The Good Life (27 page)

Why does he have to do that? It makes my heart fall straight to the floor every time!

“I’ve loved you since I was ten,” he explained, “and you found me under that table in your living room – the one with all of the plants. Remember?”

I nodded slowly.

“Girls were gross back then, so I thought I loved you like a sister. It wasn’t until we were in high school when I realized you weren’t gross. You were actually kind of amazing. But at the same time, you were too important for me to lose. I knew I couldn’t tell you how I felt until I was ready, really ready for you. And that’s why I’m telling you now.”

This was it, the climax of my movie. Those were the words I’d been waiting to hear since I was a little girl. I didn’t know what to say to him. I sighed again and closed my eyes so I could really enjoy the moment.

Jake slowly traced his finger down my neck, past my collarbone and then across the top of my shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped I wasn’t literally melting.

Do you remember that summer?” he asked, and I knew then that he remembered everything the way I did. I knew he had all kinds of images from that summer flashing in his head, just the way I still did – all the time.

“That summer,” he said again, “when you were finally mine, I knew you were the only one I’d ever need.”

“But you said –” I interrupted.

He put his finger on my lips to quiet me. “I know what I said. I said I didn’t want to long-distance it. Nine months wasn’t a long time for me. I’d already been waiting so long, nine months was nothing. I didn’t want to turn what we had, which I thought was pretty fucking awesome, into something that caused us both stress. I didn’t want to be that ‘boyfriend from home,’ like I was a liability to you.”

I’d had a few friends in college that had a “boyfriend from home” and Jake was right – they were a liability. My friends had to make sure they called every night by a certain time or the guys would freak out. If the boyfriends didn’t call by a certain time, my friends would freak out. It was just another task to check off the list. Paid the phone bill – Check. Studied for Psych test – Check. Called the boyfriend – Check. Those girls had very little fun when they were being good girlfriends, and nothing but grief when they were bad. I totally understood what Jake was saying. All this time I thought he didn’t like me enough to deal with it, but he had been trying to spare me the bullshit.

“I still don’t really understand why you didn’t come back to me,” he continued, “but I forgive you for it. Maybe this was how it was meant to happen. Maybe we weren’t ready then. I don’t know. But I do know I love you. Whether or not –” he picked up the Good Life List again and scanned it quickly, “ –you play in the rain or wear underwear.”

If this was a movie, there would be no questioning. I would jump into his arms, and we’d share a really gross kiss. Our mouths would be wide open like we were trying to eat each other’s faces off, and our heads would move from side to side every two seconds. The credits would roll to the tune of a dramatic, but catchy, love song performed by the runner-up of the latest reality show talent competition.

It would be assumed we lived happily-ever-after, but no one would ever know for sure. Because the movie would be over. The movie always ends when the characters finally get together. There’s a reason for that – it’s because nobody wants to sit in a theatre and watch petty arguing and boring sex scenes (ahem, Jason Segal and Emily Blunt). If the real Hollywood screenwriters couldn’t come up with something good, and some of the best actors couldn’t make it entertaining, how could we?

I started to feel like I was being backed into a corner. All this time I had been able to scurry on by and pretend this thing between us was just for fun. I could pretend I didn’t love him, and that I couldn’t tell he loved me, too. But when he said it out loud like that, there was no way I could pretend anymore. If we were still kids, I could put my hands over my ears and sing lalalalanotlisteningtoyou. If we were drunk, I could pretend to black out and not remember it tomorrow. But I wasn’t a little kid, and I only had one glass of wine, and even I couldn’t think of a way to avoid this conversation without being painfully obvious about it.

That was probably exactly what he was expecting me to do, right? That’s what the girl who runs away would do. Should I do what was expected of me because it was the easiest way out? Or punish myself by sticking around just to prove him wrong? Was the risk worth the reward in either scenario?

He lifted the few strands of hair that fell in front of my eye and pushed them to the side. “I know what you’re doing,” he said with a crooked grin.

“What am I doing?” I asked. I wasn’t even sure what I was doing.

