Don't Make This Easy, I Want You to Mean It
Thirty-One.
It was May. Our last month at Dulaney. The previous two months had gone by beyond slowly, Alex having been away for two weeks on tour while Marissa and I moped and pouted about missing our boyfriends. Jack and Alex were now recording their new EP, meaning that even though they were back in town, we still hardly saw them, as they spent most afternoons recording and even a good part of the weekend. It was, however, Friday night, which Marissa and I were spending eating junk food while the boys were recording late. They were being perfectionists about it, but I knew it just meant the end result was going to be worth the time we missed out on.
“McDreamyyyy,” I called, throwing myself onto the sofa next to Marissa with a fresh batch of popcorn. We were currently binging on Grey’s Anatomy and gushing about McDreamy, my calling of his name a demand that she press play on the DVD player.
“I’m doing it, I’m doing it,” she laughed, pressing play on the remote and grabbing a hand full of popcorn.
“Urgh, I would be so pissed,” I groaned as the ‘previously on’ section started, reminding us what had happened in the previous season’s finale. “I mean, could you imagine being so utterly smitten with someone and then their wife shows up? I love him, but I so would not forgive him.”
“Oh, come on,” Marissa reasoned. “Addison cheated on Derek. They were so not together. It doesn’t count.”
“So, hypothetically speaking, you and Jack break up. Ten years from now, you run into each other in a bar, have crazy one-night-stand sex, then accidentally fall in love-“
“Kinda like you and Alex.” I narrowed my eyes.
“Kinda like Meredith and Derek. But then his girlfriend shows up. You’re gonna forgive him?”
“Yeah, I’m totally off that conversation now. You win. What about you and Alex?”
“What about me and Alex?” I asked, suppressing a sigh. She had gotten worse than Jack, so of course I knew what she was talking about. Jack had completely laid off the subject since Vegas, but Marissa still had no idea what had happened, and had taken to pestering me (and me alone) about my feelings for Alex. She was the absolute worst.
“When are you going to admit you’re completely in love with him?” She scoffed.
“When are you going to stop pestering me about this?”
“When you admit you love him.”
“Jesus Christ, of course I love him,” I snapped. Marissa’s jaw dropped lightly, her eyes widening. I had a feeling she hadn’t expected me to admit it to her, but I was beginning to realise I was acting like a child and I needed to man up. Alex had admitted it to me in Vegas, and I’d known before that that I loved him. It had been months. I needed to grow up.
“You what?”
“I love him. You know that, I know that, everyone fucking knows that. Everyone but Alex.”
“Well, yeah, but I was working on the assumption that you didn’t know that.”
“I’ve known for months,” I shrugged. “I’m just being a huge fucking… vagina.”
“You have a huge vagina.”
“Oh my God! Gross, Maria. So gross.”
“Sorry, sorry. Go on.”
“Ugh. I don’t know. Should I tell him? Should I not? Urgh. This is Vegas all over again.”
“How is this Vegas all over again?” I groaned, realising I was, in fact, going to have to tell her the stupidly long story of Alex and I’s first fight, including why Jack had laid off us both when she hadn’t. “What a fucking… butthole,” Marissa screeched as I revealed what her boyfriend had been keeping from her.
“Whoa, calm down, Jack,” I laughed, knowing ‘butthole’ was Jack’s go to insult when he was trying not to get too serious.
“No, but seriously, how could Jack not tell me Alex told you he loved you?”
“Alex probably made him promise. You know what he’s like. He didn’t even outright tell me he had told him, he just said he knew what Alex told me. I just put two and two together.”
“The point stands: he’s a butthole and I’m going to give him hell.” I snorted into my lukewarm tea, glad that she was here to lighten to mood a little and guide me in my absolute ignorance. I’d wanted to tell Alex I loved him for the majority of our relationship, and yet I found my pride holding me back over and over again. Marissa was my emotional compass: she would help to guide me in what to do.
“Just not too much. I think he’s a little soft on you, and you might just upset him if you get too angry.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Make all the jokes you want.” I smiled over at my friend, just feeling a surge of gratitude toward her. I had been neglecting her lately, running around moping about anything and everything and outright lying to her about things I had no reason to lie to her about, and yet she was still here happy to help and not taking offence.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think what I’ve always thought: Alex Gaskarth is hopelessly in love with you and you are hopelessly in love with him. Admit it, you huge buttholes, and stop wasting my time.”
“Okay, before you go back to our real love, what if, on the off chance, he doesn’t love me, and it’s all a lie and he breaks up with me and I don’t know what to do?” She looked at me, pretending to mull over my utterly unfounded insecurity before responding.
“On the very, very, remarkably slim chance that happens, you come back home, I load you up on cheap wine and we bitch about boys and binge watch bad movies.”
“I feel like Patrick Dempsey would make me feel better than bad movies.”
“Yeah, because I’m gonna trust drunk Jasey with McDreamy ruining Meredith’s romantic hopes and dreams when she’s been dumped. Bad movies, Jasey.”
