Page 29 of Delayed Intention

Hurt

Dear Josh,

Hi! I’m due to see you in a few days, so I’m unsure if this will reach you before then or not. We shall see. For some reason, the idea of seeing you in front of my family is making me nervous all over again. I feel like we just found our way back to being friends, and now we’ll have interlopers.

During our years apart — my fault, of course — there were two things I missed the most about having you as a friend.

One was that you would not dismiss my feelings, which is a common occurrence in my family of origin.

The other thing was how you wouldn’t try to fix me.

This means that being around you allowed me to relax enough to be myself because I knew you would accept me as I was.

These days, I have that in Abbie for sure.

I do hope you get to meet her sometime soon because in my head, you both have been super important to me.

There is something else I’m anxious about.

When we are together in person, it feels like we are doing well, but we aren’t face-to-face; I worry that you were just being polite.

As in most of my relationships, I wonder what someone can get from being around me.

From my perspective, I require so much work without enough reward.

This is one of the reasons why I gave up on dating, let alone finding a boyfriend. Well, there is more to it than that, as you can imagine.

I guess this part is going to be extra personal.

Here is my fear: What if I never get over not wanting to be touched, unless I’m intoxicated? What kind of partner can I be for anyone?

There are very few people in my life who can bridge that physical divide. Ironically, my mother is one of them. Nona. You, when we were younger (or when I am drunk—so embarrassing).

But what happened in the past turned what was an aversion into a sense of dread. It is as if I can feel the divide between myself and the other person grow with physical contact. I’m in therapy, but I don’t know if or when that will ever get better.

As much as I love the idea of falling in love one day, I don’t think it’s something I will experience beyond the vicariousness of a novel or a movie.

Case in point. The other day, I spoke with Roselyn and told her everything about that doctor I told you about.

At the end of all of it, she needed to hug me, I could tell.

I gave her that hug I could see she wanted, but for me, it felt like the connection we’d made by talking was immediately severed because suddenly, with that contact, we were on two different planets.

It was like I was zigging with her, and her need to touch me was a zag, and I was out in the cold, alone again, feeling adrift.

So, what about you?

What’s your excuse?

Why are you still single after all this time?

A young-ish hot doctor with a cabin-house in the mountains and the most adorable dog?

You told me in the story about Rachel and what happened with her (yikes), but not why you’re not open to being in a relationship in the first place.

You skipped that part… Don’t think I didn’t notice.

I know what happened with your father, but you’re smart enough to know you are nothing like him, right?

Fill me in on the enigma that is you when I see you in Lincoln—inquiring minds want to know.

Your friend, Lily

P.S. I’ve decided to move to Nebraska. I gave my work 2 weeks’ notice and everything. Will fill you in when I see you but the short version is I just got Rose back—why would I let her go?

Setting Lily’s letter down on my desk, I feel my stomach drop as I run my hand through my hair.

No, wait, why should I feel guilty? I didn’t know any of this when I was in Lincoln.

But I know the answer. If I had the balls to be her friend when our families were in the room, she would’ve told me all of this when I saw her.

I want to feel defensive but know I’ve fucked up, badly.

Cursing myself, I consider a morning shot of bourbon in my coffee. Instead, I grab my phone.

Lily. I just got your letter.

She leaves me on read. At least she’s seeing my message, and I’m not blocked. Yet. Well, as long as I have her attention…

I’m sorry I was an asshole at your grandmother’s house. I was afraid. Please call me if you feel like it. I hope you do

I look over my text messages. She doesn’t respond, but she does read them, and I can admit to myself I don’t deserve any more than that.