Hi, It’s Story time Friday Katey.

Sometimes Love

Foreword:

To your sometimes love: passionate, beautiful, and fleetingly temporary

Intro:

If you’re looking for a love story, this isn’t one. Sure, there’s love and all its crazy beautifulness, but the guy and the girl do not end up together in this story. Before you question why this story should be read, let me explain the beauty of a sometimes love and how even though it isn’t a forever love, it’s almost better than that. It’s the love that you compare everything else to for years to come. It’s messy and painful, yet perfect in the sense that it has an ending. It began, it lasted for a while, and then, ultimately, it ended.

Part One:

True Story

“Mommy, can you tell me a story?” Emmeline asked me so innocently, I almost started tearing up.

“Emme, it’s been so long since you’ve asked me to tell you a story. I’d love to. Which one do you want to hear?” I asked thinking she’d want an extension of one of my already published novels. Something she loved since she was one of those hopeless romantics who liked when the couple ended up together in the end. Something in my stories never happened.

“I want to hear a true story this time, Mom. I want to hear the story of you and Dad. Or at least the story of why the women in the book never get the guy at the end?” She quickly amended when she saw me freeze up.

Sighing, I nodded. I knew this conversation was inevitable. She had dug up an old podcast from our early years when I thought I might change my tune and let the couple stay together in the end. I remembered those days. I had spent my whole life up until my senior year of college believing the heroine in stories was silly for falling in love and potentially sacrificing something for a four-letter word. I’d seen it in my parents, in my past relationships, in the media, basically everywhere. I – and therefore the women I write in my stories – would fall in love with themselves.

I was wrong. I fell in love. But I was also right, I shouldn’t have sacrificed anything for a silly word. Yet, that was also wrong too. The love I had was a sometimes love. It was great when it was, but it wasn’t meant to last forever. It gave me the beautiful 12 year old looking at me expediently from across the room, her usual phone set face down on the couch instead of in her phone. It gave me a whirlwind romance of ups and downs for 15 years. One I think about often, one I wonder “what if” about constantly. One that ultimately was better temporarily than forever.

From an early age, I had accepted the fact that not everyone feels like they deserve an epic love. I was fine with the concept of love, but that fairytale love? That wasn’t for me. I didn’t want the drama – the heartbreak. At least I thought so. At least until I met Emmeline’s father.

“Sure, Emme. I can tell you our story.”

The First Words

It began at school. I was reading, of course. It was a particularly juicy part of the book and I quickly looked around to make sure no one had noticed the flush that was surely making its way across my face. I thought I was in the clear until I heard a chuckle.

“Page 73?” the voice said.

How did he know? If my face wasn’t red already, it sure was now. I nodded.

 “My sister read that book last week and her face looked exactly the same way as yours does now. She told me, in graphic detail, all about page 73. It’s funny how words like ‘manhood’ can make a woman blush. No one goes around saying things like ‘manhood’ or ‘throbbing’ and yet, here they are making modern-day women go red in the face. Hi, I’m Jake.”

Like they do in the books, I froze. Completely unable to say anything other than a mix of garbled sounds that were supposed to be, “hi”, I just stared and nodded as if this was an appropriate response. He laughed and began packing up his things. Desperate to at least try to conjure up an audible word, I cleared my throat.

“In case you were wondering, page 73 isn’t even the most graphic part. Wait until page 123,” he added.

“Oh, you read it?”

“Yes, but only because my sister forced me to. She usually has great taste in books. This one was not one of her usual picks.”

“Did you like it? Should I keep reading?” I asked knowing full well I didn’t have it in me to ever not finish a book.

“Sure, what’s not to like about throbbing manhoods?”

If I could have pulled out my camera and taken a picture of Jake’s face I would have. No one can casually say manhood that many times and look as unfazed as he did.

Looking back on our relationship, I think this was the moment that I knew Jake would have a place in my heart forever. I’d read enough love stories to know that moments like these when your heart flutters a little differently - like it is trying to signal to you that you should listen - are the moments that oftentimes become some of your favorite memories. I have always dreamed of a love that made others jealous and the look on Jake’s face in that moment was one that made my heart flutter.

Not wanting to risk anything, I jumped headfirst. “We should grab a cup of coffee and compare notes once I’m done reading. I’d love to hear more about your thoughts on manhoods. Oh, and I’m Blair.”

The First Coffee

It had been a week, and I was still on a high having given Jake my cellphone number which he scribbled down on a dirty napkin since he liked to have keepsakes from “great moments”. 

We were talking every night, but neither of us had yet to bring up actually grabbing that coffee. I admit I was starting to worry this relationship I had built up in my head wouldn’t leave the chat, but I hadn’t completely given up hope yet.

