After I shower, eat breakfast, and check on Audrey and Noah, I text JJ and ask if he has some time to talk today.
JJ:
I can call you in ten minutes, if that will work?
Me:
Sure
JJ isn’t the type of man that runs away from difficult situations. I can see that about him a mile away—look at his job. Emotionally, though, he’s closed off. Could be the way he was raised, or something that happened. Maybe a bad relationship in the past, which I understand completely. Because same.
Regardless of what it is, I need to know where we stand, because trying to guess is frustrating. It’s stress in my life that I don’t need. This could be simple—which he said he wanted—if he’d just let it be. Clearing the air will help me know how to move forward. Do I step back or keep going as I am? He’s reached out to me on his own too, but I can’t be sure what it means.
Maybe I really should have been a therapist, because here I am analyzing him and trying to pinpoint what kind of event made him this way.
It’s not too late to go back to school… You’re never too old to learn. But I do love teaching, and I don’t think I want to give that up. Besides, sometimes being a good friend is better than a therapist because it’s natural.
My phone rings, pulling me from my crazy thoughts.
JJ.
“Shit,” I mutter, staring at the phone and listening to it ring. If I don’t answer, he’s going to wonder why. Maybe call back. I did tell him to call me, so I can’t ignore it. I should have thought this through better.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Sorry, were you busy?”
“Just at the gym.”
“That’s a nice image. Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
He laughs, slightly out of breath, and I imagine him dripping sweat in nothing but a pair of athletic shorts. Oh, my God… that image is—
“Miles?”
“Sorry,” I say quickly.Focus, Miles. Focus.“Sorry, uh, I wanted to thank you again for yesterday. I feel so much better today. And I was hoping that I could, uh, take you out for coffee or something. You know, as a thank you.”
Thinking on the fly.Good job, Miles.
“I don’t usually do coffee—”
“Lunch then. No, that won’t work. Oh, a snack. Milkshakes!”
“Snack date?” he asks with a laugh.
Date? Did I say date?
“Snackthank you,” I correct, not wanting to scare him away. It doesn’t have to be a date. In fact, it’s not a date. It doesn’t have to be anything more than me thanking him and talking about what this is.
I shake my head and look up at the ceiling. This isn’t going the way it was supposed to…
“Sure, let’s go out and get athank youmilkshake,” he says.
“When are you free?”
“Today, tomorrow, Wednesday.”