To each their own. I won’t judge as we all have our vices. I just wanted to clarify my stance.
Best,
Stone
* * *
With my jaw cocked to the side, I tap out a response.
* * *
Stone,
I appreciate the clarification, but I have to respectfully disagree. While “love” in a scientific sense can be boiled down to a cocktail of hormones, “love” is a many faceted concept. It can be physical, emotional, philosophical, and spiritual. We can feel love in more ways than one. Some people feel it in their bones. Some people feel it in their heart. Some people feel it in their head. Love feels different to everyone who feels it. It’s magical in a sense. We can’t see it—but we can’t deny it.
It has the power to change lives for the better (and sometimes for the worse).
People kill for it.
People die for it.
People uproot their entire lives for it.
To refer to it as nothing more than a chain reaction of hormones is an insult to anyone who has ever experienced it.
I’m genuinely curious—have you ever been in love?
Best,
Jovie
* * *
The message shows as ‘seen’ immediately, but I don’t have time to sit around and wait for a response so I minimize my browser and pull up my Word doc. I’m halfway through a new chapter when my computer chimes, alerting me to a new message.
* * *
Jovie—
In my experience as a divorce attorney, I can attest to the fact that statistically half of the married population in existence believes they’re in love at one point or another. But eventually that love turns into a resentment so intolerable that those very same lovebirds will spend thousands of dollars and a year of their life trying to sever their once inseparable ties.
True love is supposed to last.
The majority of the time it doesn’t.
No one’s immune to playing the fool.
Best,
Stone
* * *
I waste no time responding.
* * *
Stone—
You didn’t answer my question so I’ll ask again: have you ever been in love?
Best,
Jovie
* * *
Three dots never appear on the screen, despite the message showing as ‘seen’. I wait a handful of minutes before closing out of my browser completely. This book isn’t going to write itself.
But as I’m deep in the throes of a love scene between the Duke of Wimberley and Lady Lattermire, I can’t help but wonder why Stone deflected my question.
During the three years I dated Jude, I never once saw Stone bring a girl home. I’d watch in awe as some of the prettiest ones would all but physically throw themselves at him and he wouldn’t bat an eye.
Once, I even mustered up the courage to ask Jude if Stone played for the other team or if he was closeted. It wasn’t my business, but I wanted to make sense of it. Jude assured me Stone was as straight as an arrow, and I never questioned it again after that. The two of them grew up together. They were thick as thieves. If anyone would’ve known, it would’ve been Jude.
I finish another chapter and pull up my Facebook again—curious to see if he’s responded yet.
But there’s nothing.
Clicking through his profile pictures, I rest my chin on the top of my hand. There are only five total. The most recent one looks like a head shot from his law firm. The one before that is a picture of him fishing off some dock, the sun setting over the horizon. The third image is Stone and Jude, their arms around each other, palm trees in the background. The fourth is a photo of Stone and Jude as kids, both of them straddling bikes, their knees scraped and covered in band-aids and dirt.
The final image hits me like a surprise left hook.
It’s the three of us in Jude’s car. Spring break. Sophomore year. We took a road trip up the coast to spend a week at Jude’s dad’s lake house. In the picture, Jude is driving, Stone’s riding shotgun, and I’m squished in the backseat between piles of pillows, bags, and snacks. The three of us are grinning wide, our faces slightly softer and younger than they are now, our eyes shiny and bright.
After Jude and I broke up, we stayed Facebook friends online. I didn’t want to seem petty and be the first one to delete him, and maybe he felt the same. I fully expected Stone to delete me at some point. He was never a fan of me for reasons I could never figure out. Maybe he was jealous of how happy Jude and I were? Maybe he was annoyed at constantly being the third wheel? It was impossible to know what he was thinking because getting him to open up about anything was like pulling teeth. Eventually I stopped caring if he liked me or not.
But the fact that he posted this picture and left it up all these years … begs more questions than answers.