If It Makes You Happy

by Julie Olivia

He’s so different from me. If I’m autumn, he’s spring. He’s all smiles and glowing warmth. His blue eyes are so deep, like the first beautiful clear sky of the season. He likes to rest them on my breeze-blown hair, drift them down to my painted lips or to the cardigan falling off my shoulder.

The world tilts. It suddenly feels like I’m falling through the ground, straight to the center of the earth. God, she’s breathtaking.

I like his deadpan humor and his messy, complicated life. I like the fact that he needs touch as much as he needs oxygen. I like that he says what he wants and takes what he wants and doesn’t apologize for either. I like that, at the end of the day, he’s my friend.

And that—that right there—is the exact moment I know I need to kiss him. Because, despite Cliff taking a risk, he immediately backtracks when he thinks I’m uncomfortable. Because he’s that kind of friend. He’s that kind of man.

I don’t want to go on more dates. I want Michelle. Not as a friend. Not as a fling. I want her.

And all at once, I know it as clear as day. I love him. I love him.

“I want you to be happy and—” His next words almost come out in a whisper. “Have you ever thought I might be happy with you?” I tense, taking in a shaky breath. “You can’t mean that.” “I almost wish I didn’t.” “But you said—” “I say so many things that I don’t know what comes out of my mouth half the time,” he says. “But you do…you make me happy. So, there. I’m stuck in my own damn head with thoughts of you that I can’t get rid of. So, what do I do? Huh? What do I do?”

I love him. I love him so much.

And it hits me. I love this woman. I don’t know when it happened. It slipped over me so softly, like the changing of seasons. The seeping scent of baked bread first thing in the morning. A wistful sigh on a perfect fall day. I love Michelle. I’ve loved her for far too long.

“I love you.”

His eyebrows pull in, and the corner of his mouth tips into a smile. “God, I love you,” he says, shaking his head. “I love that you roll your eyes when I make stupid jokes. I love that you argue with your dog when you think nobody’s watching. I love that you have coffee at night and that you don’t dress up for Halloween. And I love how great you are with my girls. I told myself I would never ask someone to stay with me again. But I love you. And that’s gotta mean something, right?” His eyes dart between mine, and he echoes on another breath, “That’s gotta mean something.”

“I don’t want to go,” I repeat, a slow smile spreading over my face. “I love you.” “You love me?” And there’s relief, sadness, then disbelief. I smile even wider. “I love you, Cliff.”

“God, you’re beautiful,” he says. “I actually think I might love you.” “I think I might love you too.”