It's Different This Time

by Joss Richard

That girl was hungry, and I miss her.

This is probably the closest thing I’ve ever had to a panic attack. Maybe I’m actually having a fucking panic attack, I don’t know. What does a panic attack entail? Does it feel like not being able to breathe and wanting to shit your pants at the same time?

I can quite literally feel my ass sweating.

this is why October is the best month.” I shake my head. “Nothing beats the autumn weather, and from October on, you have Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas to look forward to. It’s like the Friday of months.”

There’s no final destination on my morning stroll, yet I feel like I have purpose, like everyone around me has purpose. These are people who choose to wake up and do something with their day, even if it is just walking, and that’s admirable. I didn’t realize I was homesick for a place that I refused to think of as home.

The interior design really is impeccable. A maximalist’s dream and at the same time, still cozy.

The tension is palpable, but it’s teetering between vengeful and, dare I say, sexual. I don’t know whether I want to leave and slam the door in his face or have him slam me against the door and let him have his way.

not that I’ve met a lot of chefs, but I’ve met a lot of people who know how to cook. A chef is someone who makes a recipe, a cook is someone who follows it,

Him being okay is more hurtful than I could have imagined.

it’s difficult to not romanticize my life while being here.

If my head had whipped any faster my neck might have snapped.

It’s a jarring feeling when your own mother becomes spiteful about your aspirations, when she thinks her not being able to pursue her dreams warrants me not pursuing mine. From a young age I’ve noticed the way my mom looks at me, like her life would have been different if I wasn’t in it.

I have a feeling this is one of those moments, the ones where no matter how much time passes, I’ll never forget.

I’ve missed her, but it’s not until I can feel and see her in front of me, in this house of all places, that I realize just how much.

The thing about lightning in a bottle is that it’s a fleeting moment in time, a spark that’s rare and special…but it’s also impossible to re-create.

My gaze focuses on my reflection, and I push down the lump in my throat. It’s not from sadness, but from an overwhelming feeling of joy for the girl who used to stand in this spot, who fought and prayed so hard for all the things that are now within reach.

“And hey.” I grab her hand. “I appreciate you.” A smile takes over her face. “I appreciate you.”

Leading up to tonight, there was an uneasiness rooted in my insides. I was worried tonight would feel like an evening with strangers, people I don’t know anymore. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. These past few hours, I felt like a missing puzzle piece that was suddenly found and placed in its right spot. There’s a hole in my heart I didn’t know existed that’s now becoming full.

It takes everything in me to not sob and fall apart in this moment, and I think she knows. I can’t tell for sure, but I swear she whispers don’t cry in my ear.

Audrey and Ford have been married for twenty-seven years. They bicker like an old married couple and look at each other like teenagers in love. People like to use the word soulmates when describing people like the Harpers. Love like theirs was meant to be; they found their way to each other, and it just works.

For me, the idea of two people choosing to go through life side by side, to become one half of a whole, knowing one day you’ll lose them…is brave.

“Blood doesn’t mean you’re family.”

It’s an attraction where you just need someone with your entire body and soul. The physical exterior is only a bonus—I want his mind, his thoughtfulness, his protectiveness. I want all of him.

No other person has ever been able to conjure this desire within me, the aching in my esophagus, the fear of what will happen if I never get to touch him again.

I didn’t realize I wasn’t, but I’m alive again.

As my eyes close, I have a frightening thought—I have no interest in lying next to someone who isn’t him.

“There’s no way to preserve anything forever. Trust me, I know. You win, you lose…but you can’t do either unless you take a chance.”

The words absolutely terrify me, but I allow myself to finally say them out loud. “I love him.” Chloe gives me a smile. “Then love him.”

It’s not anything flashy or performative, because it’s not a confession. It’s not a declaration. We’re simply saying out loud what we’ve both always known. What we’ve been showing each other for years.

Maybe that’s how life is—we do things because it’s the best decision we can make in the moment, and there’s no way of knowing if we made the right choice. There’s no way to gauge if all of it’s for nothing, or if it’s so we can have everything.

We’re all just people looking for love and doing the best we can.