Accidentally In Love

Jon and I had been an accident, that much I had convinced myself of as I stood in the doorway of his apartment, looking in. Jon was away on four day road trip, and wasn't due back for another six hours. During his absence, I had solemnly packed my things, now sitting in my idling car in front of the building.

I wasn't supposed to be with him, or him with me. It was simple math really. The small town farm girl from Minnesota, who clawed her way out of said town and into one of the best schools in the country, doesn't date a member of the next generation of NHL greats. It goes against ninety-nine percent of the laws of nature.

We had met on a fluke, pure luck and chance. I had been studying at my favorite 24-hour diner that I'd discovered as a freshman at Northwestern. I frequented the place, and it didn't take long for the Cuban waitress, Maria, and Russian cook, Vladimir, to take the wandering college kid under their wings, and welcome me into their little family.

I remember I was chatting with Vlad, exchanging playful banter through the kitchen window, when the door chimed. Not unusual; clubbers and couples alike dropped by at all hours of the night to catch a bite, and, being relatively insomniatic, knew most of them on sight.

Jon, however, I knew on sight for a different reason. I grew up in a Minnesotan hockey family, and my dad had been raving about Jonathan Toews' potential since he'd first been drafted. And, living in Chicago, his face was plastered in any available space not already taken up by a Cubs' or Bears' poster.

But this was not the Jonathan Toews' on the posters. This one looked down-trodden and lonely, eyes trained on the floor, skull cap pulled low on his brow. He plopped onto a stool four seats over at the counter, staring blankly at the Formica counter top. Maria buzzed over, chatting happily and trying to nudge a response from him, offering a slice of apple pie and a cup of coffee on the house.

Jon made all attempts to decline, and caught my gaze with his own pleading one. "Maria," I snapped, unable to stand his tortured gaze any longer. "Just have Vlad make him an omelet or something."

Maria gave me a long look, surprised by my outburst. I could sense the wheels turning in her head as she slammed through the kitchen door to rouse Vlad.

"Thank you," Jon had said, eyes so dark they were practically black.

"Don't worry about it. Maria is just overly friendly." I turned back to my textbooks, breaking away from his pained eye contact.

“I just- I can’t- I’m not supposed to eat that stuff,” he explained softly, his voice drawing my head back up, locking eyes with me.

“I know. I get it. I said don’t worry about it.”

We held each other’s gazes until Maria banged back out of the kitchen, and we quickly turned away. Maria chuckled softly as she slid a steaming ham-and-broccoli omelet in front of Jon. “You two act like dos jovenes on their first cita.”

I blushed furiously, hating that Maria was making romantic connections between Jon and I. If Jon didn’t understand her, he sure understood my blush and returned it with one just as hot and flustered as my own.

“I think I’m done for the night, Maria,” I spoke quickly.

"I don't think so," Maria scolded. She slid a Jon's rejected piece of pie front of me. "Eat. You American girls don't eat enough."

I knew it was pointless to complain, so I shoveled down the pie in the awkward silence that filled the diner. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jon picking at his omelet.

When I was finished, I shouted a goodbye to Vlad and gave Maria a dirty look. She just smiled back innocently. I glanced one last time at Jon, and found him watching me as well. I bit my lip and ducked my head against a fresh blush as I hustled out of the diner and away from prying eyes.

The cool night air caressed my cheeks, calming my embarrassed blush. I made it halfway down the block before I heard someone shouting my name. I glanced over my shoulder, finding Jon jogging towards me.

“Emma? It’s Emma, right?” he asked, breath only slightly hitched from his jog.

I nodded, awestruck into silence.

“I’m really sorry about all that. I’m not usually that, uh, closed off. We, I mean, the Hawks, had a rough run on the road. And you seem really nice, and I just wanted to apologize.” He stumbled through his words, clearly as flustered as I was. “I was wondering, if, maybe, you’d agree to meet me again. Please?”

I still don’t know what prompted him to ask to meet me again. It might’ve been Maria, or Vlad, but either way, that’s how our little relationship started. I agreed to meet Jon again, at the diner, after his next home game. And then again after that. We fell into a pattern, silently committing to meet each other at the diner after every home game, the day before a road trip, and the night he got home from a road trip.

