Third Time's a Charm ✓

nineteen

FRIDAY. 18. MARCH. 2022.

THE DAY HAD passed by quicker than I had expected and, frankly, quicker than I would've liked.

I had left Archie's around six this morning. Thankfully, we'd been able to catch some sleep. Archie, especially after his days-long migraine, the hours spent with his family in the hospital and the hours spent with me, had been exhausted. So, we fell asleep together in the stillness of his house and the comfort of his room, and I tore myself away when the sun came up.

When I was home, I got ready for school and reminded myself to bring some clothes to leave at Archie's again. After we'd broken up, I'd taken all of my stuff home and had yet to move it back.

That was the least of my concerns, though. Mostly, I was focused on making it to school on time and getting out of the house before I could run into my mom, but I was also thinking about Finn and what I would say to him. After practically avoiding him for a week to try and clear my head, I had accepted for the first time that it was not any clearer.

I hoped that I would be able to gather my thoughts through the day and prayed that Finn wouldn't be around too much. Knowing what I was planning to do about our relationship, I couldn't sit comfortably around him anymore or enjoy his company the way I once could, and I was afraid that he was going to pick up on it before we had a chance to talk things through. Fortunately, he hadn't. Unfortunately, distracted by the pressure of school and studying, I hadn't been able to think things over.

It was all out the window now. I was parking my car; walking into the cafe; pulling back the chair across from him.

"Hey," he greeted, looking up at me as he locked his phone. He slipped it into his pocket as his eyes flickered over me, dangerous intrigue— not quite suspicion— pooling in the two lights of pale blue. They looked grey today.

"Hey," I muttered, sitting down.

This cafe was different to the one that I had met Archie in yesterday and it was closer to Finn's which made sense because he was the one who had suggested it. He didn't know what I was intending to say to him (neither did I, really) but I had told him I didn't want to go to his place and I didn't want him to come to mine. He didn't think anything of it beyond his brief initial prodding. Or maybe he did and he was just hiding in the grass, waiting for the right time to pounce. I had considered this and tried to prepare myself for it. How prepared I felt, however, was another matter.

"So," he began, almost slamming his palms flat on the table. "What are we talking about?

I had gone over this moment a million times and had never gotten past it. The inside of my head was a blank sheet of paper. But it was that moment that I realized something, that a scribble was made on the page.

In the past, I had rehearsed plenty of these mental conversations. A thousand times, I had gone over difficult subjects and written scripts inside of my head that I imagined the other person following. A million times, I had planned all kinds of discussions being discussed in all kinds of ways and not once had it ever worked. Whenever the moment arrived, whenever I sat down and opened my mouth, all of my rehearsals and scripts and plans slipped through my fingers like sand, and I realized too late that it had all been for nothing.

I realized this again now. It was one of those things that you're always realizing for the first time. It didn't matter that I hadn't planned out what I was going to say because, even if I had, I would've lost it all. This was one of those conversations that could never be planned out because it was one of those conversations that I would not be ready for until it was over.