Page 42 of Forever Mine
“Go for it.”
“I don’t like her.”
“Who?”
“Old Elizabeth. That girl y’all keep saying is me. From everything I’ve learned and from all the stories Ryder and Julien have told me, old me was a prissy know-it-all who wanted twoguys but could never make up her damn mind. As much as I want to remember, I don’t want to be that person again.”
What she says doesn’t sit well with me. Liz had her flaws, but don’t we all? No one is perfect. We make mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them. It’s a hard lesson to master, as more often than not, we will repeat the same mistake again and again and again. I’ve had a few of those mistakes in my life. So, in a way, we’re all crazy. Paraphrasing Albert Einstein,insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results.
Referring to my own experiences, I tell her, “You can’t help who you love. Your heart wants what it wants. The only advice I can give you is to be honest with how you feel. That’s something Old Elizabeth was too scared to do because her heart was so fucking big, she was terrified to disappoint the people she loved. Live no one else’s life but your own. If they don’t like it, fuck ’em.”
It hits me how true that still is for me as well.
“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” Liz whispers.
When I returnto the condo, Julien is sitting on the floor in the dark near the door, waiting for me.
I look at the man I love with all my heart. The man I want to marry and spend the rest of my life with.
“How mad are you?”
“I’m not mad,” I reply.
He grabs the hand I offer, and I help pull him to his feet. Neither of us moves. We just exist in that quiet moment together, our hearts and souls tethered by unbreakable bonds that have been tested but have never broken.
He caresses a hand down my face, and I kiss the callus of his thumb when he sweeps it across my lips.
“Still want that grilled cheese?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Silently, we pad through the darkness and into the kitchen. Julien turns on the lights under the range hood before raiding the refrigerator for cheese and butter, while I get the large frying pan from the drawer under the oven. I grab the loaf of bread and take out four slices.
Working together, he hands me the carton of spreadable butter, and I use a butter knife to slather a thin layer on each side of the bread. Turning the gas knob to medium, he drops the bread onto the pan and dumps shredded sharp cheddar cheese onto two pieces, then adds a slice of Swiss to each.
“You can tell the merit of man by the way he remembers how to make your grilled cheese sandwich.”
Julien grins. Using a spatula like a press, he flattens my sandwich, smushing it down until cheese oozes out, just the way I like it. The pressure also helps put a good char on the bread, toasting the butter to a dark, caramelized brown.
“I thought MLK said the measure of a man was determined by his character and by how he stands at times of controversy and challenges. Good to know it all comes down to Swiss cheese.”
He flips the sandwiches over to toast the other sides.
“Swiss cheese is the path to world peace.”
His snort of amusement makes me smile.
“I’m going to miss this,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder as I watch him cook.
I’ve loved every second of our cohabitation, but moving in together full time is something for us down the line. College is a fleeting blip on the path of life, just four short years of being awide-eyed undergrad, and I want at least another year of being a regular college guy living in the dorms with everyone else.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he replies.
Shutting off the gas, Julien transfers the sandwiches from the pan to the plate. Not caring if I burn my fingers, I grab mine and tear it in half right down the middle, waiting for the stretched strands of gooey cheese to cool before I eat them.
“I went to see Liz.”
He rips off a corner of his sandwich and blows on it. “I figured that was where you’d go.”
