To Be Alone With You

“Just one more,” John begged as I gathered myself to finally go. I exuded an overdramatic sigh, the corners of my lips tugging upward involuntarily as I curled tightly to his side. We were in the cab of his truck, parked at the highest point in Tempe. Below us, we could see the highway – the lights from the cars passing like twinkling red and butter yellow comets. We had been there for hours now, listening to his favorite songs in a contented silence, our limbs entwined like ivy and lattice. John grinned and pressed play on the car stereo, wrapping his arm around me in the little gasp of silence before the track played.

Listening to music with John was like listening to the very sounds that made up his soul, the fibrous matter of his heartbeats and the timbre of his dreams. As the opening plucking of guitar strings unfolded, I felt him exhale a happy sigh. I wished that one day, someone could love me the way John loved music. A love that was passionate and respectful, consuming but somehow championing companionship.

“Come on,” he beckoned, throwing open the car door and dragging me out after him. The desert sand billowed around our feet like dusty brown whispers as he swung me around to his hip, pulling my body close to his.

“John,” I protested through laughter. “What are you doing?”

He hushed me before taking my hand in his and placing the other on my waist, swaying with the beat of the music. I surrendered to him like the shore to a wave, resting my head on his chest. And as we danced, our bodies melded together like two pieces of clay, almost indistinguishable from one another. I felt as though falling in love with John was like falling in love with a poem, like Bright Star, I Carry Your Heart With Me or The Ragged Wood.

“No one has ever loved but you and I,” said Yeats, and as the music swelled so did all my hope, held in John O’Callaghan’s guitar callused hands.

He dropped me off at my house just before curfew, and after a few protesting kisses by the door, I finally crept inside. “You’re pushing it a little, don’t you think?”

I looked up to see my fraternal twin sister, Casey, sitting on the couch in the living room, curled up with the latest edition of Harper’s Bazaar. Her long blonde hair was tied up in loose braid, the freckles spattering her cheeks almost dancing as she smiled. I grinned back, knowing that she knew what I was doing out so late.

“Do you love him?” she asked, and I flocked to her side and collapsed, a happy heap of lovesick girl. I didn’t have to respond for her to understand – Casey and I always just knew, no complicating vernacular required; a simple glance would always suffice.

So I spilled my soul to her, like the darkest red wine, as she braided my hair over and over. And she always knew and she always understood. Always. She knew I loved John before I even could put it into words, she knew, she knew like she’d written everything with her own hands, like a tattoo upon my heart. She always knew.



I stood in my bedroom with Charlotte in only my underwear. An array of outfits was strewn across my bed in front of us. Kennedy would be on his way to pick me up any time now and I still hadn’t quite decided what I wanted to wear. I had a whole plan of where we were going and where to show him that evening, but picking an outfit was an entirely different story.

“For fucks sake,” Charlotte huffed, pushing her white blonde locks away from her face in frustration. “The red one. It’s gorgeous. If we don’t choose now you’re going to have to go naked. Not that he would necessarily mind.”

I checked her with my hip in defense of my self, irritated but amused. “You’re right,” I replied, pulling the lacy red dress from my bed and pulling it on over my head. “He should be here any minute.”
Charlotte sat down in the chair at my desk, her hands folded in her lap. “You don’t feel bad about this at all? Like, even about how John feels about this?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure he even knows,” I responded, pulling accessories from my jewelry chest to match. “I don’t think Kennedy would tell him. And no, I don’t feel bad. I’ve had a stressful week, with work and stuff. It’s nice to get out and take a harmless break, especially with how Rick has been lately.”
Charlotte’s lips pursed instantly at the sound of Rick’s name, the thought of our boss making her uncomfortable. “He’s been especially weird with you lately, have you noticed that?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” I told her, perching on the edge of my bed. “It’s nice to know that not all guys are creeps like Rick. It’s been so long since I went out with someone, and Kennedy is just so genuinely… nice.”

Charlotte shrugged. “If you really feel that way, then go for it I s’pose,” she hummed pensively. “He’s probably a good break from all this shit going on with John anyway.”

