A week later…
You can't turn off love just like that. Telling Mark ended the games, the deceptions, the anxiety. But then it didn't. Not like she expected. The games were different now. She could look him in the eye honestly, but she didn't want to because she knew what she'd find there – pity. The anxiety was a different kind of anxiety. The worst part of love is that it's all about the OTHER person. She told him the truth for HER sake. NOT his. And the guilt was ridiculous. He deserved the truth. But maybe she'd done the selfish thing. Surely she could just give him what he needed, what he wanted: her friendship. Was that so much to ask? Somehow she was just the friend he needed when he was married. But as soon as he was single she was confronted with the fact that she had no excuses to hide anymore. And just friends was too much to ask. She'd tried. For weeks. But maybe, now that he knew the truth, just friends would work. It was better than this – this seeing him every other day, working with him in the amazing way that only certain people work together and then pretending their connection was only professional excellence. Well, this was too complicated to decide alone. But was it fair to tell Mark her confusion? Aargh! She was so sick of thinking. She flicked on her light and rifled around in her bedside table. Pen. Paper… oh, that'll do. She grabbed a rough piece of card jammed down one side of the drawer.
"Mark. I miss your friendship. You have always done what was best for me. I never deserved it, though you'd disagree, but some things are true regardless. Last week I didn't do what was best for you. And not for the first time. I had no right to drop that on you. I wanted you to know the truth but I knew the truth was a huge risk and not just to myself. I want to apologize if I've hurt you, yet again. But I can't apologize for loving you. You can see my dilemma.
You want things to be the way they were. Before I left. But so much has happened. I haven't told you about it because you have been a bigger factor in the last five years of my life than I was willing to admit. Maybe I shouldn't tell you now but it's your choice if you read this. Consider yourself warned.
When I first got to Phoenix I poured myself into work. I didn't want to think about you, or Chicago or anything else that reminded me of you. I missed you but I was angry with you for waiting until I was leaving to speak. And, even more so, I was angry with myself for being angry with you when I was equally guilty. You can see why I didn't want to think about it. Anyway, I was a workaholic. Successful but alone. Suzie was my life. The only highlight. Then I met Dan. He was funny and spontaneous and swept me off my feet. We had a lot of fun. But that was it. I was a fool for hurting him, but when it came to the point and he told me he loved me, I couldn't say it back. We never talked about our pasts – it was kind of a mutual agreement. He didn't know about you. But that night he guessed most of it. And he left. I was sad to lose a friend of course but I was practically numb to the whole thing. I didn't give up – there were two others like him and they deserved better. Then I figured it out. I came back for closure. But then this part of me that died when I left was suddenly alive and kicking. It was like I'd been drinking beer for four years and someone finally poured me a martini with extra lime. Even if I only got to be near you I couldn't walk away again.
So there you have it. The entirity. Gore and all. Finito. That's the whole story. I couldn't tell you last week – sometimes my mind just won't click over. But if you needed the whole story, now you have it. And if you didn't you should have stopped reading when I warned you.
I can be your friend if you still want it. But know the truth. The truth won't change. It never did. But I'm willing to try for friendship. It's worth it – my memory serves. It's you're call.
Yours, Susan."
She squeezed her name in the corner at the bottom of the card and turned it over, knowing if she read it again she'd never give it to him. Maybe that was for the best but the other side of the card caught her attention. It was a photo. The same one he'd given her that day just a few weeks ago. He'd made copies of them and enlarged them – one of which he'd given her framed. The frame had broken in transit en route to Arizona. But she'd kept the photo. Naturally.
Her eyes drooped and the dull light of her bedside lamp stretched and skewed in her eyelashes. She could decide what to do with her photo in the morning.
You can't turn off love just like that. Telling Mark ended the games, the deceptions, the anxiety. But then it didn't. Not like she expected. The games were different now. She could look him in the eye honestly, but she didn't want to because she knew what she'd find there – pity. The anxiety was a different kind of anxiety. The worst part of love is that it's all about the OTHER person. She told him the truth for HER sake. NOT his. And the guilt was ridiculous. He deserved the truth. But maybe she'd done the selfish thing. Surely she could just give him what he needed, what he wanted: her friendship. Was that so much to ask? Somehow she was just the friend he needed when he was married. But as soon as he was single she was confronted with the fact that she had no excuses to hide anymore. And just friends was too much to ask. She'd tried. For weeks. But maybe, now that he knew the truth, just friends would work. It was better than this – this seeing him every other day, working with him in the amazing way that only certain people work together and then pretending their connection was only professional excellence. Well, this was too complicated to decide alone. But was it fair to tell Mark her confusion? Aargh! She was so sick of thinking. She flicked on her light and rifled around in her bedside table. Pen. Paper… oh, that'll do. She grabbed a rough piece of card jammed down one side of the drawer.
"Mark. I miss your friendship. You have always done what was best for me. I never deserved it, though you'd disagree, but some things are true regardless. Last week I didn't do what was best for you. And not for the first time. I had no right to drop that on you. I wanted you to know the truth but I knew the truth was a huge risk and not just to myself. I want to apologize if I've hurt you, yet again. But I can't apologize for loving you. You can see my dilemma.
You want things to be the way they were. Before I left. But so much has happened. I haven't told you about it because you have been a bigger factor in the last five years of my life than I was willing to admit. Maybe I shouldn't tell you now but it's your choice if you read this. Consider yourself warned.
When I first got to Phoenix I poured myself into work. I didn't want to think about you, or Chicago or anything else that reminded me of you. I missed you but I was angry with you for waiting until I was leaving to speak. And, even more so, I was angry with myself for being angry with you when I was equally guilty. You can see why I didn't want to think about it. Anyway, I was a workaholic. Successful but alone. Suzie was my life. The only highlight. Then I met Dan. He was funny and spontaneous and swept me off my feet. We had a lot of fun. But that was it. I was a fool for hurting him, but when it came to the point and he told me he loved me, I couldn't say it back. We never talked about our pasts – it was kind of a mutual agreement. He didn't know about you. But that night he guessed most of it. And he left. I was sad to lose a friend of course but I was practically numb to the whole thing. I didn't give up – there were two others like him and they deserved better. Then I figured it out. I came back for closure. But then this part of me that died when I left was suddenly alive and kicking. It was like I'd been drinking beer for four years and someone finally poured me a martini with extra lime. Even if I only got to be near you I couldn't walk away again.
So there you have it. The entirity. Gore and all. Finito. That's the whole story. I couldn't tell you last week – sometimes my mind just won't click over. But if you needed the whole story, now you have it. And if you didn't you should have stopped reading when I warned you.
I can be your friend if you still want it. But know the truth. The truth won't change. It never did. But I'm willing to try for friendship. It's worth it – my memory serves. It's you're call.
Yours, Susan."
She squeezed her name in the corner at the bottom of the card and turned it over, knowing if she read it again she'd never give it to him. Maybe that was for the best but the other side of the card caught her attention. It was a photo. The same one he'd given her that day just a few weeks ago. He'd made copies of them and enlarged them – one of which he'd given her framed. The frame had broken in transit en route to Arizona. But she'd kept the photo. Naturally.
Her eyes drooped and the dull light of her bedside lamp stretched and skewed in her eyelashes. She could decide what to do with her photo in the morning.