I hold on to the warmth in my chest for the rest of the night, and carry it all the way home with me.
* * *
The thoughts from before dinner are still rolling through my head when I finally get home to my cozy, one-bedroom apartment that night. Not just the news that I’ll have another niece or nephew to spoil, but also the fact that Dad wants to retire, that Mom thinks I should try settling down with someone—that my brother, who already has, doesn’t even have time to get a beer with me anymore.
None of those things sound even remotely appealing to me, even after a little distance from the conversation.
I shake the distracting thoughts away and instead dive into editing my current work project, an event where I took pictures of a new statue being unveiled at a historic site. I spend hours going through the footage, falling so deep into my work that I don’t look up from my computer until I notice birds chirping and the sky lightening.
I let out a groan when I look at the time, stretching my arms in the air and cracking my spine that I haven't straightened in way too long. I love getting so lost in the story I’m trying to tell that I forget about everything around me. It’s one of the main reasons I love photography. When I’m on-site taking pictures, it’s my job to capture the story unfolding—I throw myself into the varying emotions of the people, the different features of the setting, the essence of the moment. And then, with editing, I get to highlight the details and weave the pictures together to tell the story in an album. It’s the greatest creative outlet I’ve ever experienced.
I debate pausing for breakfast, but I'm so far gone in the images that I decide I'm not ready to stop yet. Instead, I scroll through a few pictures that I haven't edited yet, for one reason or another. I pause on one in particular.
It's the image of a younger man, likely in his early twenties, with dirty blonde hair and a smile that rivals everyone else’s. I can't tell what he's staring at in the picture, but the shot I've captured is one of him beaming at something in the distance. With his lips turned up and his blue eyes focused on something, he seems every bit the playful, gleeful portrait. It only takes me a few minutes to edit the picture and bring out his best features.
The shot is enough to remind me of another smiling man. One I left inside a college classroom with no way to contact me and with no hope of further contact.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't regret that. If I said I didn't regret leaving him there on his own, with no hope for reaching out again. Regardless if it's him or I making the contact. When it happened, I just knew I had to get out of there. I had to create some space between us, because the time we did share was already too much for me to handle. I've never once been so eager to see someone again. The fact that I wanted to seehimwas a red flag that I needed to bolt out of there.
Still, that leaves me with questions andwhat ifs.Enough that when it's 5:00am a week after said encounter, I'm still thinking about whether or not I did the right thing leaving a guy who was so obviously worth taking another shot at. Someone who seemed like they might understand the casual thing.
And without my mother hovering over me, without her pressuring me into trying dating for real, for just one moment… I let myself consider it.
I let myself think about what it would be like to give him my number. To answer when he calls, and schedule a time to see him again. Not just to have sex, but to spend time with each other. Doing what? Going to the movies? Having dinner at a nice restaurant? What would it be like to hold his hand through all of that, and let him stay the night at the end of it? To make me breakfast in the morning so we can do it all over again?
What would it be like to date him?
I can almost picture it. Can picture how much he would make me laugh through the date, and how much fun I would have shocking him with my spontaneous idea to go skinny-dipping in the LOVE park fountain after dinner. It would be a fun night. It would be a funrelationship.
But fun doesn’t last. Fun isn’t sustainable in a serious relationship, because as people get close to each other, as lives are woven together, it’s not just one person that certain decisions affect. It’s two. Which means compromises need to be made, and soon those compromises become big sacrifices.
Before long, my moreriskyactivities are being frowned upon, and I can no longer jump on every crazy and fun idea that pops into my head. Before long, I’m passing on the more dangerous assignments, or traveling less so I can stay close to home. Before long, I’m not the same person I am today, not doing the same things that used to make me happy.
Suddenly, I’m flashing back to visions of a boyfriend upset about how I yet again snuck into a dangerous place to take pictures. To arguments about how photography should be a hobby, not a career. To the night when I finally agreed to give it up, and to—
I snap myself out of that memory with a quick shake of my head. The last thing I need is anger simmering in my veins while I do the job I—thankfully—never gave up. That, to this day, still brings me more joy than any man ever brought me.
Even if one of them did come awfully close.
4
AIDEN
When I walk into my dad's house, I throw my backpack by the door the same way I've been doing for the past decade and yell, "Pops, I'm here! Where you at?"
He comes lumbering around the corner from the kitchen and throws himself in the well-worn recliner in front of the TV with a grunt. With as much of a greeting, he throws his feet up and turns the TV on before asking, "How was school?”
I take my usual spot on the couch with a tired sigh. "Fine. Ready for this semester to be over. How was work?"
This time I'm surprised to get an answer when he says, "We got a new building booked today. Construction starts in three months. Should be a good location to have on the company's resume."
My eyes widen in surprise. It's been a while since my dad's company has signed a good construction, so this is huge. "Holy shit, Dad. That's awesome, congratulations."
Another grunt. For as long as I can remember, he's never been a man of many words, so it's hardly a surprise that he doesn't go into much detail about a job that is likely huge for his company. Instead, I let him have his content silence, and simply watch the rerun that he's currently got up on the screen.
"You got any fight prospects?" he asks a while later.
I let out a sigh as I drop my head back on the couch. "Not really. I feel like I've fought everyone I can in the local amateur circuit, so I'm not sure what else Coach has planned for me. I'd say going pro is next on the roster but I'm not sure I'm ready for that, either. Feel like I'm stuck in limbo or something."