“Thank you,” I said with a nod. I paused for a moment, tucking my hair behind my ear in the silence. “This may seem a little soon, but I think Casey would like him.”

Her response was instant quiet, not knowing exactly what to say. My fraternal twin was not a topic of conversation we frequently talked about. They’d never met and I rarely talked about her, so there wasn’t much she really could say. And just as she opened her mouth, there was a knock on the door.

When I opened it, it revealed Kennedy – dressed in a white button down and dark skinny jeans, a pink carnation in his hand. “Hey,” he greeted, pulling me into a hug. I couldn’t resist a smile at the sight of him; he looked so adorable in his attempt to look nice for me, and he’d even brought flowers. As he let me go, I wondered to myself how anyone could ever think that chivalry was dead.

“There was a guy outside the hotel selling flowers,” he mumbled embarrassedly as he handed me the carnation. “It’s not much but I thought I’d better not come empty handed.”

“No, no,” I protested. “It’s perfect. Let me just put this in some water and grab my coat and then I’m ready to go.”

“And go where, exactly?” he questioned after me as I went to the kitchen to tuck the flower in a tall, crystal glass. I hadn’t told him yet where we were going, in hopes of keeping it a surprise. Kennedy was odd that way; for being so well travelled, he was unusually unversed in the art of experiencing a city for all it was worth. However, I couldn’t really complain. I was more than happy to show him the city.

“You’ll see,” I hummed, grabbing my jacket from the back of a chair at the kitchen table and returning to his side. “See you later Char!”

As we went out the door, Kennedy shot me a look of confusion, his lips curved in an unnatural line. “Who is Char?”

“Just a friend, she basically lives at my apartment,” I explained curtly. I was ashamed to say it, but I wasn’t ready for Kennedy to meet Charlotte. It was too soon for them to meet, much too soon. Charlotte was all the family I had in the city. You didn’t bring a boy home to meet the parents on the first date, so I wouldn’t bring Kennedy home to meet my Charlotte.

I hailed a taxi and we went to the harbor, chattering along the way. Kennedy’s smile was enough to illuminate the entire cab, his laugh almost like an embrace. Part of me wished to skip the pleasantries and kiss him right there, but something I couldn’t place held me back.

“The harbor?” Kennedy asked when the cab dropped us off at a dock filled with other people, milling about and making conversation in all types of different languages and accents. “What are we going to do here? Go on a boat?”

I grinned, looping my arm in his like thread through a needle. “I am taking you on a harbor tour, to see New York City from the ocean. You’re going to love it, I promise.”

The excitement on Kennedy’s face was adorable; he was a child on Christmas morning as he grabbed my hand and tugged me to get in line to get on the boat. We were whisked on board to the dining area and promptly ordered dinner. Kennedy looked amazed as he watched out the window while we waited. The sunset was breaking on the horizon of the harbor, reflecting the gold and pink hues across the water.

“Why did you decide here?” he asked, taking a sip of the beer in his hand.

“My favorite part of the city is, well, the city,” I explained quietly, resting my head on my hand as I watched Kennedy’s awestruck face. “This is my favorite way to view it, from the harbor. The tour can be kind of cheesy at times but I thought there’s dinner, there’s dancing, there’s the beautiful skyline…”

“It’s awesome,” Kennedy breathed. “Seriously.”

“What did the guys think about you coming out with me?” I asked curiously, Charlotte’s doubts still ringing in my ears like dropped pins hitting linoleum. Kennedy broke out in a sly smile, tugging on the collar of his shirt jokingly.

“They all went out and think I’m home sick,” he replied smugly. I raised my eyebrows, reaching to grasp the stem of my wine glass.

“You are so very stealth, Kennedy,” I applauded. “I’ll drink to that.” He picked up his wine glass, too, and we clinked them together in a toast to whatever the hell was going on between us.

We talked over dinner about everything that came to mind – writing, music, sports, Arizona. He told me about his family and what his biggest inspirations were. Our conversation danced across the activities of the day before, how crazy it was to see all the fans turn up, how much fun he had messing around with me and the guys in the city. All the while we gracefully avoided the topic of John, like a landmine in a meadow – so gracefully that I hardly remembered he existed.

