Eventually, Drew and I arrive in New York City.  I can’t help but notice that the guy has on a nice, new button-up shirt (later on, he admits that he had bought it with me in mind, hoping I would like it).  I can’t help but notice he looks good in it.  I can’t help but notice that his eyes are still wide-set and blue, the same kindness in them that I had fallen in love with before.  He is the same, I am the same, but we are different.  And I can feel the difference in the guarded way he looks at me, the space he is careful to leave between us.  

     But, it is difficult not to be close in our interaction.  We’ve been there before; we know the way all too well.  I find myself talking, teasing, drawing him out.  He is reciprocating and we are both having fun.  I am smiling and laughing, and I can feel him walking a little closer to me, not pulling back if our shoulders happen to brush.  If I am being honest, I like it.  I am liking him, a little.  But really, I tell myself, Who has the time to sit and think all this out?  Sometimes, it’s better not to think…

    There’s this picture in my parents’ house that captures that time (at least, it used to be.  It might not have survived the great Jessica-picture-downsizing from the photograph wall after a certain family member complained of the unbalanced Jessica-to-sibling-ratio of pictures displayed there).  It is of me and Drew smiling, on that day in a small cafe in New York.  A friend spontaneously asked us to pose for a photo, and poor Drew hesitated.  I, however, moved in quickly–putting my cheek right next to his so that we were touching right as the camera flashed.  You can see the awkwardness of the moment in our shoulders, though; it would have been more comfortable to just let them touch, but not knowing how to be with me, Drew barely moved and so there is room between us.  Telling, awkward room between us, with our smiling faces pushed together.  

     Like I said, I am having fun.  And I think Drew is, too.  But, that night he has to go ruin this carefree time with a serious talk.  Oh shoot, I was really enjoying this whole not thinking thing…But, if we have to, I guess.  Drew starts in, Jess, it’s really hard for me–you flirting with me and being close to me.  Always quick to point out that I am not the only one at fault, I shoot back with, Well, you are flirting with me, too! Very mature, I realize this. Then he calmly and deliberately says, The difference is, I mean it. 

  Oh. Now, I have to start thinking. Really thinking…Do I mean it?  And honestly, at that moment, I don’t know.  I am bereft of any words for him.  So, he continues, Please tell me why we are not together right now. I look at him incredulously as I say, You know why. I mean, I’ve told you a good amount of times…Or at least once, I’ve told you once…Right? No, Drew answers, but without any accusation or anger in his voice, as if it was my right to simply break up with him without telling him why; as if most people wouldn’t have demanded to know months ago.  

   The thing is, I honestly had thought I had told him.  I certainly told enough other people.  I thought I told him that it scared me how he wasn’t perfect and didn’t have a full-proof plan for his life.  That the depression he had fallen into (which was surprising, because I know now that Drew is not easily depressed) was too much for me, which I know sounds mean and unfeeling, but I am sorry, it’s the truth.  There were little things that bothered me, and rather than tell him about it and risk hurting his feelings–I just looked for the quickest exit.  And breaking-up was what I found. 

  I look at him and quietly say, You really want to know why I broke up with you? I mean, really? Every little thing?  Yeah, he says, please, he adds. I take a deep breath and talk for a long time.  I am not afraid of hurting him; I have already done that to a greater degree than my honesty now could ever do.  He is not defensive, but just listens.  And finally, when I am done, when I have racked my brain for every thing–little or big–that bothered me and laid it out for him to understand in no uncertain terms, he says a mere, Okay. Um, Okay?  Is that it, I think?  But it’s not it.  He goes on to say, I can see how those things could scare you or bother you.  But, I also need you to understand that you are never going to find somebody who is perfect.  Having said that, I need you to know that I am willing to work on everything.  I am not done. I want to change, mature, realize my potential, figure out where I am going in life…

    Oh, I think.  He asks me if I am starting to like him again, because it feels a little that way.  I say I am, a little.  But then I get very serious and say, I am a very dangerous person.  I will hurt you.  I could change my mind again. I could decide tomorrow that I don’t like you at all.  I need you to know this.  He gets the sounds of a smile in his voice as he says, You are a dangerous person (I am not sure, but he may have been picturing me as a ninja, or something–a truly dangerous person)? Jess, I of all people, know this.  You’ve hurt me more than anybody else.  But, you have also made me happier than anybody else.  And sure, it’s true that you could change your mind tomorrow–but do you always want to be that way? Do you always want to have a fickle heart?  It could be nice to someday decide something is worth sticking with.  

   Well, I had to admit that sounded logical.  I didn’t always want to be fickle–that actually is not so nice and very hard when it comes to planning ahead.  We didn’t really settle on anything that night, other than the truth finally being told.  And maybe that he loved me and I liked him again. A little.  

   I get home from New York a few weeks later, and I know that I miss him.  I want to spend time with him, maybe even start dating him again.  So, I call him and ask if he wants to see a movie with me that night.  

    Sure, he says, What did you have in mind?  

        

         

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