Member-only story
This Is Not Us
If I were to describe the kind of guy I expected to end up with — it would be Jake.
“Do you believe in fate?” Jake asks.
“No, I believe in choices,” I say.
Jake and I are sitting across from each other on his bed. The gray comforter is tucked neatly into the side of the mattress, only rumpled from the weight of our bodies. His bedroom light is off. His 12-inch flat-screen has the tv show, This Is Us, illuminating the room. Between us is a frozen slab of Pillsbury chocolate chip cookie dough.
“Why can’t both exist?” Jake asks.
“When people make choices, it changes their path. Those choices then influence the paths of everyone they will interact with. How can fate account for that many variables?” I say.
“Deep down, fate could know the choices we’re going to make. What if they aren’t choices at all?” Jake asks.
If I were to describe the kind of guy I expected to end up with — it would be Jake. His short brown curls and olive-green eyes remind me of a younger John F. Kennedy. His gray sweater is tight around his arms, and he cuffed his tan slacks around his ankle. Jake’s strong square jawline tempts me to grab his face in my hands.
