I Belong With You

by Ashelyn Drake

  Sasha nods again. “That makes sense. I think you’re a good guy, David. A really good guy. If I weren’t still convinced you feel more for her than you’re willing to tell me, I’d probably ask you to dinner sometime.” She turns and starts walking out, but she pauses and puts her hand on the doorframe. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I never feed the rumor mill. And since you haven’t confirmed anything, I can’t be sure of anything, right?” She winks at me and walks out.

  Was I becoming Nate? Am I openly gawking at Emily the way he did with Aria? Maybe I need to date someone to get my mind off Emily. I could take Emily’s approach with that guy she’s seeing. Be upfront and tell the woman I’m not looking for anything serious. The problem is when a man says that, he’s a pig who is only looking for sex. Only women can get away with that line. And that’s exactly what it would be for me—a line. I’m not the type to date around. I really did think that elderly couple at the golf course was sweet. I want that some day. I want to grow old with someone, share a life with her. The problem is, every time I picture that happening, it’s with Emily.

  The pizza deliveryman knocks on the door at exactly seven o’clock. “Thirty minutes, as promised,” I tell Emily. “Told you they’re never late.” I get up and answer the door. Emily follows me with her wallet, but I already have the money in my pocket and I’m not letting her pay this time. This whole split-the-bill-every-time thing is getting old very quickly. I open the door and hand the delivery guy a twenty.

  “Keep the change,” I tell him, recognizing him as the same guy who always delivers to me. Last time he was here he looked exhausted and told me his wife just had a baby. I can’t imagine he makes much as a pizza deliveryman, so I don’t mind tipping him a little extra to help him out.

  “Thanks, man.” He opens the hot box they use to keep the pies warm. “I threw in some garlic knots for you, too,” he says with a smile.

  “You’re the best, T.J.,” I say, taking the pizza and paper bag on top of it.

  T.J. gives me a nod before walking away.

  “You know him?” Emily asks when I shut the door.

  I shrug, carrying the pizza to the kitchen. I grab a few paper plates from the cabinet and place a slice on each. “Garlic knots?” I ask, opening the bag to retrieve the container.

  “Sure, and I owe you six dollars and fifty cents.”

  “You can get the pizza next time,” I tell her. I carry my plate and the garlic knots to the coffee table.

  “You want an Amstel Light?” she asks from the kitchen.

  “Sure.” I sit down and open my laptop, but I don’t check my email for the column topic yet. I want to get some food in me first.

  Emily walks to the living room with her plate in one hand and two Amstels in the other. She also has a stack of napkins under the plate. “Thought we’d need these,” she says, placing them on the table between us.

  “Thanks.” We eat in uncomfortable silence. I polish off three slices and half the garlic knots before I wipe my hands clean and open my email.

  “You were hungry,” Emily says. She only ate one slice and two garlic knots. I’m sure because I wouldn’t let her pay for half.

  “I skipped lunch today. Things were too crazy at the office to take a break.”

  “Tell me about it. I only managed to eat a granola bar while I was running around.”

  I motion to her plate. “Then you should probably have another slice. Don’t be bashful. It’s never as good reheated anyway.”

  “Ah, but it is good cold for breakfast,” she says.

  “I only ate it that way once, and it was when I woke up with a hangover. Pizza was the only food that didn’t make me feel like throwing up everything I drank the night before.”

  “Been there,” she says, getting up and heading to the kitchen. “So what’s our column topic this time?”

  I read the email Aria sent me aloud. “‘Dear Emily and David.’” I pause because I like the ring that has. Emily and David just sound good together.

  Emily returns to the living room and sits, placing her pizza on the coffee table. “Short letter,” she teases.

  “Sorry, I think I’m in a food coma. I zoned out for a moment.” I focus on the email again. “‘I’ve been dating this guy for about a month now, but he isn’t ready to commit. I really like him, and the idea of him being with another woman is driving me crazy. I don’t want to be the jealous, possessive type, but I can see a future with this man. The question is: Can he see one with me? I’m afraid to have the talk with him because it’s so early in the relationship, which I guess isn’t even really a relationship if he’s seeing other women, is it? What should I do? Sincerely, Looking for a Commitment.’”