“You’re trying to figure out a way to get out of this conversation without putting me in a position to say ‘I told ya so,’” he replied.

He was right.

“Look,” he said. “Baby, you don’t have to say anything, okay?”

He called me baby again! Damn he was making this hard on me!

“You can run if you need to,” he continued, “but I let you leave before without telling you how I felt. When you didn’t come back, I wondered if things could have been different. I don’t want to have to wonder again if I didn’t do enough. Know what I mean?”

I nodded.

“I saw how happy you were in New York,” he said, “and I want you to be happy. I really do want that for you. If you think you’d be happier there than here with me, I understand. As long as you leave knowing how I feel, that’s enough for me.”

He was giving me a way out. He was telling me it was okay for me to go back to bed and pretend this never happened. But it wasn’t okay with
me
. I couldn’t do that to him. I cared too much to walk away and let him think I didn’t love him back.

But asking me to choose between him and New York wasn’t fair. That was like choosing between chocolate cake and apple pie. I could pick one tonight if I could have the other tomorrow, but to let one go permanently? How could I? And what if I picked the wrong one, and by the time I realized my mistake, it was too late to change my mind?
Ugh, why couldn’t we just keep on pretending?

“Jake,” I said quietly. “I …”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he repeated.

“I think you’re kind of amazing, too,” I blurted out. “Not even kind of. You’re all the way amazing. But I ... it’s just …”

“I know, baby.” He put his arms around my neck and pulled me into a choke-hold kind of hug. He rested his chin on the top of my head, and I wrapped my arms tightly around him. The soft worn-out cotton of his t-shirt felt comforting on my cheek as I pressed it into his chest. His familiar smell put my mind at ease, if only for a moment. I clenched my fingers into a fist around his shirt like I was holding on for my life.

“I know,” he said again and I felt his breath on my neck. “But it’s really not that serious. Just relax. I can take it from here.”

“Are you going to take it all the way to New York?” It was the first time the idea had occurred to me. If Jake came to New York, I could have my cake
and
my pie. If he loved me enough to come with me, I would owe it to him to give him a chance. I would feel a lot safer putting my heart on the line like that if he I knew for sure he loved me
that
much. It was easy to love someone who was right in front of you. But to move to another state, you’ve
really
got to mean it.

I didn’t have to wonder for very long. He pulled apart from our hug and held me at arm’s length.

“I wish I could. But my business is here. It’s taken me ten years to get this far. I can’t just throw it all away and start from scratch, Rox.”

That was all I needed to hear. He loved me … just not enough. And that was okay. At least he was honest.

“How about we compromise?” he asked.

I crossed my arms in front of me. “How would that work?”

“You’ll go to New York,” he said. “I’ll stay here. Maybe one day you’ll miss me enough to come back. Or maybe half of my clientele will move to New York, too, and I can follow them.”

“Or maybe you’ll find someone else.”

He smiled. “My
entire
clientele moving to New York is more likely.”

You know the way the vampires’ faces sparkle in the
Twilight
movies? I felt like my heart was sparkling the same way.

“How long until you go?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I’m not sure. Two or three weeks. Could be less.”

“So how about for the next few weeks we stop pretending?”

“We take it day by day?”

“I was thinking more like lay-by-lay, but I guess either term is acceptable.”

“I can do that,” I said.

“That means you’re mine until you leave, right?”

“Yes,” I said with certainty. “I’m yours. And that possessiveness is getting me hot, so hurry up and stake your claim on me.”

I’ll remember the way he kissed me then for the whole rest of my life.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Honesty really was the magic answer.
The Summer of Jake and Roxie: Part Two
was a spectacular, 5-star, A+, top-of-the-box-office hit. There was the kind of romance that created butterflies in my belly, laugh-out-loud comedy, edge-of-my-seat excitement, porn star quality sex scenes and a great soundtrack, as well. We both knew this romance had an expiration date, but we didn’t talk about it. We were too obliviously happy to think about anything except when we could touch each other again.

