It pops open, displaying what I knew in my gut it would reveal. “What is that?” Shock washes over her, twisting her face into a painful sort of agony. “No,” she begs, covering her eyes. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what could’ve been.” Stepping back from me, she back peddles only to meet the wall behind her. Repeating, “no” over and over again, the sobs return. She slides down the wall, cupping her hand over her mouth. Curled into a ball, she cries into her hands, broken and shattered and it’s all my fault.
With the closed box in my hand, I move to sit next to her. Flinching away from my touch, she cries even more. “No,” she repeats again. “I can’t. It’s too much to take in.”
And it is.
Call it a sense of morbid curiosity, but I need to see what’s inside. Cracking open the box once again, a shimmer of light shines in my eye. I’d love to say that in that moment, when the sparkle of diamond nearly blinds me, that all of my memories return, every flash and flare of color coming back to life as if the answer simply lay within this small black, velvet box.
That’s not at all what happens.
I close the box, letting my head hang in my hands,
Grace and I sit beside each other, slumped against the wall.
Pieces of something significant scatter around me, but like a child trying to capture lightning bugs on a summer night, the light eludes me. My mind reaches for the thoughts, like hands outstretched ready to catch the green-tailed bug, but it collapses before anything real comes to fruition.
Her voice breaks through the tension-filled silence. “I would have said yes.”
And with those words, a lightning bug lands in my hands.
“She’ll say yes,” Grace’s mom gasped. Looking down at the ring, she covers her mouth with her hand, and I smiled knowing that Grace does the exact same thing when she’s surprised. “It’s beautiful.”
Clapping a hand to my shoulder, her father smiled at me as well. “Nothing would make me and Meredith happier than to see the two of you getting married. Of course you have our blessing.”
Her younger sister even began to cry, going on and on about how lucky Grace was. They all surrounded me, hugging me with all their might. It was the perfect welcome into the family.
Replaying the scene on an endless loop in my brain, I make sure what I’m remembering is something that actually happened, that it’s not something I simply willed into existence. Unable to keep it to myself any longer, I turn to her. Her face is blotchy and her breath is still uneven, shuddery with the lingering sobs.
“I remember asking your parents.” My admission makes her face pale. She twists to look at me, saying nothing but seeming as if every word imaginable is flying through her brain. “They gave me their blessing.”
She nods, tears streaming down her face. She continues to cry, but when I reach for her she pushes me away. “I can’t. Wait . . . give me a . . . I don’t know what to . . . it’s all too much.” My returning memories take her breath away, but she loses the ability to speak.
A crazy idea blooms to life in my fucked-up head. “What if,” I begin to question, gathering some courage in the hopes that maybe I haven’t ruined us beyond repair. She shakes her head, as if that will stop me from saying what I need to say. “If I can only remember parts of our past, is that enough? If I can only love you for who we are now, is that enough?”
Tears flow down her cheeks. She shakes her head and pulls herself from the ground. “I need space. I need to breathe and figure this out.”
Without another word, she walks out of my apartment, carrying my heart in her hands.
Is it enough?
Numbly, I walk down his stairs, knowing full well that he can’t chase after me. Thankful for that space, I step into my car, gripping the steering wheel as if my life depends on it.
Resting my head against the cool leather, I take a few deep breaths and manage to calm myself down.
He was going to ask me to marry him.
And then my world broke in half.
Is it enough?
“Is it enough?” I scoff his ridiculous question to no one but myself.
Annoyance and anger war inside me, forcing me from the car.
With renewed determination, I climb his stairs, willing myself to remain as calm as possible. When I look into the living room, I see him sitting on the couch, facing away from me. His shoulders are slumped, the box sitting on the table.
“No, it won’t be enough.” My words fall to his back and he stands up. Dejection fills his face as he turns to me. As I walk over to him, I continue, “It’ll never ever be enough.”
Standing in front of him now, I force myself not to reach for him. Not to kiss him as if my next breath has to come from his lungs. “Every day that I get to spend with you, loving you, it will never be enough. Because I could love you . . .” My ability not to touch him wavers and I rest my hand over his heart. “I could love who you are today, who you were yesterday, and who you’ll be tomorrow with everything that I am and it still wouldn’t be enough.” His heart beats wildly under my hand. Smiling up at him, my anger and frustration dissipates, replaced by warmth and happiness. “I could love you every single day for the rest of my life and it still wouldn’t be enough.”
“But what if I–”
“Don’t remember what we used to be, how you used to love me?” I finish his sentence for him, only allowing him the space to nod. “You don’t get it. I don’t care about what you can remember.”
“You don’t?” His brows knot in confusion.
“I never did. All I ever wanted was for you to let me in now. I don’t care about what your head remembers, only your heart.” Reaching to cup my face, he strokes his thumb over my cheek. Leaning into his touch, I feel like I can breathe again. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for what feels like forever.” Gently, he reaches his other hand up to the other side of my face.
Looking deep into my eyes, it’s as if he’s seeing me for the very first time all over again. “And I’ve been waiting to do this from the moment I laid eyes on you.” Moving an inch closer to me, his warm breath bathes over my skin. The seconds before his lips touch mine are painfully sweet. The anticipation, the want, the need, the desire.
All of it swirls around in my chest, swelling in a sense of love like I’ve never felt. Knowing what his lips feel like on mine, and needing them again as if it’s the first time, it’s the perfect balance of what used to and what will be.
The soft fullness of his lips on mine is a feeling I’ll never forget, but it’s new at the same time. The sparks I’d always felt are still there, but I wait to see if they’re there for him as well. He pulls back and my heart sinks. He doesn’t feel it. My mind races.
“It’s okay. I under–”
My words die on his lips.
His hand in my hair, his lips on mine, his body warm and alive under my fingers—it’s all overwhelming. Pulling back once more, his eyes are wide and vibrant. Resting his forehead against mine, he takes a deep breath. “It’ll never be enough for me either. Not after that.”
“Oh, thank God,” I gasp, before attacking his mouth again. My brain and my body won’t cooperate and I’m clumsy at first. Angling my head the wrong way, not knowing where to put my hands. Wanting to put them everywhere all at once.
And he’s just the same.
It’s the most imperfectly perfect second first kiss ever.