Me: Let me get this straight. You want to take me to dinner, but it’s not a date?
Ryan: Right. We just both need to eat, and you’re out of food. (I had plenty of food.) And I’m going to pay for you, too. Easier than making the waitress split the bill.
And then my personal favorite is when we snuggle before bed and watch a movie.
Me: Is this still not a date? (He was literally lying horizontal with me on the couch.)
Ryan: Nope. I do this with all my friends. But usually Logan makes me be the little spoon.
After I’ve finished packing and freshening my makeup, I have ten minutes to spare. I feel an undeniable need to keep moving, though, so I go in to clean my kitchen. Except, Ryan must have already done it earlier, not anticipating my need to stress-clean every surface in my house. How dare he be so thoughtful and clean my kitchen! That’s fine. I just need to get some blood flowing (a phrase I’ve never thought in my life, but I always hear Jake say when he’s stressed).
So, I do jumping jacks.
Now, I know I’m being absurd—that was never in question—but I have to keep moving, because if I sit still, I’ll chicken out. I think that’s why Ryan went ahead and booked our flights for tonight. He knew too much time between me agreeing to go with him and the actual departure date, and I would pack up my whole house and move to Hawaii just to avoid taking this trip with him.
I’m very mature in relationships.
I’m mid-jump when my phone starts ringing. “Talk to me!” I say like one of those overly confident people on sitcoms, because I’m trying to pretend that I am one.
“Did I just…interrupt something?” asks my brother, letting his horrified tone convey exactly what he suspects that something to be. Messing with Jake is one of my favorite past-times, so I have half a mind to say something like, “Oh, Ryan, stop it, I’m on the phone!” just to really freak him out. But I refrain because, like I said, I’m very mature.
“You interrupted jumping jacks,” I say, and he sputters a laugh like I just told him a joke. “What’s wrong with you? I’m serious. I’m doing jumping jacks.”
“Wow. Did something bad happen?”
“Now, what about my statement would make you ask that?”
“Besides running, I’ve never seen you do anything close to working out. I didn’t even know you knew how to do a jumping jack. Do your feet leave the ground when you jump?”
Rude. But now I’m questioning myself.
“It’s where you starfish and then pencil, right?”
“Yeeeahhhh…something like that.” He’s fully laughing at me now.
“Knock it off, butthead.”
His chuckles trail off. “Okay, why are you starfishing?”
I hadn’t intended to tell Jake that I’m going to Chicago. Why? I’m not totally sure. I think I didn’t feel like explaining myself to him or overanalyzing everything. Because it feels like I’m tightrope walking along this relationship and the slightest breeze will kick me off to my doom.
I hate that I’m this way. I hate that life has made me so scared—but knowing it and fighting it is better than going through life oblivious to my flaws, right?
“I’m…going with Ryan to Chicago tonight…for a few days.” I let that statement hang on the line between us, and I shut my eyes tight, waiting for his response. Or his warning. Or his big-brother censure.
“Pack a heavy jacket. It’s freaking cold there.”
Wait. What? Where’s the lecture? Or the taunting? Or the million questions?
I peek my eyes back open. “Are you kidnapped or something? Where’s my overly cautious brother that’s always warning me to take things slow?”
He gives a short chuckle. “June. I love you. I want what’s best for you. And I only had to watch you with Ryan for two seconds the other day to see everything I needed to know. Go to Chicago. Have fun and don’t overthink everything. I trust him with you.”
I pack Jake’s words into my duffle bag and take them with me to the airport. Ryan showed up at my house with a coffee and a snack right after I ended the call with Jake, and I realized my brother was right. Actually, Jake’s always right, but I will take that truth with me to my grave. I need to enjoy my time with Ryan and stop trying to look eighteen steps ahead. Not everyone is Ben. Not every man is going to hurt me.
I would tattoo that statement somewhere on my body if I didn’t think people would look at me funny.
And now, I think Ryan is a mind reader, because on our way to the airport, he reaches over and takes my hand and says, “When did you get your sunflower tattoo?”