On a Wednesday by Whitney G.
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
Tears fell down my face as I opened my “Welcome to The London Collective!” scholarship packet.
Inside, my rooming information, plane ticket, exchange information, and my tentative schedule for the next four years stared back at me.
Months ago, I would’ve savored this moment. I would’ve taken tons of pictures and packed up my entire apartment just to be certain that I was getting the hell away from Judy-April as fast as possible.
Now, all I wanted to do was cry.
“Why do you look like you’re about to break down on me, Court?” Kyle pushed my glass of wine toward me. “I thought you invited me over to celebrate your scholarship.”
“I don’t feel like there’s anything to celebrate,” I said. “They rejected my flight extension request, so I won’t even get to see you on your draft night. I won’t get to see you at all.”
“Just because we’re going in different directions temporarily—”
“Four years is not temporary, Kyle.”
“That’s only four football seasons,” he said. “That’s your cheerleading career.”
“In that case, it’ll feel more like a decade.”
He stood up and walked over to me. Gently grabbing my wrists, he helped me up—pulling me flush against his chest.
“Four seasons will go by in a flash.” He looked into my eyes. “And last time I checked, I can fly to see you whenever you want.”
“I don’t want you to do that.” I shook my head. “Please don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’ll send mixed signals, Kyle,” I said. “And on my worst days when I’m wondering what you’re doing and I happen to open Page Six or TMZ Sports, I don’t want to think about you being with someone else, days after being with me.”
“Court…”
“It’s silly to think that you won’t date other people. And you can’t fly twelve hours there and twelve hours back every time you want to have sex. You’ll have far easier options.”
He cupped my face in his hands, looking deep into my eyes. “Is that what you really think of me?”
I didn’t answer him.
“After becoming this close, you think I’m all about sex?”
“No, it’s just…”
“What, Court?”
I didn’t even know how to put my thoughts into words.
I felt like we belonged together—that he was who I was meant to spend the rest of my life with, but for whatever reason, now wasn’t our time.
“Long distance relationships don’t work, do they?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He just ran his fingers through my hair.
“Look,” he said. “Distance doesn’t mean that our friendship is over. I still expect to hear from you. And whenever I haven’t called you first, I expect to see your name on my call log.”
“If you meet someone and get serious, just let me know.”
“Will you do the same?”
“I’m never getting serious with anyone,” he said. “But also, how about this: If neither of us is married by the time we’re twenty-eight years old, we’ll marry each other.”
“What?” I laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all.” He looked dead-ass serious. “I would love to marry you when we’re twenty-eight. I’ll have made enough in the league, and you’ll be an established journalist who calls her own shots by then.”
“You want me to agree to a marriage in sympathy?”
“More like pity.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Seriously though,” he said. “I could see us together, married someday. I already know what it’s like to not have sex for an extended period of time with you, so that makes us practically perfect in the marriage department.”
I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. “Why twenty-eight and not thirty?”
“Because I’ve suffered through enough rom-coms with that plot, and I don’t need a reminder. Will you say yes, if I propose when we’re twenty-eight?”
“Only if you agree to a few other things.”
“I’m listening.”
“One, once you get drafted, you won’t come see me in person and vice versa,” I said. “You’ll let me focus on my work in London, and when I’m finished, I’ll come see you.”
He didn’t immediately agree.
“If four seasons isn’t that long…”
“Fine,” he said. “What’s the second rule?”
“You promise to keep the first.”
“That’s cheating, Court. Is there something else?”
“A final one,” I said. “You’ll watch Pretty Woman at least once a month.”
“That may be the hardest thing to accept.” He smiled. “Can’t I just buy you the DVDs as a truce?”
“No, but only because you already bought me every version as a going away present,” I said.
“Fine, Court. We have a deal.” He extended his hand.
“Great.” I shook it. “Does this mean we should go our separate ways now since the draft is next week?”
“Quite the contrary.” He laughed, gently pushing me onto the bed. “Let’s pretend like we’re not saying goodbye,” he said, brushing my hair away from my forehead.
“We’ve been trying that every night.”
“No,” he said, looking into my eyes. “Not like this.”
He turned off his phone, and then he turned off mine.
“No internet, no phones, just us.” He kissed me before I could say anything else, and for the rest of the night, he brought me to an orgasm over and over again.