Night fell and Kennedy guided me out onto the deck, his fingers wrapped around mine loosely and that adorable grin on his face. We leaned against the banister that kept us all safe and aboard, the waves lapping at the hull below us. Before us was the entirety of the New York City skyline, as glittering and magical as the first time I saw it.

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it?” I respired.

“Yeah,” he said, looking right at me. His eyes were dreamy, the way I pictured my eyes when I first saw the city from this view. But I instantly got the feeling that he wasn’t talking about the city and my color deepened self-consciously.

“I’ve lived here for so long now, but I never get used to it. It still takes my breath away every time.”

Kennedy simply smiled and nodded, and it crossed my mind that we hardly needed conversation to communicate. He had been finishing my sentences all night, I said exactly what he was going to say on several occasions. We just were so blatantly on the same page that it almost hurt. He was so attractive and so sweet, bringing me flowers, complimenting me, being so supportive of my writing.

“Do you want to go dance or something?” he asked bashfully, and I raised my eyebrow at him questioningly. “I can’t take a girl like you out on a date and not ask her to dance.”

I conceded, letting him take me by the hand and lead me out on the dance floor. In moments, I was wrapped up in his arms, swaying to the music. It was such a stark contrast from the type of dancing we’d done the night before. I almost felt like crying as I pressed my face to his chest, out of happiness, out of confusion, out of conflict. Everything was so right, and yet some part of me felt so wrong. The last time I had danced like that with someone was long ago, and the memory stung at the back of my eyes like chlorine.

I was with an amazing man, dancing on a boat in the harbor of one the most beautiful cities in the world underneath the stars, just the two of us in a sea of people. Everything had to be right with a setting like that. The reflection of the lights on the water was like tiny pointed stars, so it felt like we were drifting on a boat through the sky. I hated myself for feeling anything but lucky for spending an evening like that with Kennedy.

When he dropped me off at my apartment, it was only natural for him to lean in for a kiss. But as he drew nearer, the panic grew inside me. Everything in me aside from sensibility begged me to not say the words that were coming to my throat, telling me that Kennedy was worth it – that Kennedy was sweet, that Kennedy was charming, that Kennedy was a nice guy. But sensibility was winning, and the words were falling out of my mouth like fluttering paper cranes, beautiful but tragic.

“I really like you Kennedy, but I’m not sure I can do this. I’m not sure I should do this.”
“Excuse me?” he asked as he pulled back from me, his eyebrows knit in confusion and with inability to understand.

“I’m not sure that this is smart of us,” I sighed quietly, verging on the edge of embarrassment of my words. “I think that it might be better if we don’t continue to see each other.”

He pressed his lips together in a tight line and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, like he didn’t know exactly what to say or how to say it. “Are you serious?” he asked, and I nodded in response.
“Josselyn, listen,” he exhaled and I could see that he was trying to control his emotions with great difficulty, his voice wavering. “You are entitled to that opinion. But I just want you to know, I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to let this go. I had such an amazing time tonight, and last night, and all day yesterday. I think you’re amazing and I really like you. And yeah, I leave tomorrow and yeah, I don’t know when I’m going to see you again. But you can damn well expect to hear from me every day, wherever I am.”

I stood speechless, hands clasping one another in front of me, eyes unable to move away from Kennedy. No one had spoken to me like that in years, made me feel so important and so wanted. I wanted so badly to keep him, to try and make it all work, but I knew it never could.

“Things like this don’t happen every day, Josselyn,” he continued, coming to me and placing his hands on my arms. “People don’t meet and connect like you and I just have. You can’t throw something like this away. I refuse to throw this away so easily. So you’re just going to have to deal with me.”

And in the time it takes to blink, Kennedy’s lips were on mine once more. I collapsed into him, letting him hold me in his arms and have me one last time. Because while he thought things could work between us, I knew they never could, and this one last moment was all I could give him of me.