  “Wow,” Emily says.

  “Wow” is right. This letter hits a little too close to home. “Do you want to respond first?” I ask, wanting to know how she’ll respond. I get the feeling she’s afraid of commitment, too. Or maybe she’s only that way because she hasn’t found the right guy yet. But if it wasn’t me and it’s not that celebrity lookalike, then what is her perfect guy like?

  “No, you go first. I need to think about this one a bit.”

  “Same here. Want to think out loud? Bounce ideas off each other?” I ask, sitting back on the couch and turning so I’m facing her.

  Her face pales, like she’s horrified by the idea.

  “Or not,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s just that I don’t know where to begin. I mean, how old is this woman? How old is the man? Age can factor into whether or not a person is looking for a serious commitment.”

  Even though Emily and I are only a few years apart in age, she seems to be stuck in that college mentality that relationships don’t last. I wish I knew why. She’s committed to her career, so obviously commitment in general doesn’t scare her.

  “What’s the right age to start looking for a potential...?” I’m not sure what word to use that won’t send her running.

  “Please don’t say ‘mate.’ I hate that word.” She shudders.

  I hold my hands up in front of me. “I wasn’t going to. That’s always sounded horrible to me, too. Like the only purpose of a relationship is to procreate.” I’m not looking to settle down and have kids anytime soon, but I would love to find someone to wake up to every day. There’s a big difference.

  “Yeah, I’d say the age for that kind of thinking is much older.” She tugs on the ends of her hair, making me wonder if she’s trying to avoid my eyes.

  “So what’s the age for committing to a relationship without the promise of procreating?” I ask, not ready to let this topic go yet, even if it is visibly making her uncomfortable.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s probably different for everyone, but I’d say a few years after graduating from college—if that’s the route the person takes. You should be settled into a job and know who you are first. And what you want in life.”

  “Go on,” I say, glad she’s finally opening up.

  “Too many people think they know what they want, but when you’re young, it’s hard to be sure. Look how many relationships end in bitter fights or divorces. Or both.” Her voice lowers when she mentions divorce.

  “Are your parents divorced?” I ask.

  She nods. “And my grandparents. And both sets of my aunts and uncles. Sometimes I think human beings aren’t capable of committing to anyone but themselves.”

  “That’s sad,” I say. “It makes it sound like people are all too self-centered to really care about anyone else.” If that’s really how she feels, she’ll wind up alone for the rest of her life.

  “Maybe they are. I certainly don’t have any examples of lasting relationships.”

  “So you don’t think people should even try?” I ask.

  “Not necessarily. My former roommate is getting married, and I’m happy for her. I’m worried for her too, though. I hope she realizes the risks she’s taking. I mean, you plan this big fancy wedding, spend t
housands of dollars, and then in a few years, you divorce and find out it was all for nothing.”

  “Not all risks wind up as failures. Look at you. Monohan took a risk by hiring you as an editor so early on in your newspaper career. And you’re doing fantastic. You have a column and everything. That was a good risk to take. In fact, I wouldn’t even call it a risk. It’s more like a leap of faith.”

  She doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I hope she’s contemplating what I said. She eats the rest of her pizza, and I drink my beer in silence. I don’t know how else to make my point. She has to come to the conclusion on her own. I can’t force her hand. I pick up the laptop and open a blank document. I tap the keys, contemplating my response.

  Dear Looking for a Commitment,

  The only certainty in life is that nothing will happen if you don’t try. You can continue to date this man and hope that he realizes what he has with you and makes that leap of faith to give you two a real shot. Or you can talk to him, tell him how you feel, and see if he feels the same way. He might be waiting for you to make the first move. He might assume you’re dating other men. You can’t be sure until you talk to him. So be brave and go after what you want. And if it doesn’t work out, then it wasn’t meant to be, and at least you’ll be able to move on.

