The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,123
by which we measure one another. We’d made mud pies together, scraped our knees on the harsh asphalt of the street we grew up on, and spent days cooped up together while we battled chicken pox. Our pain, happiness, heartbreaks, and successes are wrapped up within each other, intertwined in a way only time can accomplish.
My fingers curl around the edge of the sink, knuckles growing whiter. If I let these feelings take control, things might not end well.
Our friendship is strong, but feelings like this make us fragile.
The strength of our relationship has been the one thing I could always count on. While I was busy achieving, accomplishing, mastering, Ethan was by my side. He’s the only person who didn’t need me to achieve, accomplish, or master in order to love me.
Something implicit exists between us, an unspoken declaration, and it states that nothing will ever divide us. I felt it the day I watched a moving truck pull up to the empty house across the street. A little boy bounded out and somersaulted his way across the front yard, and my five-year-old self knew. Twenty years together hasn’t changed it.
I look into the mirror and watch the emotions ripple over my face. Excitement, fear, apprehension. Fear dominates.
But there isn’t anything concrete to be scared of. I can’t reach out and take hold of what has my heart racing.
My fear is a shadow, pursuing me soundlessly. If you tell him you have feelings for him, you’ll lose. Would you really risk Ethan? He’s your biggest fan, your other half, your… soulmate. I shake my head. I can’t think like that.
“Get it together, Masters.” Saying my last name out loud makes me feel better. Like I’m in control. Kate will Master it… Master of Everything. I loved those nicknames at first, but now they’re a reminder of the impossibly high expectations people had for me. Or maybe I just had them for myself. With a last name like Masters, what else could I become but an over-achieving perfectionist? Of course, the last name didn’t rub off on my little brother. I picture him tucking his wild, shoulder length hair behind his ears, and shake my head. Running an organic beet farm… The opposite of everything my dad wanted for him. I’ve given Noah the grief my dad would have, if he were alive. Honestly, it’s probably time to let my little brother own his career choice, as exasperating as it is.
Running off to Noah's modest farm in Oregon doesn’t sound too bad right now. I’d love to escape my mind for a while.
Stop being unrealistic. I need to deal with these feelings. I need to be practical, pragmatic, level-headed, and logical.
Telling Ethan about my dream would be foolish. Telling him about how I can’t stop thinking of him would be irrational. What I need to do is forget about it.
Because I know how he would respond if I came clean.
My dependable, loyal, compassionate Ethan. He’s been in love with me for ten years. And he’s never been shy about telling me.
Once a year, on our shared birthday, he asks if I’ve changed my mind yet.
His caramel eyes radiate with hope after the question leaves his lips. And I always tell him no.
But now… My God, what am I doing?
I can’t.
Absolutely, unequivocally, without a doubt.
I need to do less dreaming and more forgetting.
The fear in my seizing stomach tells me I’m making the right choice. If I give in to my feelings and Ethan and I fail at a relationship, I’ll lose him forever.
I cannot tolerate a life without Ethan. So my mouth will stay shut.
His visit home will be like all the others. We’ll have order, structure, and solid plans. I like those things, I need those things. And Ethan understands that about me. He’s always been that for me. Nobody knows me like Ethan.
I just want us, the Kate and Ethan I’m used to. Ease embodies our time together, like an old, comfy sweatshirt, worn from time and use, but continuing to serve its purpose. We’re sweatshirts.
If I tell him…well, we won’t be sweatshirts anymore. We’ll be crisp and stiff, new clothes from a new store.
And I can’t have that. I need my best friend.
***
The bright lights of the airport blind me when I walk out of the women’s room. I blink a few times. It’s louder now. Lots of people, enthusiastic greetings. I stand on the periphery and scan the area.