Prologue
Every tale begins with something special and meaningful. The glories of a youthful love affair, of finding the ONE, eyes snapping to yours and consuming each other in a passionate fire. It would be fate, a meeting made for the twilight fires of middle age, telling mutual friends of their adorable and instantly known love story as everyone reminisced on their passed youth.
Except when it doesn't. I'd pretty much given up the hopes of adolescent me, that some knight would swoop down and lift me away in his big strong arms. I was no longer sure about the post adolescent fantasies that I would miraculously blossom into. Something. And swoop in to save myself, going on to meet the love of my life at the bank or by the bar at a happy hour, a sweetly adorable love interest with bright eyes and even brighter hopes. At 26 I think those parts of me still exist. But they exist very quietly.
Driving through the evening traffic which is no worse and no better than any other Tuesday, I recognize that I hear the self mocking voice of my anxiety far more these days than the sunny hopeful voice that led the charge through my exceedingly long and lonely growing up. That voice is a reminder to stop looking for fantastic perfection and a fairy tale and start living in reality.
But neither does every story begin with a melancholy tale of woe and love unrequited.
My story lives somewhere in between, which frankly, is where most of us begin.
Chapter 1
"Josh, what do you think about establishing a ground rules with Nathan? Is it too much? Too soon?"
Maris hunches over in her chair while she asks me, stirring her over creamed coffee into a whirlpool with a tense rush of words that thud onto the table to lay there among the debris of half eaten muffins and both our phones. I blink and do a great gaping fish face, before launching an exasperated sigh.
"Maris, aren't I the literal last person someone should ask? I haven't even been on a date in 17 months, let alone been in a relationship where you need to establish rules. Besides, I thought you both were just keeping it casual?"
I pause, raising an eyebrow, and take in Maris's flushed cheeks with a grimly amused half smile. I'm realizing while she may have said she was keeping it casual, and this time of course she's serious, she has again teetered dangerously into her typical relationship minefield of fast deep feelings and poorly thought out choices with just a hint of possessiveness.
"Josh..." she whines in a warning tone. "It's just that you give such good advice. I can't help that I'm bad at, you know, using it," She flaps her hand at me impatiently continuing,
"Or that it never seems to work for yourself,"
She says it lightly, with a smile to take the sting out. It still feels too hot and too close to the truth. I can't be trusted with my own advice. While Maris comes to me in search of comforting wisdom about how to make her love life work better, I can't even make one happen. Thus, the sound I make in response to her is suspiciously like a guffaw.
"Maris. Darling. Sweetheart. I suck at relationships. And so do you."
Maris abruptly sits up and flings her shiny curtain of hair to one side. Her mouth is pursed as she tilts her face back to me.
"Cut the crap Josh. You're always so down on yourself. You're a great guy. You're adorable, smart and have a good job. You just, haven't met the right one is all," she trails off softly.
Her shiny ruby glossed bottom lip is caught between her teeth. She looks guilty because we both know that not only am I right, but the only one of us who has a chance of changing perpetual singlehood is Maris.
I haven't really had relationships. Sure, we established it's been a while since I'd even exchanged numbers with someone, but even before my last date happened (a disaster which ended in him breaking down crying when his ex called with a breathless promise to forgive and forget while I was in the john thanks to my 3 quickly downed beers, leaving me to return to a table occupied by a sobbing man and a heaping entree of embarrassment), I really didn't get out there much. Everything was so much easier in my head, and the fascinating game others played of meeting, flirting and tethering themselves to someone attractive was often too bewildering to me to navigate when I tried. The clubs were loud and intimidating, dating at work was a horrifying prospect, and blind dates via friends were unfailingly awkward the few times it occurred back in college. Being the kind of person who is put off and flustered by both failure and discomfort, the more experiences I had like that (read: all of them) the less effort I made in even trying. Now at 26 I suspect I'm forever out gamed and yet unwilling to settle. At least I like cats.
I've known Maris for 6 years. We met on the campus shuttle at Carmichael University. I had started the term finally living in one of the better dorms, which was also one of the most outlying on campus. However, a perk for me was that the shuttle bus system ran directly from my dorm to the center of campus every 15 minutes. Daily, I was deposited neatly on a sidewalk steps away from whatever my destination was, and so the option of a single room far away from everything and everyone or a cramped shared one in the heart of campus was no hard choice at all.
I've never been a talker. I have a lot to say, but I'm not blind to the knowledge that my life largely lacks an audience. Like I said, I kept waiting to grow out of my teenage awkwardness. At 20, when I met Maris, it was still in full swing. At 26 I am beginning to understand it's probably just who I am. Let me say more about myself here. I'm not ugly, I'm nondescript. Brown eyes, brown hair, and fair skin. I'm not a burly man's man but I'm not a twink. I'm 5'10 in my socks and I hover around 185lbs, so I have some soft spots but I'm not chubby, exactly. Wide shoulders, big hands but no athletic ability, and a firm disinterest in the gym. I'm boringly guy shaped. The everyman. If I were bolder and the type of James Bond hero I'd love to be, I could be a great spy, because I'm easily forgettable in my placid no-stand-out-features.
My best friend though, striking is a word for her. Maris is tiny. Petite and pinkishly sweet like a bowl of sorbet. She is barely 5 feet, creamy pale with long strawberry blonde curls. Her every move broadcasts sass and charm, which is such a contrast to my own plain, unassuming, and quiet self.
Maris's personality as I've come to know her, is just as heady as promised during that first campus bus meeting. She may look like a delicate blossom, but behind the sweet smile is a lewd, crude, and absolutely hilariously witty mouth. I'd noticed her before on our bus rides, it's hard to miss such a stormfront of excitement. She had slid into an empty bench seat next to me one morning during our shared commute and simply tossed her hair and stated, "Hey doll. I'm Maris," in such a tone that her simple introduction sounded to my ears like a challenge. My thoughts drift back to that day.