  David

  When I finish I reread it. I can’t think of anything else to say, so I hand the laptop to Emily. After she reads what I wrote, she doesn’t immediately start typing like she did last time. Instead, she hands the laptop to me and stands up.

  “I can’t do this right now,” she says before rushing to her room.

  I stare after her. So much for getting her to open up to me. This column might be the thing that drives the final wedge between us.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Emily

  I spend the entire night pacing my room. I don’t sleep at all. I can’t. My mind won’t stop focusing on that damn letter. Why did that have to be our first real topic? Why did it have to be about commitment? The way David was looking at me... It was like he wanted me to explain why I broke up with him. In all the time since we split up, he never asked me for an explanation. I assumed he understood how I felt. But now it seems like he was trying to psychoanalyze me.

  I hear his alarm go off at six o’clock. It’s one of those annoying beeping alarms. Personally, I hate them. Who wants to jump out of bed in the morning just to make that annoying sound stop? I have my phone set to play a soothing melody to wake me. Not that I need it today or that I’d find it soothing. I pick it up to silence it, and then I text Aria.

  Emily: I’ve been up all night and feel awful. I know our column is due today, but with everything going on, I’m not going to be able to make the deadline. I’m sorry.

  I send it and wait for her response. I’m not lying when I say I feel awful, though I’m sure she’ll interpret it as me being sick, and I’m fine with that.

  A minute later, her response comes through.

  Aria: Don’t worry about it. We don’t have to start the column this week. You’ve had a crazy past few days. I’m not surprised you’re run-down from it. Stay home and get some rest.

  Her understanding makes me feel worse. At least I don’t have to write that column today, though. There’s no way I’m up for it. I get in bed and try to close my eyes now that I don’t have a deadline looming over me.

  I wake up an hour later when there’s a soft knock on my door.

  “Emily, are you up?” David calls.

  I debate telling him I’m not going into the office today, but that would lead to a conversation about our column, which he has no idea won’t appear in this week’s paper. It’s better to let Aria tell him when he gets to work. I remain silent, pretending to be asleep.

  “Emily?” he calls again. When I don’t answer, he texts me.

  David: Tried to wake you. Didn’t want to barge into your room, though. Hope you’re okay.

  Thankfully, my phone is still set on silent, which is what I do every night so I don’t get notifications disrupting my sleep. His message only makes me feel worse because he’s such a sweet guy. Maybe I should ask Nate and Aria to set him up with someone. He deserves to be happy.

  The apartment door closes with a click, and I flop back against my pillow. Avoiding someone I live with is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Second only to breaking up with David. I force my eyes shut and sleep away the morning because I’m not ready to face the day yet.

  At noon, I’m awake, showered, and heading out for a walk to clear my head. It’s sunny, and even with my sunglasses on, I find myself squinting. I stick to the sidewalks, merging with the crowd. The heart of Priority is always insanely busy at lunchtime. People are hurrying about, trying to catch up with friends and colleagues on their allotted sixty-minute lunches. I head for the corner café on Main Street. They have outdoor seating and great food. I sit down at an open table and wait for a waiter to approach me.

  “Emily?” I hear behind me.

  I turn to see Sebastian. “Oh, hey,” I say, not bothering to get up to greet him.

  “I thought that was you,” he says, approaching the table. “Are you on your lunch break?”

  “Actually, I’m playing hooky today. It’s been a busy week, and I needed a mental health day.” I raised my hand, shielding my eyes from the sun, which is directly behind Sebastian.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” he asks. “I have about thirty minutes before I have to be back at the office.” Sebastian works for a pharmaceutical company on this street. He told me about it on our date.

  “Sure. Be my guest. I hate eating alone anyway.” I motion to the seat across from me, and he slips into it.

  “Thanks.” He crosses his arms on the table. “So, how have you been? We haven’t talked all week.”

  I was supposed to call him, but after seeing him with that other woman on Sunday, I decided not to. “Like I said, it was a busy week. I got my own column at work,” I say, but my excitement fades almost instantly. “Well, I’m coauthoring it with one of my colleagues.”

