I roll over to see if he’s gone as soon as I open my eyes.
He is.
I run my hand over his pillow, wondering how someone can feel so full of emptiness.
Last night was… Well… It was bucket-list worthy, that’s for sure. As soon as we left the restaurant, we headed to my house. He let me drive. We talked about cars, my thesis, that I want to try bungee jumping. He offered to take me, but realized he was essentially asking me out on another date, so he corrected himself and told me a place he thinks I should try. When we got to my house, we were both laughing as we walked inside because the sprinklers came on as soon as we got out of the car, the spray of water hitting us both right in the face. I walked to my kitchen and grabbed a hand-towel to dry my face. Jake followed me, and when I handed him the towel to use, he tossed it over his shoulder and reached for me, kissing me like he’d been waiting to do it since the moment he laid eyes on me.
It was unexpected, but wanted, and even though I felt every single thing while his mouth was on mine, I was also full of uncertainty. I’ve only been with two people sexually in my life, and I was in love during both of those relationships. This was the first time I was about to have sex with someone I wasn’t in love with. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but knowing he didn’t either made me feel more at ease. I kept reminding myself of that with every new part of my neck he kissed.
After about fifteen minutes of full-on making out with him, something switched in me. I don’t know how he did it, but he was so attentive and into it, that all my concerns and insecurities eventually fell away with my clothing. By the time we made it to the bedroom, I was all in. And then he was all in, in more ways than one.
It was everything. Afterward, we rolled onto our backs, and just when I thought he was getting ready to leave, he turned his head and looked at me. “Are there rules to one-night stands I’m not aware of? Are we only allowed to have sex once?”
I laughed, and then he was on top of me again, and as much fun as it was
the first time, the second time was even better. It was intense. And slow. And perfection.
He didn’t roll onto his back after the second time. He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “Goodnight,” before kissing me. I liked that he said goodnight instead of goodbye, because it took the focus off the fact that we both knew he’d be leaving before I woke up.
I just assumed I’d wake up in a state of euphoric bliss today. Not a state of melancholy.
Feeling a little down about it being over isn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. It means I couldn’t have had a better person to have my one-night stand with. Had it been anyone else, I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much as I did. And if I hadn’t enjoyed it, I don’t feel like I’d have the right to cross it off my bucket list.
So yes, it sucks that I can’t find anything wrong with him. But it would suck even more to fall back into something I’ll just want out of eventually. I can’t put myself in another position where someone will become obligated to take care of me.
It’s not a good feeling, knowing someone has convinced themselves they’re more in love with you than they are simply because you’re dependent on them. I’d rather feel melancholic than pathetic.
I grab the pillow Jake slept on—the same pillow I was just rubbing in longing—and I throw it off my bed. I’ll throw it in the trash later. I don’t even want to smell him again.
I walk over to my dresser and grab my bucket list. I mark out number eight and then look over the list again. I suddenly feel accomplished, knowing number eight was probably the one thing on my bucket list I was certain I would never have the guts to do.
Maggie Fucking Carson. You are a badass.
I fold the list and set it on top of my dresser. I open the second drawer, then grab a pair of panties and a tank top and pull them on. I need to go visit my grandfather today while I have the opportunity, but first I need waffles and a shower.
Waffles before shower. I’m way too excited for waffles after not being able to eat much last night.
I might even go get a manicure today. I’m staring down at my nails when I walk into my living room. But then I freeze when I smell bacon. I slowly raise my head to find Jake standing at my kitchen stove.
Cooking.
He spins around to reach for a plate and sees me. He grins. “Morning.”
I don’t smile. I don’t speak. I don’t even nod a greeting in return. I stand there and stare at him and wonder how a twenty-nine-year-old man could honestly not understand the meaning behind one-night stand. Night being the
key word. There’s not supposed to be a morning included in that definition.
I look at my tank top and underwear and suddenly feel modest, even though he spent enough time on top of me last night that he probably has every inch of my body memorized. But still, I wrap my arms around myself.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Jake is watching me, a little unsure of himself after seeing my reaction to him still being here. He looks at the stove and then at me, and I swear he deflates right in front of me.
“Oh,” he says, suddenly seeming out of place. “You thought… Okay.” He starts nodding and immediately reaches to the stove and turns off the burner. “My bad,” he says, not looking at me. He grabs a glass that’s next to the stove and takes a quick drink. When he faces me again, he can’t even look at me. “This is awkward. I’ll go. I just…” He finally makes eye contact with me. I wrap my arms around myself even tighter because I hate that I’ve created such an awkward moment when he was obviously trying to do something nice.
“I’m sorry I made this awkward,” I say. “I just wasn’t expecting you to still be here.”
Jake nods, walking toward me to grab the shoes he kicked off next to the couch last night. “It’s fine. I misread things, obviously. I know you made yourself clear last night. But that was before we…twice…and it was…”
I press my lips together.
His shoes are now on his feet, and he stands, eyeing me. “Wishful thinking, I guess.” He points at my front door. “I’m gonna leave now.”
I nod. It’s probably for the best. I just ruined every good thing about last night.
Actually, he ruined every good thing about last night. I walked into my living room accepting that I’d never see him again, and he ruined it by assuming I wanted him to stay and cook me breakfast.
He reaches for the front door, but before he opens it, he pauses. When he turns around, he stares at me for a moment, then walks back over to me. He stops about two feet away and tilts his head. “Are you positive you don’t want to see me again? There’s no wiggle room for me to convince you to give this one more shot?”
I sigh. “I’ll be dead in a few years, Jake.”
He takes half a step back, but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Wow.” He brings a hand to his mouth and runs it over his jaw. “You’re really using that one?”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s a fact.”
“A fact I’m very aware of,” he says. His jaw is hard, and now he’s mad. See? If he would have just left before I woke up, this would have ended perfectly! Now, when he leaves, we’re both going to be frustrated and full of
regret.
I take a step forward. “I’m dying, Jake. Dying. What’s going to come of this? I don’t ever want to get married. I don’t want children. I have no desire for another relationship where I’ll eventually become someone’s burden. Yes, I like you. Yes, last night was incredible. And that’s exactly why you should have left already. Because I have things I want to do, and falling in love and fighting with someone about how I live the last few years of my life is not something that’s ever been on my bucket list. So, thank you for last night. And thank you for attempting to cook me breakfast. But I need you to leave.”
I blow out a frustrated breath and then immediately look at the floor because I hate the look in his eyes right now. Several seconds pass and he doesn’t respond. He stands there and soaks in everything I said. He eventually takes a step back, and then another. I look up and he looks away, turning toward the front door. He opens it and steps outside, but before he closes it, he looks straight at me.
“For the record, Maggie. I was just making you breakfast. I wasn’t proposing.”
He shuts the door, and my house has never felt emptier than it does in this moment.
I hate this. I hate everything I just said to him. I hate how much I wish it wasn’t the truth.
I hate this stupid fucking illness.
And I hate that I said all that and made him leave before he could even finish cooking the damn bacon. I stare at the pan and then walk over to it and throw the entire pan in the trash.
