooking, tech, health, science, and even some economics and politics."

"Oh so you're one of the people behind the '10 reasons you should run in the rain and you won't believe the 4th one' clickbait I keep seeing on my phone?" I pointed my finger at her and narrowed my eyes, condemningly.

She slammed her hand on her chest and looked at me with her best outraged face, "Oh no you di'n't!"

I chuckled and was starting to apologize -- even if it was a joke, I didn't want her to think I was being dismissive of her work -- when she broke out in laughter. "It's Ok. That's not the kind of article I edit," she rolled her eyes, "uuuuusually, but I've done a few. Surprisingly, or not, one of them was about the benefits of exercising in rainy and windy weather, but it was on a science site, so lots of stats and no embellishments."

"I don't care what science says, I'm not getting soaked for sports." I could get soaked for other kinds of sports, though.

She looked me dead in the eye and smirked. "That does not sound fun at all." The glint in her eyes said otherwise. "I was disagreeing with the whole premise while editing, like why would you not just work out indoors and avoid accidents and catching a cold, but I just had to edit it objectively. Can't choose what I work on or agree with every word." She shrugged. "It still helps me see tons of perspectives I'd never think about on my own, so that more than makes up for the duds."

"That'd be exhausting to me, but sounds like the perfect job for you." I reached for my wine glass and tilted it towards her. We clinked and I drank the last few drops of mine.

She had always been very inquisitive and the whole world fascinated her. Trying to understand how everything worked and how everyone felt was her main drive and I was happy to see that hadn't changed with time.

"It is." She started filling our glasses again. "What about you? I heard you mention your engineering firm in Chicago, but do you still write poetry?"

"From time to time. I've self-published a few books on Amazon."

"Oh, that's awesome!" Her enthusiasm was sincere. "I'll definitely get them."

I had always wondered what Megan really thought of my writing. She was one of the first people to read my early teenage ramblings, and I was so dazzled by her English Literature degree that I kept pushing myself to get better quickly to impress her. She read several of my poems, but I never shook away the nagging doubt that she'd spared my feelings when sharing her thoughts and critiques.

"Lower your expectations, please."

"Nonsense. If they're anything like what you wrote back then, they must be excellent."

It was my turn to blush now. Whether she was playing nice or misremembering, I didn't care. At least she sounded honest.

"Well, my style changed. My topics too. I don't write as many romantic poems as I used to."

"Life tends to take that away," she said wistfully.

I sighed. "Yeah. My teenage, gullible version of romance slowly died, and a more mature, realistic version surfaced."

"Huh. That's sad, but not surprising. We all get disillusioned at some point." She unwrapped the third and final chocolate truffle. "One day you believe in eternal love, the next you're standing on another doorstep with your toothbrush in hand, door slammed in your face, and you realize you can't make a relationship work for more than a few months." She chuckled sarcastically and bit off half the truffle. I gave her the side-eye. "Alright, OK, miracles, optimism. Whatever, Cupid!"

This was very clearly going to be a difficult topic moving forward.

She gave me the second half of the chocolate; I was ready to share everything with her, not just a bottle of wine and some truffles. And even though I wasn't confident I could fix whatever relationship hang-ups she had, I sure wanted to try.

"Your writing had an uncanny mix of innocence and maturity. That's what I most loved about it," she smiled while I tried not to faint after hearing that, "but I'm excited to check out what it's evolved into now. I hope I'll find that same sensibility and introspection, but maybe under new and different layers."

I blushed and fidgeted with the chocolate wrapper then decided to discard it on the table. A gulp of wine was necessary.

My reaction amused her. "You're not used to hearing compliments?"

"Not face to face, and not from people whose opinion I value." I averted my eyes. They landed on her legs again -- how could they not? I caught myself right before I bit my lip. Was she aware of how much eroticism her whole body exuded? Other women had to try hard to provoke that effect, with often corny and trashy results, but sexiness just came naturally and organically to her.

"I still have to read your new stuff," she chuckled, "maybe I'll hate it." I pretended to be offended. "Seriously though, you had everything to be a great poet. I'll never forget the sweetness and emotional intelligence of one of the first poems you showed me, the one about the guy's eyes."

"Girl's. Girl's green eyes." The correction flew from my lips.

She'd admitted to me that she was interested in women, it was high time I did the same and cleared that giant hurdle in our lengthy re-acquaintance chat. Nearly all the cards were on the table now.

I didn't flinch, looking straight into those same green eyes as she took the information in. Her pupils narrowed then briefly glazed over as the reality set in. I hadn't said the words aloud, but this was as close as I'd ever been to admitting that the poem was about her, and all the unspoken feelings that came with that.

Her lips pursed and a brief "Oh" escaped them.

Another high in the conversation, another pause. I was anxious to take that leap of faith and see what awaited us on the other end. However, the skeptic in me wanted irrefutable proof that she was interested in me, to avoid any unnecessary heartache and awkwardness, and that evidence had yet to be presented.

So I kept my enthusiasm on a leash and explained, "I didn't understand it or fully assume it back then. I'm bisexual." I stated that in a factual manner. There, I was extending a longer branch and hoping she'd grab it and pull.

"Good," she answered neutrally while still staring in the distance.

What in the living hell did that mean? What was good? That I was bisexual? That I'd been honest and come out to people? That I'd admitted it to her? What did 'good' mean in that context?! I couldn't keep my calm anymore. Prudence and common sense be damned!

"It was about you." There, the full truth out loud, for once. "The poem was for your eyes."

I was suddenly aware of a loud ringing in my ears, then realized it was my own blood gushing everywhere in my body. My hands trembled but were luckily resting in my lap now. I didn't dare grab the wine glass.

Another card on the table. I held the last one in my shaking hand, but even though I was terrified, I was more than ready to drop it, tell her I was still and will always be in love with her, and be done with all the mysteries. Instead, I stayed still and looked at her apprehensively. She remained silent and cold. The smile that had visited her face so many times during our talk was nowhere to be found, and in her eyes, I now saw passion losing the battle to indecision and confusion.

The longer her silence stretched, the more scared I became. Did I make a mistake in admitting this so quickly and so gauchely? Should I have gone for a smoother approach instead of my brusque one?

Then she stood up abruptly and started cleaning the table. "It's getting late."

It took me a second to react. "Wait," I was up on my feet and grabbing her hand before she got to my empty glass.

She barely acknowledged me. "I'm tired, I have to get back to my room."

"Are you serious?!" I willed her to look at me but she wouldn't. The table suddenly seemed way too interesting to her. "Hey," I said firmly, trying to get her attention. "Hey," I repeated again when she wouldn't budge. "Hey," I nearly shouted and nudged her chin up towards me with my other hand. An empty stare filled her eyes. I was prepared to fight any and every feeling she might have had, but not void. "I just told you I was in love with you, you're not ignoring that and running away."