“Fine!” I groaned dramatically.
“It is, however, a remarkably slim chance, so I won’t bother getting any wine in. I’m proud of you for finally being a grown up.”
“I’m proud of me too.” She grinned at me, seeming genuinely happy at the developments of the evening, before the pair of us returned to our TV.
“McDreamyyyy,” I called, throwing myself onto the sofa next to Marissa with a fresh batch of popcorn. We were currently binging on Grey’s Anatomy and gushing about McDreamy, my calling of his name a demand that she press play on the DVD player.
“I’m doing it, I’m doing it,” she laughed, pressing play on the remote and grabbing a hand full of popcorn.
“Urgh, I would be so pissed,” I groaned as the ‘previously on’ section started, reminding us what had happened in the previous season’s finale. “I mean, could you imagine being so utterly smitten with someone and then their wife shows up? I love him, but I so would not forgive him.”
“Oh, come on,” Marissa reasoned. “Addison cheated on Derek. They were so not together. It doesn’t count.”
“So, hypothetically speaking, you and Jack break up. Ten years from now, you run into each other in a bar, have crazy one-night-stand sex, then accidentally fall in love-“
“Kinda like you and Alex.” I narrowed my eyes.
“Kinda like Meredith and Derek. But then his girlfriend shows up. You’re gonna forgive him?”
“Yeah, I’m totally off that conversation now. You win. What about you and Alex?”
“What about me and Alex?” I asked, suppressing a sigh. She had gotten worse than Jack, so of course I knew what she was talking about. Jack had completely laid off the subject since Vegas, but Marissa still had no idea what had happened, and had taken to pestering me (and me alone) about my feelings for Alex. She was the absolute worst.
“When are you going to admit you’re completely in love with him?” She scoffed.
“When are you going to stop pestering me about this?”
“When you admit you love him.”
“Jesus Christ, of course I love him,” I snapped. Marissa’s jaw dropped lightly, her eyes widening. I had a feeling she hadn’t expected me to admit it to her, but I was beginning to realise I was acting like a child and I needed to man up. Alex had admitted it to me in Vegas, and I’d known before that that I loved him. It had been months. I needed to grow up.
“You what?”
“I love him. You know that, I know that, everyone fucking knows that. Everyone but Alex.”
“Well, yeah, but I was working on the assumption that you didn’t know that.”
“I’ve known for months,” I shrugged. “I’m just being a huge fucking… vagina.”
“You have a huge vagina.”
“Oh my God! Gross, Maria. So gross.”
“Sorry, sorry. Go on.”
“Ugh. I don’t know. Should I tell him? Should I not? Urgh. This is Vegas all over again.”
“How is this Vegas all over again?” I groaned, realising I was, in fact, going to have to tell her the stupidly long story of Alex and I’s first fight, including why Jack had laid off us both when she hadn’t. “What a fucking… butthole,” Marissa screeched as I revealed what her boyfriend had been keeping from her.
“Whoa, calm down, Jack,” I laughed, knowing ‘butthole’ was Jack’s go to insult when he was trying not to get too serious.
“No, but seriously, how could Jack not tell me Alex told you he loved you?”
“Alex probably made him promise. You know what he’s like. He didn’t even outright tell me he had told him, he just said he knew what Alex told me. I just put two and two together.”
“The point stands: he’s a butthole and I’m going to give him hell.” I snorted into my lukewarm tea, glad that she was here to lighten to mood a little and guide me in my absolute ignorance. I’d wanted to tell Alex I loved him for the majority of our relationship, and yet I found my pride holding me back over and over again. Marissa was my emotional compass: she would help to guide me in what to do.
“Just not too much. I think he’s a little soft on you, and you might just upset him if you get too angry.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Make all the jokes you want.” I smiled over at my friend, just feeling a surge of gratitude toward her. I had been neglecting her lately, running around moping about anything and everything and outright lying to her about things I had no reason to lie to her about, and yet she was still here happy to help and not taking offence.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think what I’ve always thought: Alex Gaskarth is hopelessly in love with you and you are hopelessly in love with him. Admit it, you huge buttholes, and stop wasting my time.”
“Okay, before you go back to our real love, what if, on the off chance, he doesn’t love me, and it’s all a lie and he breaks up with me and I don’t know what to do?” She looked at me, pretending to mull over my utterly unfounded insecurity before responding.
“On the very, very, remarkably slim chance that happens, you come back home, I load you up on cheap wine and we bitch about boys and binge watch bad movies.”
“I feel like Patrick Dempsey would make me feel better than bad movies.”
“Yeah, because I’m gonna trust drunk Jasey with McDreamy ruining Meredith’s romantic hopes and dreams when she’s been dumped. Bad movies, Jasey.”
“Fine!” I groaned dramatically.
“It is, however, a remarkably slim chance, so I won’t bother getting any wine in. I’m proud of you for finally being a grown up.”
“I’m proud of me too.” She grinned at me, seeming genuinely happy at the developments of the evening, before the pair of us returned to our TV.