It was nearing the end of August when I got The Phone Call. Jake and I were entwined on the couch watching a Tigers game and trying to throw popcorn into each other’s mouths when Hope called.

“Listen,” she said.

“Listening.”

“J.D.’s cousin’s boyfriend finally asked her to move in with him.”

I sat up straighter. This was intriguing. That kind of scenario could mean a hand-me-down apartment, and those were the best kind to get.

“Listening more closely.”

“The Village. Rent-stabilized. One block from subway.”

This was good. This was
very
good. The most important thing about any Manhattan apartment was its proximity to the subway. The Village was an excellent neighborhood, too. Rent-stabilization was just a cherry on top.

“How long do I have?”

“Ten minutes?”

“Shit.”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Okay. I’ll call you.”

I hung up the phone and saw that Jake was giving me a suspicious look.

“That was a vague conversation,” he pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“And a vague response.”

“Yeah.”

He sat up straight, which caused me to fall off of him and onto the other end of the couch.

“Something you need to tell me?”

“Hope found an apartment.”

“Oh,” was all he said. He looked disappointed, and I felt a little bit of disappointment myself. “You sure you can’t go to school here?”

I fought the urge to laugh at his question. I could probably find a program around here, but I don’t need a culinary education to work at Olive Garden.

“Are you sure you can’t take pictures in New York?” was my rebuttal.

He didn’t reply. I don’t blame him. That was kind of a shitty thing for me to say.

“It doesn’t mean we can’t still do our day-to-day,” I said hopefully. “I can be done with school in less than a year. I can visit. It could be like a month-to-month lease. I promise you won’t be a liability.”

He patted my knee. “Sure, we’ll figure it out.”

“I need to see the apartment first. It could be infested with cockroaches the size of baseballs, and the toilet could be in the shower.”

“Then find a different apartment. I don’t want to be the reason you are stuck in Ann Arbor. I said I want you to be happy, and I meant it. I’m not gonna be mad at you. I promise. Do what you need to do.”

“I need to see this apartment.”

“Okay then.”

“I’m going to look up flights for the morning.”

“If you wake me up, I’ll drive you.”

I didn’t wake him up to drive me because I’d booked a return flight for later that evening. I drove myself and left my car at the airport. I did leave him a cute little love note on the nightstand though, letting him know I’d be home later.

I took a cab from LaGuardia straight to the apartment where Hope and J.D.’s cousin met me. When I walked in I knew I had to have it. It was tiny, as most of them are. But it was a cozy, homey kind of tiny and not a buried alive in a wooden coffin kind of tiny.

It was neglected. The hardwood floors were scuffed and dull. The paint was peeling and stained with cigarette smoke. The small kitchen counter was probably older than my parents. But all I saw in it was a blank slate. I could make it beautiful.

As is the norm for me, I got a little ahead of myself. As I stood in the doorway I was already imagining myself doing homework in the galley-style kitchen like a scene from
Julie and Julia
. I could speak with a French accent and boil lobsters, and Jake could laugh at me when the lid popped off and I went running from the kitchen … oh wait, Jake wouldn’t be there. And if I went running from the kitchen, I’d trip over the couch or run straight into a brick wall. But the point was that this apartment could be my future. My life was like a brand new notebook and this was the first page. This little apartment in The Village would be where my story began.

I celebrated my new apartment with a shopping trip down Broadway. J.D.’s cousin needed a few weeks to get completely moved out, but she said I could start bringing things in right away. I spent the afternoon at Crate and Barrel, Urban Outfitters and Anthropologie. I was so excited to have an apartment of my very own for the first time ever. Being able to buy window treatments and placemats and a shower curtain without having to ask anyone else’s opinion was fun and liberating.

Not that I wasn’t thinking about Jake. It bothered me he hadn’t called yet to see how things had gone, but I hadn’t called him either. It was probably for the best if we distanced ourselves a little now so when the time came for me to move – and for us to distance ourselves a lot – it might be easier. I knew I was going to miss him like crazy, but I kept telling myself if it were meant to be, it would be.