Maybe Someday(112)

The way it cares is beautiful.

The way it loves is beautiful.

He presses his lips to the top of my head.

I close my eyes . . . and I cry.

Ridge

I hold her against me for so long I’m not even

sure if she’s awake. I still have so much I want to

say to her, but I don’t want to move. I love the

way she feels when we’re wrapped together like

this. I’m afraid if I move, she’ll come to her

senses again and ask me to leave.

It’s barely been three weeks since Maggie and

I broke up. When Sydney asked if I’d take Mag-

gie back, I didn’t answer, but only because I

know she wouldn’t believe my answer.

I love Maggie, but I honestly don’t think Mag-

gie and I are best for each other anymore. I know

exactly where we went wrong. The beginning of

our relationship was romantic to the point where

it was almost fictionalized. We were nineteen

years old. We barely knew each other. The way

we waited for an entire year only built up

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feelings that weren’t based on anything except

false hopes and idealized love.

By the time Maggie and I were finally able to

be together, I think we were more in love with

the idea of us, rather than with the actual us. Of

course, I loved her. I still love her. But until I met Sydney, I had no idea how much my love for

Maggie was built up from my desire to swoop in

and save her.

Maggie was right. I’ve done nothing for the

past five years but try to be the hero who protects

her. The problem? Heroines don’t need

protecting.

When Sydney put me on the spot earlier, I

wanted to tell her no, that I wouldn’t take Maggie

back. When she said she was terrified that I was

wishing she were Maggie, I wanted to grab hold

of her and prove to her how I’ve never, not once,

wished I were anywhere else when I’m with her.

I wanted to tell her the only regret I have is not

realizing sooner which one of them I was better

for. Which girl I made more sense with. Which

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girl I grew to love in a realistic, natural way, not

in an idealized sense.

I didn’t say anything because I’m terrified she

won’t understand. I’ve chosen Maggie over her

time and time again, and it’s my own fault that

I’ve put doubt into Sydney’s head. And even

though I know that the scenario she’s painting

could never happen because Maggie and I both

accept that it’s over, I’m not so sure I wouldn’t take Maggie back. However, my decision

wouldn’t be because I want to be with Maggie

more. It wouldn’t even be because I love Maggie

more. But how do I possibly convince Sydney of

that when it’s hard for me to comprehend?

I don’t want Sydney ever to feel like my

second choice, when I know in my heart that

she’s the right choice. The only choice.

I keep my arm around her, and I pick up my

phone. She lifts her head and rests her chin on

my chest, looking up at me. I hand her back her

phone, and she takes it, then turns away from me

and presses her ear against my heart again.

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Me: Do you want to know why I needed

you to listen to me?

She doesn’t respond with a text. She just nods

her head yes, remaining pressed against my

chest. One of her hands is slowly tracing up and

down from my waist to my arm. The feel of her

hands against my skin is something I never want

to become a memory. I lower my left hand to the

back of her head and stroke her hair.

Me: It’s kind of a long explanation. Do you

have a notebook I can write in?

She nods and slides off me. She reaches into

her nightstand and takes out a notebook and a

pen. I readjust myself against her headboard. She

hands me the notebook but doesn’t move closer

to me. I grab her wrist and part my legs, then mo-

tion for her to lie against me while I write. She

crawls toward me and wraps her arms around my

waist, pressing her ear to my heart again. I put

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my arms around her and prop the notebook on

my knee, resting my cheek on top of her head.

I wish there was an easier way for us to com-

municate so all the things I have to say to her

could be instant. I wish I could look into her eyes

and tell her exactly how I feel and what’s on my

mind, but I can’t, and I hate that for us. Instead, I lay my heart out on paper. She remains still

against my chest while I take almost fifteen

minutes to gather my thoughts and get them all

down for her. When I’m finished, I hand her the

notebook. She readjusts herself until her back is

pressed against my chest. I keep my arms around

her and hold her while she reads the letter.

Sydney