Four weeks after we met, Jon kissed me on the corner from the first night, and on the same corner he asked me to officially be his girlfriend. And to go to a Blackhawks social event with him. And then to move in with him. In turn, he met my parents the summer after the Hawks’ short run in the playoffs against the ‘Nucks. That handful of months were possibly the best in my entire life. Things were easy between us, life was good.

After the summer though, things started going south. The honeymoon phase was over, and life started to catch up with us. Jon stopped going to the diner with me; that was the first little crumble. I started skipping games to study, seeing as senior year and preparing for graduation had me in a whirlwind of work. We snapped at each other more, and made up less. Jon spent more nights on the couch or in the guest room.

And on Saturday, before he left, he hadn’t said he loved me. Or that he’d miss me. I know it sounds trivial, but that’s when I realized I couldn’t deal with it anymore. The distancing of himself. If it was bad now, what was the rest of the season going to be like?

So, I’d packed what little of the apartment was mine. I’d written, and rewritten, a note, then left it folded innocently on his pillow, where he couldn’t miss it.

A big, fat tear rolled down my cheek as I realized I would never step foot in this apartment again; Jon would never kiss me in the kitchen, ketchup bottle in one hand, my cheek in the other; I’d never snuggle into the wide, black couch in the living room ever again.

I backed out of the foyer, choking back emotions before I broke down and stayed. My shakey hand locked the door from the outside, and then removed Jon’s key from my key ring, and slid it under the door.

I walked down the hallway, into the elevator, out to my car, and then drove away from the apartment building, and out of Jon’s life.

---

I pushed open the door of my apartment, before shouting, “Emma?” Silence.

My fingers brushed the soft velvet of the box in my coat pocket, and I knew it couldn’t wait until morning. She’d only answered one of my calls while I was away, and had sounded distant and removed for the entire conversation. Both of us had been distant and removed from each other lately, but I was hoping the ring in my pocket would chang all that, bring us back to what we used to be.

The space was surprisingly dark; Emma usually fell asleep on the couch while I was away, or at least left a light on. The only source of light was from the fluorescent lamps out in the hallway, their soft glow spilling into the room. As I turned my head to find the light switch on the wall, a soft golden glimmer caught in my peripheral. I glanced down, and my heart skipped a beat. A key lay on the floor, abandoned. My heart hammered as I stooped to pick it up, and I’m pretty sure it stopped all together when my eyes took in the small ‘E’ engraved in the key head.

No, no, no, no.

I sprinted through the back hallway, to the master bedroom. The door stood slightly ajar, looking about as inviting as a Saw movie. I gulped before stepping through the doorway.

The bed was empty, still neatly made. A small piece of paper sat neatly folded on my pillow. Adrenaline now pumped uselessly through my veins.

My hands trembled as I unfolded the paper, and I sunk to the bed as words branded themselves on the back of my eyelids.

Jon-

I’m sorry, about everything. I really am. But I just couldn’t do this anymore. Honestly, I’m not even sure what ‘this’ is at this point.

We were a happy accident. Until we weren’t happy anymore. Then, I realized, we were just an accident. Two people thrown together by an unlikely mistake in the order of the universe.

Please, I beg of you, don’t come looking for me. It would just make this harder on both of us. I’m finishing school in May, and then I’ll be out of your city for good.

I can’t promise that I won’t miss you, because I will. I’ll miss the Jon that met me at the diner, and the Jon that stayed up late while I studied. And the Jon that told me every night how much he loved me.

Send the boys my love, and my apologies.

Love always,
Emma

P.S. - There’s dinner in the fridge. It’s stir-fry, your favorite.

As I read the last line, I let out a strangled cry. She leaves, but remembers to make dinner for me? What the hell had I done? How had I possibly let a woman like Emma slip through my fingers?

On an impulse, I ran to walk-in closet, praying to God there was something she left behind that she wouldn't be able to live without, that she'd after to come back for.

But her side of the closet was just as cold and empty as her side of the bed. A lone white button-up dress shirt lay folded on a shelf. It was technically my shirt, but she wore it to bed so often it might as well have been hers. I gingerly lifted the shirt from its perch, pressing my face into the fabric, pulling close the one part of Emma that hadn’t disappeared from my life, inhaling faint wisps of her scent.

I walked numbly from the closet, fell face-first onto the bed, and let a massive, convulsing sob take over my body. Tears fell freely as the truth set in.

She was gone. And not coming back.