Page 24 of Bad Decisions

“Absolutely, our need is greater.”

She walks in, and I shut the door before following her to the kitchen. Bags of goodies spill onto the counter in a colorful display.

“Red or white first?” she asks with her arms now empty, waving them in the air with a bottle still in each hand.

“Let’s start with white,” I say, while pulling a couple of glasses from the high cupboards and turning back to place them in front of her.

In a flurry of activity, she pours the wine and fills bowls with Cheetos, Doritos, and Kisses, while I make the popcorn in the microwave. It’s a well-rehearsed sequence of steps for our usual movie night, and while tonight wasn’t planned, it only takes us a few minutes to get organized. Together, we carry everything into my living room and cover the small round coffee table with an array of snacks.

“That right there is a food coma about to happen,” I say, while I pick up my wine and sit on one end of the sofa, pulling my knees up to my chest.

Cara takes the other end, facing me and folding her legs underneath. “Talk to me. The love doctor is in session.”

“I never said I was in love with him,” I complain.

“Oh, please. It’s so obvious you are.” She leans forward and grabs a handful of Cheetos Puffs, a sprinkle of orange dust landing on her sweater as she feeds them into her mouth one by one.

“But I never get to see him.” I hate the whiny tone of my voice and take a sip of my wine before continuing, “Maybe it’s just too hard, and this is how we should leave it. No dramatic pronouncements or painful breakup calls, just a natural dissolving.”

“What, like a conscious uncoupling?”

“Yes, but it’s more unconscious.”

She shakes her head vigorously, and more orange dust goes flying from her hand. “No, that’s a terrible idea. This is the first man in a long time to capture your attention, let alone your heart.”

It hurts that he’s slipping away from me. My chest squeezes like it’s caught in a cold metal vise. Maybe she’s right, and the feelings I have for Will are deeper than I imagined.

“Do you really think I’m in love with him?”

“Yes. You’re still talking about all the wonderful things he did for you in Southampton. You light up when you get a text from him. And you disappear into your head all the time, with this faraway look on your face like you’re remembering something amazing.”

“I do think about him a lot.” I stare down into my glass of wine like it’s a magical pool holding all the answers. “I’m not sure it’s love, but then I’ve never been in love, so what would I know?”

Memories of waking up in Will’s arms, feeling protected and cared for, fill my mind. Every moment with him was special, and I was so excited to relive some of that this weekend. Another stab of disappointment pierces my heart. Maybe I am falling in love with him, but I’ll never know if we don’t ever get to see each other. Long distance sucks.

A smile tips up the corners of my mouth. “I’m in lots of like with Will,” I admit to my friend. “And maybe when we finally get to spend more time together, that might turn into love. As soon as he’s back from this trip, I’m going to damn well go to DC to see him.”

“Good. Now that we’ve resolved that, let’s get a movie started.”

But before I can even get up to retrieve the TV remote, my cell buzzes with an incoming message. I flip it over on the cushion beside me to read the message.

“It’s Will,” I say breathlessly, more to myself than Cara.

Will: I’m really sorry again.

Three little dots bounce on the screen, then there’s more.

Will: I think I’ll be back in about a week, give or take. But I just don’t know yet, and where I’m going, I won’t be contactable.

My gut twists at the thought of losing somebody else I care about, slicing open the fresh scars on my slowly healing heart.

He never said his new job would be dangerous, but now it sounds like it could be.

With a mental shake, I brush aside the fear that has my pulse racing faster than it does when I watch a thriller movie. I’m being ridiculous. He probably can’t talk about the job because his client is a spoiled, rich celebrity, and they’re demanding that he set up security in their remote mountain hideaway. Or something like that; after all, that’s what he does in DC. Isn’t it?

Will: I shouldn’t be more than a week. Take care, beautiful.

I glance up at Cara, smiling. “He says he’ll be back in a week.” My fingers fly over the screen, replying.