At first, we talked about nothing, and then eventually everything. Conversations started with books and turned into how words had the power to absolutely destroy you. I told him my dream was to be a writer and that, in my books, the heroine wouldn’t end up with the guy, but she would find herself and that was better than being in love. He countered saying he would write a book where the heroine was actually from Mars and that’s why she couldn’t allow herself to be in love.

This would turn into a constant argument. Where Jake would insist “couldn’t” and I would insist “wouldn’t”.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Like in the books, it gets better before it gets worse. A few times actually.

B, though I thoroughly enjoy our texting banter, I do believe you gave me your number under the rouse of getting coffee. Jake texted.

Oh, so you only accepted my number for coffee? I joked back. I was a lot funnier on text.

I accepted the number of a beautiful girl who blushed at manhoods and then promised me coffee. The trifecta was hard to pass up.

A second text popped up a minute later: Coffee, you + me – tomorrow at 12. See you at Beanz.

See you there. I replied back instantly before I could change my mind.

Naturally, I spent all night prepping for the coffee date. I shaved every inch of myself, whitened my teeth, tweezed and plucked at non-existent stay eyebrow hairs, and did every kind of mask from hair to feet because you never know where a cup of coffee could lead. I had read enough romance novels to know coffee was basically what you did as a precursor to sex. It made the hookup less cliché than a drunken one-night-stand, because coffee was more intellectual than beer.

I also didn’t sleep as I played every possible scenario in my head. I envisioned 15 years into the future where I was a best-selling author, we had 3 beautiful children, a large house plus one up in Maine on the lake. We had a family so beautiful people would look at us and say they are so lucky.

The last thing I remember thinking about before I fell asleep, was a world where we didn’t end up together.

I didn’t realize that would ever come true. I often wonder if I should have taken this hint from my subconscious instead of chalking it up to just a passing thought.

The day of the date arrived. I got there right one time after forcing myself to wait in my car instead of being 20 minutes early. My heart stopped when I saw Jake sitting at a table with three coffee cups on the table.

“I wasn’t sure if you preferred hot or cold coffee, so I got you both,” he said proudly. “I thought since you were an aspiring writer, you probably were traditional and liked a simple drip coffee. But then I thought, you were too cool to be a cliché, so I got you some kind of fancy iced girly drink.”

I was definitely cliché enough to drink the boring drip coffee, but for some reason, I grabbed the iced girly drink even though I knew it would upset my stomach.

“Sorry, it’s watered down a bit. I may or may not have gotten here an hour ago because I wanted to make sure I could secure a good seat.” He added.

“A whole hour early? That’s impressive. I sat in my car for twenty minutes before coming in and thought that was bad.” I admitted.

“Only the best for you, B.” After a moment, he added, “So now what?”

We eased into conversation as easily as we did over text. It started generally with, what are your plans for the day, and then into, when do you plan on releasing your first novel, and the dreaded, can I read your work?

Like most personal things, I am shy about my writing. It was my escape – where I went to hide from the hard parts of life. My writing was vulnerable and oftentimes taken directly from things in my life. There was no way a man I’d only known for a week would ever read my inner secrets spilled across pages.

“I’m writing a love story, but one where the girl learns to fall in love with herself,” I said even though in my head I thought I was going to say fuck off.

“As opposed to the girl falling in love with a boy and herself?” He questioned.

“Yes, there is a boy and he’s important to her, but everyone writes about love. I want to write about loving yourself. I think more people need to learn how to do that and stop depending on having other people in their lives to love.”

“That’s low-key morbid B. Everyone loves a good love story. Especially ones that contain throbbing manhoods.”

“I knew you couldn’t go a whole conversation without bringing up manhoods. You have an obsession you know.”

He looked at me like he knew my feeble attempt at humor was meant to steer the subject away from what I already knew was becoming a sore subject.

“You know, you can love yourself and someone else too, B.”

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. Possibly needing an excuse to break the tension he picked it up and looked at me as if to ask my permission if he could answer the phone.

“You can answer that, I have to pee anyways,” I said as I got up from the table wondering if I ruined the possible relationship before it even started.

I shook myself from my thoughts as I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror.

Snap out of it Blair. You can do this. You are allowed to have a good time on the date. It’s just a date, not a marriage proposal. Just breathe and stop being so defensive. He’s beautiful and makes you laugh already. See this through! You deserve it.  

After finishing my pep talk, I washed my hands and headed back out. Jake was off his call but still staring at his phone. My heart started to thump, singing you, it’s you. Almost as if he could hear it, he looked up and smiled as he stood.

“That was my sister. She needs me.”

Seeing my face drop, he quickly added, “Want to come with me?”

Yes, yes I did.  

Thanks for reading! If you like this, leave a comment! I’ll be back with more as I keep writing! Make sure you subscribe so you get notified when the next parts come out!

XOXO, KT