Maybe Someday (Maybe #1)(88)

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 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.

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 motion 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 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 communicate 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

I have no idea what to expect from the words he’s just written, but as soon as he hands me the paper I begin to soak every sentence up as quickly as my eyes can scan them. The fact that a barrier exists in the way we communicate makes every word I receive from him, in whatever form, something I feel the need to consume as quickly as possible.

I don’t know if I’m actually more aware of my own heartbeat than other people are of theirs, but I tend to believe I am. The fact that I can’t hear the world around me leaves me to focus more on the world inside me. Brennan told me the only time he’s aware of his own heartbeat is when it’s quiet and he’s being still. That’s not the case for me, because it’s always quiet in my world. I’m always aware of my heartbeat. Always. I know its pattern. I know its rhythm. I know what makes it speed up and slow down, and I even know when to expect that. Sometimes I feel my heart react before my brain has the chance to. The reactions of my heart have always been something I was able to predict . . . until a few months ago.

The first night you walked out onto your balcony was the first night I noticed the change. It was subtle, but it was there. Just an extra little skip. I brushed it off because I didn’t want to think it had anything to do with you. I liked how loyal my heart was to Maggie, and I didn’t want my loyalty to her to change.

But then, the first time I saw you singing along to one of my songs, it happened again. Only that time, it was more obvious. It would speed up a little faster every time I saw your lips moving. It would start beating in places I never felt my heart beat before. That first night I saw you singing, I had to get up and go inside to finish playing, because I didn’t like how you made my heart feel. For the first time, I felt as though I had absolutely no control over it, and that made me feel horrible.

The first time I walked out of my bedroom to find you standing in my apartment, soaking wet from the rain—my God, I didn’t know hearts could beat like that. I knew my heart like the back of my hand, and nothing had ever made it react like you did. I put the blankets on the couch for you as quickly as I could, pointed you in the direction of the bathroom, and immediately went back to my bedroom. I’ll spare you the details of what I had to do while you were in my shower in order to calm myself down after seeing you up close for the first time.

My physical reaction to you didn’t worry me. Physical reactions are normal, and at that point, my heart still belonged to Maggie. My heartbeats were all for Maggie. They always had been, but the more time I spent with you, the more you started to unintentionally infiltrate and steal some of those heartbeats. I did everything I could to prevent it from happening. For a while, I convinced myself that I was stronger than my heart, which is why I allowed you to stay. I thought what I felt for you was nothing but attraction and that if I let myself have you in my fantasies enough, that would suffice in reality. However, I soon realized that the way I fantasized about you wasn’t at all how guys normally fantasize about girls they’re attracted to. I didn’t imagine myself stealing kisses from you when no one was around. I didn’t imagine myself sliding into your bed in the middle of the night and doing to you all the things we both wished I would do. Instead, I was imagining what it would feel like if you fell asleep in my arms. I was imagining what it would feel like to wake up next to you in the morning. I was imagining your smiles and your laughter and even how good it would feel to be able to comfort you when you cried.