  “Still, that’s huge. Congratulations. You mentioned you wanted to write a column one day.”

  “Yeah, it happened a lot sooner than I expected.”

  He smiles. “You’re moving up quickly.”

  The waiter approaches us with menus. “Can I get you two something to drink while you look over the menu?”

  “Actually, I only have a half hour, and I already know what I want,” Sebastian says. “I’ll have an unsweetened iced tea and the roast beef on rye. Oh, and Swiss cheese on that, please.”

  I cringe at the mention of Swiss cheese. Never was a fan of the sour-tasting cheese.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to rush you,” Sebastian says, misreading the look on my face.

  “No problem. I completely understand.” I look at the waiter. “I’ll have the same, but I’ll take American instead of Swiss.” I hand him my menu.

  “I’ll be right back with your drinks,” the waiter says.

  “Ah, not a Swiss cheese fan,” Sebastian says.

  “Not in the least bit. You can have it all.”

  Sebastian laughs. “You know, I think it’s better when two people have different tastes. There’s no fighting over food. My last girlfriend loved Swiss cheese. She used to steal mine off my sandwiches when I wasn’t looking. I hated that.”

  “That was pretty bold of her.”

  “Yeah, she didn’t last long. I’m a man who loves his food.”

  “And mini golf,” I say, instantly regretting it. Why did I bring that up? Now he knows I saw him with that woman.

  “Mini golf? Did you go mini golfing last weekend?”

  The waiter returns with our iced teas, and I immediately sip mine to buy more time. “You mentioned it at the bar when we met.” I scrunch my face up as if in thought. “Or maybe that was my roommate.” I shrug like it makes no difference.

  He sips his drink and drops the subject. “Do you have plans f
or this weekend?”

  “Hadn’t really given it much thought yet.” I do need to get out of the apartment, though. “You?”

  “I was thinking of heading to Last Call tonight. You game?”

  Why not? He’s not serious about me, so there’s no chance I’ll hurt him. “Sure. Meet you around eight?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  The waiter brings our sandwiches. “Here you are. We’re out of coleslaw, so I hope you’re both okay with potato salad,” he says. “I brought you extra pickles, too.”

  “Thanks,” I say, eyeing up the German potato salad, which happens to be my favorite.

  Once the waiter leaves, Sebastian says, “Ugh, I hate German potato salad.”

  “Trade you for my pickles,” I offer. “My mom used to make the best German potato salad when I was growing up. I miss it. I’ll be happy to take yours to go and eat it this weekend.”

  “By all means, go right ahead.” He picks up his plate, tilts it over mine, and forks the potato salad onto my plate. When he’s finished, I do the same with my pickles.

  “See, I told you it was good to be opposites,” he says. “We both win.”

  We eat our lunches, and after getting a to-go box for my potato salad and splitting the check, we walk out onto the sidewalk.

  “Well, I’m this way,” he says, motioning in the direction of his office.

  “And I have to head home and get this in the refrigerator. I guess I’ll see you tonight?”

  He cups my elbow and leans in to kiss me lightly on the lips. He smells like pickles, and while I like pickles, I don’t really want to kiss someone who was just eating them. I pull away quickly and say, “Bye.” I turn and walk off down the sidewalk.

  As much as I want to like Sebastian, something about him makes me pull away each time I’m with him. I just wish I knew what it was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  David

  When I get home from work, Emily is gone. I put in extra hours, helping Aria get the paper ready to go to print. Despite what she apparently told Emily when they texted this morning, she had layout allocate a spot for our column, which left the opinion section with a big gaping hole in the issue. I volunteered to write a piece to fill the space. It took everything inside me not to call Emily and ask where she was. I wasn’t buying that she was sick or that she was sleeping when I knocked on her door. She hasn’t even bothered to text me back from this morning. It’s clear she’s avoiding me, and I know why. I’m the reason she can’t write her half of our column. She doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. It makes me feel pathetic, and I can’t stand that.