Page 64 of Lessons in Lemonade

She doesn’t get it.

She doesn’t get me.

And it’s clear she doesn’t want to.

There’s no point in continuing this conversation. I’ve heard enough of what she has to say on the matters of my mood and my career. I expected our conversation this afternoon to come to a head where we were frank with each other, but I didn’t expect this, and my anger transforms back into hurt.

Pushing past her, I move down the hall and head to my room. Honestly, I don’t know which is worse right now: the way she made me feel this morning, or the way she’s making me feel right now.

A startled noise escapes her; she’s followed me and is taking in the changes to my room. I turn to watch her as her eyes trail over the empty closet, the sheets that have been pulled into a pile to be washed, my backpack sitting on the edge of the bed. Earlier, I packed up my room, and the rest of my belongings are in the truck.

“W-what are you doing?” she stammers, a slight hysteria pitching her words.

With my left hand, I rub the back of my neck, trying to find the words to proceed. I never thought I would be here with her, and now that we are, every bit of fight I usually have in me has died and I’m left feeling like an empty shell.

There’s always that one person you’ve had feelings for since the moment you first met them, and for me it was her. It’s always been her. I lived for the moments she would respond to my photos (it’s why I put up so many), and I counted down the days to when I would get to see her, her beautiful face. With my right hand, I grip the handle of my backpack, and I drop my other arm to look her straight in the eyes. It’s now or never.

“I love you, Meg. I needed to tell you that. Just one time.” Relief, terror, and the absolute truth flood through me all at once.

She takes a step closer to me, and I take one back. Her skin pales as she acknowledges the distance I’m putting between us.

“Of course you love me—we’re friends. And I love you, too.” She starts twisting her fingers together in a way I’ve never seen her do, but it’s obvious she has done it before.

“No. I’m in love with you, and I feel like I’m suffocating under the weight of it. It’s not just my knee, or football. It’s you too. Every day I want to tell you and show you, but you’ve pushed us into this place where I’m not allowed to, and it makes me feel like shit.”

Her eyes widen. “I don’t think you’re in love with me, Jack. It’s all just circumstantial and you’re confused.” She shakes her head, firmly planting herself in the camp of team denial.

“I am not confused, and it is not circumstantial, so don’t tell me how I feel.” My voice gets a little louder. “I mean, that’s all you’ve done for the last twenty minutes, and I’m over it. Yes, internally I am dealing with the uncertainty of my career, but lately, I have been considering alternatives to playing, and surprisingly I’m okay with it. Although I’ve never been a believer in love at first sight, I’m pretty certain I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you standing in Zach’s house. That was nine months ago. Just because I haven’t shared things with you, that doesn’t mean they are any less real.”

And there it is, the whole truth. I’ve laid it out there, and now she knows.

“But . . . but that’s not who we are.” Her chin trembles and my heart sinks.

“Why? Why can’t that be who we are? I’m not blind to the way we are with each other, and I know you aren’t either.”

The ache to pull her into me is so great it’s hard to breathe. I desperately want to bury my face in her hair and have her tell me she loves me too, but I know she won’t. All of this, from the moment she walked into the locker room at the Super Bowl until now—it’s devastating for me.

“We’re friends. You’re my best friend.” She says this as if it’s the answer to everything.

“And you are mine, but friends don’t know how their friends taste, and, Meg, I know every flavor you have.”

“That’s not fair,” she says, just barely over a whisper.

“You’re right, it’s not.”

The air turns heavy between us. This is it, her last chance to change her mind and decide. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t holding my breath and internally pleading for her to pick me, choose me, but as she utters the words, “I can’t,” the last string holding me up breaks and I crash, shattering into a thousand pieces.

“Neither can I.”

Her eyes turn glassy and fill with tears, which slowly drip down her face. It’s a direct punch to the gut and one that tells me it’s time to go. I can’t stand here and watch her cry, and I won’t allow her to see what she’s done to me.

Walking toward her, I pause to bend and kiss her one last time on the forehead. My nostrils flare at the citrus scent of her hair, and for just a split second I squeeze my eyes shut. Her hand reaches for my waist and clutches my shirt, but I pull it free to move past her.

Without another word said between us, I grab my keys from the hook by the front door and leave.

Chicken Mushroom Spinach Lasagna

I HAVEN’T TALKED to Jack in days.