matter; my fingers are tiny, and I’m able to wiggle them past his muscled arms to dig them into his sides, making him laugh until he’s dying for air. But I’m ruthless and don’t care if Ryan breathes, so I keep going until I think he has dislocated a rib from laughter.
After I’ve sufficiently tortured him, he goes to get a shower, and when I hear the water turn on, I briefly contemplate taking him up on his offer. But then I shake off the thought, because I’m not quite ready to take that step with him yet. I still don’t know exactly what will happen with Ryan and me, and I don’t intend to give myself over to another man until I know we’re both in it for the long haul. I’m comfortable with the idea of protecting my heart in this way. It wasn’t how I used to live, and definitely not how I did things with Ben. He wasn’t the kind of guy to encourage taking things slow, so we didn’t.
This time around, I’m not jumping in a moment before I’m absolutely ready.
The second reason I don't want to go in there is because I get a few minutes of uninterrupted relaxation (read: snooping) time without Ryan. I didn’t really do that much snooping, though…is what I will tell him if he catches me. But really, I go through EVERYTHING. It’s so ridiculously boring, though. This man has no skeletons in his closets. His drawers are empty. The desk has never been touched. Not even a single dust bunny under his bed.
Huh. He really doesn’t live here. I think he left more of a footprint at my house than in his own, and I’m not sure what to make of that.
Since playing Sherlock ended up being a bore, I go to my luggage and start to unpack into his guest room drawers (they are empty, too). I unzip my bag, and my eyes immediately zero in on something that I know for sure I didn’t pack. It’s the pile of applications Stacy gave me to look over. There’s something new, though. A yellow note is stuck to the top of the pile.
You don’t need these.
One second ago, I was fine. Now, a knot is forming in my throat, and I think I’m going to sob.
You know that moment where you use an old hair tie, and you think you can squeeze one more loop around your ponytail, but then, out of nowhere, it snaps and shoots across the room? I’m the hair tie. Ryan’s confidence has me launching across the room to my phone, tears leaking down my face.
I’m so glad he’s still in the shower right now and not here to witness this breakdown. Because that’s what it is: my final breakdown. The one I’ve been putting off for five years.
I look around for somewhere private, but Ryan’s whole apartment is like one giant coworking space where everything echoes and no one can sneak any funny YouTube videos without alerting the whole office. But I need to make this call, so I stuff myself into Ryan’s closet and shut the door. After sliding to the floor and leaning back against the wall below his dress shirts, I call the one person I need to talk to most right now.
“Stacy!” I say when the call connects.
“June? What’s wrong?”
“I’m in Ryan’s closet!” I sound hysterical.
“Did he put you in there?!”
“What? No. I came to Chicago with him because I love him, and now I’m sitting on the floor of his closet while he’s taking a shower.” I say it all like Stacy is the dumbest person in the world for not assuming that first.
There’s a long pause followed by Stacy starting to say something, but then pausing again, and then starting over. “Okay, Junie, you’re gonna have to start from the beginning, because I tried to catch myself up, and the dots just aren’t connecting. Why are you in his closet?”
Tears are streaming down my face, and I can’t stop them. “Because I’m crazy about him! It wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did, and he brought me here for a first date, and I never told you because I was sad that you’re moving, and I was trying to cut ties with you before you cut ties with me, but I can’t cut ties because I need you, and I think I might be a fraud feminist, because I’m completely happy here with Ryan, and I don’t