The End is Where We Begin Maria Goodin (best classic romance novels .TXT) 📖

think I just underestimated the effect seeing her again would have. I think I’m just muddling up my feelings now with my feelings from the past. I think it’ll be fine. I think it’ll all settle down. I think the more I see her, the easier it will get. Or perhaps I should see less of her. Maybe I shouldn’t see her at all. In fact, I think what I really need to do is get back in the game, get out there, start dating again…

“What are you doing?”

I look up with a start to find Josh standing in the doorway, wearing tracksuit bottoms and his bed T-shirt.

“Just watching TV,” I tell him, but when I glance at the screen, I find the programme’s finished, and all that’s showing is the TV menu.

“Why are you lying in the dark with your arms wrapped over your face?”

“Was I?”

Josh wanders over to the sofa, muttering something about me being a weirdo, before grabbing my ankles and pulling them off the sofa. He slumps down next to me.

“Aren’t you meant to be in bed?” I ask him.

“Can’t sleep.”

“Everything okay?”

He gazes blankly at the screen.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

He sighs quietly.

“Did you ever…” he begins and then falters, “…did you ever fall for someone that it would have been better not to have fallen for? Like, you wish you didn’t like them because it’s way too complicated, but you just can’t help it?”

I unwittingly let out a stifled laugh, struck by the irony of his question. A couple of weeks ago, the answer would have been a resounding no. I’ve strictly avoided complications where matters of the heart have been concerned. Any relationships I’ve had have been simple, straightforward, brief. I haven’t “fallen” for anyone.

But now here I am, going around in circles, trying to convince myself that I don’t feel whatever it is I feel for my soon-to-be-married ex-girlfriend. “Complicated” doesn’t even begin to sum it up.

“Yeah, it’s a bit crap when that happens, isn’t it?” I sigh.

“It’s not exactly convenient,” he confirms.

“No, well, love isn’t very convenient,” I tell him, wearily. I almost add and that’s why I tend to avoid it, but I don’t want to inflict my cynicism onto him. I’m well aware that what I do isn’t healthy. Hence why I set out to “fix” myself, starting with finding Libby and putting her in the past. Talk about digging yourself deeper.

I study Josh’s profile in the blue glare of the television. He looks like he’s got the weight of the world on his teenage shoulders. I wonder why he doesn’t just come out and say it: that he likes Chloe but he doesn’t know how to handle it. However, despite his need to share every single inane, superficial aspect of his life on social media, Josh can still be fiercely private when it comes to his genuine thoughts and feelings.

“So what’s so complicated with… with this person, anyway?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I dunno. Everything. We’re already friends and I don’t want to put my feelings out there and risk ruining our friendship, but at the same time I really like them, and I think they feel the same but… I dunno, maybe it would be better to leave things as they are.”

I remember the feeling of being fifteen, knowing I liked Libby but being too scared to tell her, wondering if I’d lose our friendship if I declared my feelings. I was glad I went for it though. So glad. Thinking this is a useful parallel, I share it with Josh, grasping the rare opportunity to impart some parental wisdom. He knows my relationship with his mother was just a one-off thing, that there’s nothing useful I can offer him there in terms of relationship advice. But maybe there’s something he can learn from my past experience with Libby.

“So how long were you two together for then?” he asks.

“Just over a year. ”

“So were you, like, you know…?”

“No,” I say adamantly, “we weren’t. Because we were too young and not ready—”

“I was going to say were you in love with her,” Josh hastily interrupts.

“Oh. Right. Well… yeah.”

“How did you know?”

I shrug. “I dunno. I just knew. Why? D’you think you’re in love?”

I hope I’m not pushing my luck here. I don’t want him to clam up or, even worse, flee for his room. I can see this is tough for him, but, selfishly, part of me wants to string this out. This closeness, this sharing of confidences – it’s precious, and becoming rarer year on year.

He sticks his lower lip out and shrugs slowly, studying his bare feet, wiggling his toes. “Maybe. I don’t know. I mean, I think about them, like, non-stop. I mean, literally, they are, like, all I seem to be able to think about… Does that count as being in love?”

“God, I hope not,” I mutter.

“Huh?”

“I mean, not necessarily,” I correct myself hastily. “You can find yourself constantly thinking about someone for all kinds of reasons, can’t you? Like, maybe they intrigue you, or… I don’t know… you have a weird obsession of some kind—”

“What? I don’t have some weird obsession!” he protests, eyeing me like I’ve lost my mind.

“I’m not saying you do. I just don’t believe that thinking about someone all the time in itself means you’re in love with them,” I tell him. And myself.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says thoughtfully. “But still. I think I am.”

“Well, why would that be such a bad thing?”

He lets his head slump back against the sofa cushion. “Well, it’s just not a simple situation, Dad.”

“No. It rarely is.”

We sit in silence for a moment, both of us lost in thought.

“So, you think I should just go for it?” he pipes up. “Just admit how I feel?”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Total and utter humiliation?”

“Or, they feel the same way and… bam.”

“Bam?”

“Yeah. Bam.”

“What’s bam?”

“You know. Cupid’s arrow. The big L. Destinies colliding…”

He rolls his eyes at me. I’m relieved to see a smile back on his