I’m low-key freaking out.
But seriously, how do people do this all the time? I haven’t liked someone new in over ten years, and apart from some very awkwardly chaperoned dates in middle school, I haven’t dated anyone except Robbie. I mean, is dating even what comes next? Or is there supposed to be flirting?
Or more kissing?
Okay, I wouldn’t be opposed to the kissing because that kiss yesterday was mind-blowing, knee-weakening, earth-shattering, and more, but I feel like I should know what the next steps are. I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than kissing. Am I supposed to make the next move, or am I supposed to wait for him to do it? Isn’t there a three-day-wait rule or something? I feel like Cam mentioned something like that when he was going through his college frat-boy stage. And if I am supposed to be the one who makes the next move, what move am I supposed to make?
Why isn’t there a road map for dating?
“Okay, I got here as soon as I could. Sorry it took so long. I wanted to check in on all of the guys before they started talking about the tour. What’s the emergency?” Becka says as she enters my house. She heads straight for the kitchen with her arms full of groceries for our girls’ night that I begged for because I was experiencing an emergency.
“I kissed Tristan.”
She stops at the entrance to my kitchen and slowly turns around. “I’m sorry. I think I just hallucinated for a second. Can you repeat that?”
“I kissed Tristan,” I say, slightly more composed.
Her eyes bulge, but she recovers quickly. “Tristan Bridger?”
I nod, nibbling on my thumb and trying to quell the panic making me feel antsy.
She shakes her head slightly. “I’m at a loss for words.”
Oh my God, she probably thinks I’m the worst person in the world. I mean, my husband has only been gone a little over a year. Who does this? And with his best friend no less.
“Okay, I can see you’re freaking out,” she says.
“Of course I’m freaking out!” I shriek. “What was I thinking?”
She puts her hand up like she’s approaching a wild animal. “Okay, hold on. Why are you beating yourself up over this?”
I look at her like she’s crazy. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Uh, clearly not. I’m gonna need you to break it down for me.”
“He’s my dead husband’s best friend!”
She frowns. “He’s your friend too.”
I open my mouth, but I have nothing to say to that. He is my friend too, arguably my best friend after the last year. And that thought causes all the panic to seep right out of me like water down a drain.
“Do you regret it? Is that why you’re freaking out?”
Do I regret it?
“No,” I say softly. “No,” I repeat, louder and surer this time. “I don’t regret it.”
We stand in silence while Becka lets me process how I’m feeling.
“I don’t know what to do now,” I admit, embarrassed.
I used to feel so confident—and honestly, a little arrogant—because I never had to worry about dating disasters and missteps since my husband was my high school sweetheart. But now that I’m thrown back into that world, I realize how stunted I am when it comes to this kind of thing. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I feel like a teenage girl all over again, but trapped in a twenty-six-year-old body.
“What do you want to do?” she asks, like it’s the simplest and most obvious question in the world.
“What I want to do and what I should do are two very different things.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
My shoulders sag and I rub my eyes. “I can’t date him.”
“Why the hell not?” Now she sounds indignant, and I’m reminded that Tristan is her brother-in-law. Maybe I should’ve called Tamsin first, except Tamsin has even less dating experience than I do.
“Because what will people think? Robbie hasn’t even been gone that long, and it’s his best friend.”
“You’re really hung up on this best friend thing, and I don’t think you should be. Also, fuck what other people think. Patton Oswalt was remarried a year and a half after his wife died.”
“Who?”
“He voiced the rat in Ratatouille.”
“How do you know this stuff?”
She shrugs. “I work in entertainment. Everybody talks. Gossip is a rampant disease in Hollywood. Anyway, my point is fuck what other people think and do what makes you happy. Does Tristan make you happy?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Uh-uh. No buts. Those buts are the expectations of other people. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but how much of whatever excuses you’ve got going on in your head stem from what other people might think and less about what you want?”
I remain silent.
“That’s what I thought. If Tris makes you happy, then I say go for it. Life is too short to be miserable all the time.” She steps closer to me and grabs my hand, her voice dropping. “And Robbie wanted you to move on and be happy, Jo. If you’re worried about what he would think, I think he’d probably be thrilled his two favorite people in the world found happiness with each other.”
Tears fill my eyes but don’t fall. “Do you think so?” One of my many fears has been what Robbie would think. Would he see it as a betrayal? I mean, obviously if he were here, we wouldn’t be in this situation, but still. Her words are like a soothing balm on a stubborn wound that hasn’t quite healed.
“I still feel like I’m letting him down somehow. Like I should be single for the rest of my life. Or if I move on too quickly people will think I didn’t love Robbie.” The tears fall now because that idea breaks my heart. “But I did—I do. I love him so much.”
Becka wraps her arms around me and whispers in my ear. “I know you do. You can love Robbie and love someone else. He wanted you to, Jo. Seeing you like this would break his heart.”
I know she’s right. Robbie was that kind of guy—the one who wanted the best for everyone, always, often putting other’s happiness before his own.
But can I let myself love two people? Could I let myself love Tristan?
The answer to that question makes my heart beat a little faster, but I don’t have the guts to voice it out loud.
Becka steps back. “Talk to Tristan. Take baby steps. He’s never really dated before either, so you two can be Bambis together.”
“Bambi? What is with you and kids’ movies lately?”
She swallows thickly and looks away. “Nothing. Some animation thing at work.”
She takes a step away, but I grab her arm, stopping her. “Becka?”
She finally makes eye contact, nibbling her lip. “Trent and I are trying for a baby.”
“Oh my God,” I exclaim, wrapping her in a big hug, my excitement making my body bounce.
She laughs. “Sorry, you were having a crisis, so I wasn’t going to say anything.”
I pull away. “Are you kidding? I’m so excited for you! This is exactly the news I needed to get out of my own head.”
I pull her into the kitchen and we start getting snacks ready while we wait for Tamsin to get out of class and come over. When she finally arrives, we quickly get situated in my living room—ignoring the half-packed boxes—our array of snacks barely fitting on my coffee table. I pull up Clueless and let it play in the background while we catch up. Becka fills Tamsin in on her exciting news and then throws me under the bus by telling her about my kiss with Tristan.
I mean, I would’ve told her eventually because these women are two of my closest friends, but I’m still processing what Becka and I talked about earlier. I don’t know if I’m ready for another voice to ease the one in my head. But my friends aren’t going to let me off easily.
“Was the kiss good?” Tamsin asks.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe I didn’t ask that!” Becka says.
I struggle to hide my blush as my mind wanders back to our toe-curling kiss. I’ve never been kissed that way in my entire life—never with that kind of heat or passion that made my whole body tingle.
But it’s not only the kiss that has the butterflies in my stomach going crazy. It’s the look in Tristan’s eyes when we pulled away—the awe, joy, and love. There was so much love there it was nearly breathtaking.
And also really fucking scary because what if I can’t love him that much in return?
What if I can only have one great love, and I already had it?