Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

An anvil straight to the heart. Like one of those Looney Toons scenes. These kids, man. Even 950 miles away, they wreck me. I have to swallow several times before I can speak.

“Every single day, June Bug.”

She’s quiet. I hear a small sniffle. A little laugh. Then, “here’s Jude.”

I have to pull my shit together really fast once Jude gets on the phone. His conversation is harder to follow. Enjoyable, but confusing. He’s still very concerned with whether or not I have aminals. When I tell him I might get a cat, I can hear him bouncing with approval. When I hang up with him, my call log tells me I was on the phone for almost two hours, but it wasn’t long enough.

My phone pings with a text before I can set it down.

Classic:Thank you.

Me:Of course. Thank you for letting her call me.

Classic:They miss you.

God, that text fucking hurts. I wait a few seconds, willing her to follow it up with the words I want to read. That she misses me too. But they don’t come.

Me:I miss them.

Classic:Maybe they can call you again?

Me:I’d love that.

Classic:*orange heart emoji*

Me:*orange heart emoji*

Before I go to bed, I log out of all my social media accounts. I don’t trust myself. I’ll log back in once I get my head straight.

* * *

“Anj!”I shout into the apartment. “Hurry up, would you? We’re going to miss our ride.”

“Stop yelling,” she grumbles, and I hear her heels clopping on the floor as she comes down the hallway. “I keep telling you. You can’t rush perfection.”

She makes a show of posing against the wall, arm up, hip out, lips on full pout.

“Daaaamn,” I say dramatically. “You look hot. Like a ray of fucking sunshine.” She laughs and offers me her hand, so I take it and give her a twirl. “We’ll definitely be the hottest couple there.”

She turns around and pushes me toward the mirror on the wall, then hooks her arm in mine. I study our reflection, her in her yellow dress and me in my charcoal grey tux and yellow tie. We look good.

“How big are those heels?” I ask her, noticing she reaches almost to my shoulder. “There’s not a whole two feet between our faces anymore.”

“Please,” she teases, “you are not that tall.”

“I’m 6’4”,” I protest, and she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, you and every guy on every dating app, but I’m pretty sure you’re barely 6’1” on a good day.”

“Hey, miss lady.” I point an accusatory finger at her. “Just what are you doing on dating apps? Do I need to have a looksee through your phone?”

She rolls her eyes, then takes her phone out and holds it up.

“Smile,” she says with a grin. “We need selfies.”

Anjali snaps about thirty pictures, and then we head downstairs to meet our ride.

I’m practically skipping with excitement. I didn’t go to dances in high school.

I prefer not to think about what I did instead of attend dances.

When I found out HMS was hosting a formal, it was like my chance at a redo. Anjali has been humoring me and let me do the whole nine. I matched my tux to her dress, got us corsages, rented a limo, and made a reservation at the Olive Garden. I even did a fucking promposal with balloons and a handmade posterboard sign.

We’re doing formal Midwest high school style, and we’re doin’ it right.

Tomorrow starts fall break, but tonight we party.

Anj switches out her phone with mine once we’re in the limo and takes a few more pictures.

“There,” she says when she hands it to me. “Pictures for the memories.”

I can’t fight the downturn of my lips or the furrow of my brow. Pictures for the memories. I stare at the photo on my phone screen. I look happy. Anjali looks beautiful. It’s going to be a fun night, but fuck, I miss Jocelyn. I wish she was here. I wish I was having this experience with her. She’d be in a dress sure to make us late late, and I’d feel her up in the limo. I’d make her laugh all through dinner. We’d dance all night. And at the end of the evening, we’d go home to June and Jude, and it would be...perfect.

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe through the thoughts, until Anjali places a soft hand on top of mine.

“Hey,” she whispers, and I meet her eyes. “Let’s have fun, okay? Let’s give you the experience you should have had.”

I nod and smile. She’s right. I gotta quit hanging on to what I wish could have been. Jocelyn said it herself—another place, another time, maybe it could have been different. But we’re here and it’s now, and this is how it is.

She’s in Indiana. I’m in Boston.

I’m going to become a brilliant surgeon. It’s going to feel so good.

And in a few years, this heartache will be nothing but a blip in my memory.

As I post the picture of Anjali and me to my social media and plaster on a happy face, I know it’s all bullshit.