That last one seems to resonate. I’ve always been alone. Lived alone since I was in college. But only recently have I felt lonely.
“So what’s new with you, Dean?” Jake asks over the top of a Benson Boone song suddenly blaring from the jukebox. A group of high school students clambered around it, and when I glance back, it looks like one of them is looking at West. But I don’t give it enough time or thought to know for sure.
I try to think of something so I’m not the outright damnloser at the bar. And that’s saying a lot since One-Boot Carl is at the end of the bar. “I got Disney Plus last night.”
My god.
West is clearly talking to some lady friend, Hudson and Jake have kinky sex injuries (I can’t believe I just said that and more than that, I can't believe it’s true), and I just subscribed to Disney Plus.
Jake arches a brow. Hudson silently drums his fingertips against the worn bartop. West tips his head to the side just a few degrees, the way people do when they feel bad for ya but don’t wanna outright say that.
“Want me to set you up with someone?” Hudson asks, getting to work on that second beer as he glances at his watch. “Dolly’s got lots of friends.”
I let out a long sigh. “My answer hasn’t changed.” Because this is not the first time I’ve been the center of a round table of pity. “No setups.”
I don't have anything against people who fall in love after they’re set up by friends. I don’t hate happiness. I just always imagined my life a certain way.
Teaching, coaching, owning my own little home that I fix up with my hands, having season after season of boys who go all the way with their gameplay. Lastly? Meeting a woman here in the town I was raised in, where I grew up. Catchin’ eyes with someone in a crowded dance hall or reaching for the same cut of meat at the market. I don’t know. But you get it.
I always expected, hoped and wanted it to just… happen on its own.
“You sure?” Jake asks. “Because Riley?—”
I slice my hand through the air. “That ain’t how it’s supposed to happen.”
“Damn,” I grumble, watching the fresh glob of mint toothpaste I just squeezed topple from the top of my brush to the sink basin. Pulling open the drawer, I grab the tube and add some more, quickly wetting my brush and plunging it into my mouth before I lose it again.
And then I stand there for two minutes.
My right hand on the edge of the counter.
The water running.
The TV light flickering against the open bathroom door.
I count while I brush, rinse it and put it back, then turn off the light, swiping my damp hands along my pajama pants.
The same exact routine I’ve been doing for the better part of the last eighteen years.
Funny thing, when I was in college, I had a blast. Partying, operating on questionable hours of sleep, treating my body like a garbage disposal, prioritizing fun over necessity—it was a season in life, that much I always knew, and I lived it to the fullest.
But in my heart, I’d always hoped that at a random campus student event, or a football game, or dropping a pencil in class, that it’d happen.
The bigit.
The moment where I meet the love of my life and in just a few days of knowing each other, we both realize we’ve foundour missing piece. Our other half. The mate to our soul. And even though my parents and buddies would say, “this is the only time to live it up—don’t get attached too young! Enjoy college,”we would gladly give up all of those games of Edward Forty Hands, mornings with Sharpie on your face, photos with your boys in front of a football stadium—I’d give it up in an instant.
Because I’d haveher.
I waited patiently, quietly and discreetly for it. And in the interim, I asked girls out. Some I had a lot of fun with, but nothing ever laid roots, or bloomed into more. And each time it didn’t turn into more, there was a nagging feeling at the back of my mind, reminding me that locking in this element of my life was equally as important as finishing school, getting my teaching credentials, and nabbing the varsity coaching position I’d been vying and dying for since I was a kid.
But it didn’t happen.
And now I’myearsinto a routine that consists of me doing everything alone. In my quaint house. By myself.
Misery at least had company before, even if I didn’t want my friends to suffer, too. Still, at least I had guys around me who quietly shared the same lingering fear. You know the one.
What if I’m alone forever?
