LadyV76: Next weekend? Right now, they’re calling for snow (!) on Friday, but let’s be real, it’s almost April so the chances of that actually happening are slim to none. I should be able to get that day off…
MyBoyBlue4: Yeah, I saw that…I was born and raised here in the mountains and lemme say April snowstorms are few and far between. I usually work Friday and Saturday nights, but I’ll try to get Friday off too. What’s your favorite bar? Restaurant?
LadyV76: Let’s do downtown. You know, so people will be around to save me if you really are a serial killer. Cucina is a favorite. Great drinks.
MyBoyBlue4: Love that spot. I know the owner, so I’ll get us a table. 8 PM? I’ll confirm Fri or Sat tomorrow at work.
LadyV76: I’ll do the same.
MyBoyBlue4: Holy shit, do we actually have a date?
LadyV76: We actually have a date. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to it.
MyBoyBlue4: Same, girl, same
LadyV76: PS: I’m glad I could help you make some sense of yourself. Lately, the few times I feel certain in the choices I’ve made are when I’m with you too. Thanks for that.
MyBoyBlue4: Good night, baby.
LadyV76: I’ll end with this: Clearly, I don’t know you, but from what I’ve gathered, I don’t think you’re a piece of shit deep down. You’ve got a creative, thoughtful, kind side to you that I’m guessing you don’t show the world (why else would millennials like us seek solace with strangers on the internet?). Whoever you think you’re going to lose or disappoint by being the real you wasn’t meant to be in your life anyway. You do you, boo, and fuck what everyone else thinks.
MyBoyBlue4: How do you feel about me calling you boo?
LadyV76: Nah, I’m claiming that as mine. Night, boo.
Chapter Seventeen
Samuel
My brother Rhett eyes me over the small mountain of foil-covered casserole dishes I’ve set in his arms. “Why do you need me to help you deliver this stuff again?”
“Because I need a second if she challenges me to a duel.”
I grab my keys and silently inventory the dishes. Short ribs, collards, cornbread. Strawberry and brown sugar buckle for dessert. Should be enough, right?
Lord above, I hope it’s enough to at least get Emma to talk to me again. Really talk. At this morning’s brunch service, she was maddeningly professional. Polite as all get-out, per usual, but beneath her calm exterior, I could tell a cauldron of rage and hurt was bubbling.
She refused to look me in the eye, and that was the worst of all. I have never in all my thirty-five years felt like more of a douchebag.
I have never felt more wrong. I don’t ever want to feel this way again.
Which means I’ve gotta make some changes. Starting with figuring out who I am behind the bullshit smile I’ve worn for the past fifteen years.
Last night, I realized the freedom I felt has less to do with the sex than it does with the ability to be myself with someone. Not the smiling bullshitter, but the guy who’s on the sub side of the scale, who likes Van Halen and Game of Thrones and admitting when things are less than perfect. I like who I am when I’m being open-minded. Brave. Playful.
What else could I be if kept opening up that way in real life? Who else could I connect with the way I connected with Emma yesterday? Yes, it’s scary. Yes, I’m risking loss. Real, painful loss. But sharing truths last night, and then with Emma too, has shown me that I can’t keep living my life so closed off from everyone and everything. The loneliness I felt when Emma walked out of my house after giving me the cold shoulder I absolutely deserved—yeah, it was the worst I’ve felt in a long time.
Made me think that whether I open up or not, life’s gonna hurt. So why not pick the path that allows me to experience joy along with the pain? It’ll take practice, but I’m willing to try.
The first thing that came up when I started to think about who I really am: I’m a guy who plays fair. And I haven’t played fair with Emma. Not by a long shot. After the Charleston Heat luncheon, I realized what an asset she truly is. When I think about her quitting now, I get a legit stomachache. I just hope it’s not too late to repair the damage I’ve done.