Giving myself away
Posted: 07/05/2025
I hadn't been back in New Zealand for twenty-four hours yet when I parked my car - this time, right outside her house so she wouldn't have to walk in the dark. I felt my stomach spin, pulled on the handbrake, and turned to look at her.
I don't know why I always wait until the last moment to get the most important things done, but I did it then, and I still do it now.
"Thanks for dinner. I enjoyed it," she said. I smiled, but I wasn't sure of myself. Three months of cooking risotto and I forgot the salt. I wished things had gone differently - at the same time, I knew they couldn't have gone any different. It didn't really matter now.
She was about to open the door.
"Hold on," I heard myself say. I tried to look into her eyes. It didn't make much difference in the darkness of the car. All I could see was a dim vignette of her face from the light down the street. I'd only driven down the street twice before and I don't think I'll ever drive down it again.
I also noticed the pink ends of her black hair, something she chose to show to the world in defiance of the expectations.
"I've got something to tell you."
Her first instinct was always humour. "What? So you are pregnant!"
She already made the joke earlier at dinner when I said I had some news to tell her, about how I found out I was Canadian, but I laughed anyway because I was caught off guard.
"No, no, of course not, I already told you I'm not pregnant!"
The laughter faded away and I looked back down at the steering wheel, tried to focus on the Toyota logo. It didn't really help.
"It's something I've meant to tell you for a while."
"So what is it?"
My head grew number. I was overthinking it, but it was a bit late now. How was I meant to say this to her?
Just how was I meant to say this to her?
She continued to look at me from her side of the car. For whatever reason I leaned onto her shoulder, the way she used to lean on me the first time we got to know one another; or when we sat at the bench at Mona Vale watching the ducks on the pond, the day before I flew to New York.
Those times we went out meant a lot to me back then. I sighed. How do I say it?
Just go for it, I guess.
"I don't know how to say this to you, but I... I have had feelings for you."
It felt wrong, but it was the right thing to say. It was the truth.
"You had feelings for me? Like, in the past?"
"But I don't feel like I can act on them."
I didn't hear anything. I realised my eyes were closed. I opened them.
As always, she dealt with life on humourous terms. "Is it because I'm an old hag, huh? Is that why?"
"No, no... you're better than that. I just... I don't know. You're better than twenty-five."
"I'm not even twenty-five, I'm twenty-four."
Now I could never go back. "You're better than that. You're better than twenty-five. It's just... I've carried it with me for so long, I didn't know what to do. You're better than twenty-five..."
The moment felt inexorably long. I took my head off her shoulder and tried to find something in her. "It's why I said I had some things to say in person. I just didn't feel comfortable texting that to you."
Her glasses continued to glisten in the streetlight. "I get that. You can tell me anything you'd like, over text even." She laughed. "But just because you've told me your feelings doesn't mean you can cut me off!"
"Of course, of course. And don't you do the same to me, either."
We laughed again. "It's okay, Ben... I'm sure you'll find somebody."
I didn't know what to say. I always felt differently about her. I couldn't ever choose whether I wanted her to be one of my best friends, or someone else.
"Maybe this will help," she said.
She gave me a hug. A proper one. The sort you give to your dad at the airport because you know you won't see him for another three years and there's nothing you can do about it but to try and keep him for as long as you can because it's the last moment you'll have with him.
At length we let go. It took a moment but I think I met her eye again. "Thanks... it did help." She smiled again.
"Well, I'm glad I told you that. That takes a lot off my mind... it was the reason why I invited you to dinner. But I couldn't bring myself to say anything, until the end..."
I couldn't think of anything else. Actually I have so much to say to her. But I can't say anything more.
"I suppose I've got to let you go now."
"Yes, I suppose I do have to go. It's late." She opened the door. "Thank you again for dinner."
"Goodnight," I said as she stepped onto the pavement. She turned back to look at me, just before she walked up her parents' driveway.
"I love you."