The Best is Yet to Come

Thirteen: Noah

Four seasons. Four seasons.

I actually binge watched four seasons of a soapy teen TV drama. I'll have to take this with me to my grave.

I'm horrified that I even watched the show, let alone enjoyed it. Ashamed I spent the night pretending the love story was actually about me and a certain blue-eyed girl, at least the show did its purpose. It brought me welcomed distraction and relief from the sinking feeling in my chest, just like I'd wanted. I get it now- I get why people get addicted to these ridiculous fantasies. The sappy, romantic plot gave me an escape into a life I would never have with Emma.

My phone buzzes obnoxiously against my wooden desk and I lazily debate with myself whether I want to get it. I decided that nothing could be more interesting than season five, episode one and ignore the incoming message.

I snuggle deeper into my blankets, getting comfortable, ready to find out what Emma and I were going to do next- blissfully ignoring all the warning signs of my unhealthy behavior.

..........................

I don't know what time I ended up falling asleep but the TV is still on when I wake up. Taking the time to stretch out my arms and then my legs, I slowly drag myself out of bed. My sleep crusted eyes graze past the open window and seeing the dusty blue sky, I realize it must still be early in the morning. Sure enough, I groan at the time displayed on the alarm clock. There's no point for me to be awake so I grab my phone from the desk and eagerly climb back into my warm nest of blankets and pillows.

There's a notification alert on my phone and I open a text sent from an unknown number.

Hey, it's Emma from the creative writing group. I reviewed the poem you handed me the other day.

Suddenly, I'm wide awake. I sit up in bed- half excited, half terrified. I see that she sent the message last night. Damn it.

Surprisingly, she also sent me a friend request. Emma Quinn. I examine her profile picture, a candid of her with whom, after assessing their features, I assume must be her parents, though she looks much younger in the photo. Maybe in highschool?

Hey, Emma... I start to type but stop midthought. I need to think this through before I blow it.

But this time she came to me. I guess my stunt at the register didn't fail me after all. I feel the adrenaline swim through my veins and I send a silent prayer to the romance Gods that I don't fuck this one up.

Hey, Emma! Thanks for reviewing the poem. I can't wait to hear what you think. Good morning, by the way.

I hesitate before sending my message, reading it five times over, checking it for all traces of stupidity before I can't take it back.

Welp, this is as good as it's going to get. I send my greeting before I chicken out. Not three seconds go by when I curse at myself, remembering it was the ass crack of dawn. I hope I don't wake her.

I'm astonished when my phone buzzes again, just a minute later:

Can you meet me at the coffee shop on Main St. in an hour?

Ok, I definitely didn't expect that.

I'm pretty sure I would find a way to walk on water if she wanted it so I quickly typed my reply, letting her know I'd be there.

My heart flips in my chest and I realize I'm... nervous? I've never felt this way before. Looking into the mirror above my dresser, I inspect my appearance. It was plainly obvious that I'd been a recluse for the past three days. The hair on my face desperately needed trimming and I didn't dare sniff my armpits.

Darting to my small closet, I whip open the door to grab a shirt and jeans. I blindly reach for a hanger and pause, examining the blue shirt. Wait. Does Emma like the color blue? Do I even look good in blue??

Get a grip. Shaking my head, I scold myself, It's just a shirt and it's just a girl...

I almost laugh out loud at my own thoughts. This wasn't just a girl, even my subconscious had to admit that. Emma is different. She makes me want to take off the mask. And more importantly, I want to know her- anything and everything.

I hate to admit it but I can't remember the last time I wanted to get to know another person, especially a woman. It's been fling after fling since I left for college.

After deliberating my clothes for an embarrassing amount of time, I hop in the shower, my mind a foreign whirl of excitement and fear.