Maybe You’ll Fall in Love with Your Best Friend.
Maybe you’ll go to a party at a friend’s place and meet a boy.
You’ll be entering high school next year.
You’re naive. You’re insecure.
He’ll seem to be none of those things.
You’ve heard his name before, and that he’s a “player.”
You’ll have his attention. There’s a lot going on, a bunch of new faces, but something about him will have yours too.
You’ll talk and laugh and kiss him once, maybe twice—something still fairly new for you. When he puts his lips on your neck, you’ll move your hair away without really thinking about it.
At the end of the night, you’ll leave without saying goodbye or wanting anything more.
You’ll feel excited. You had fun.
Maybe you’ll hear talk that he likes you.
This might happen a few times over the following three years, and sometimes he’ll act like it. But he won’t pursue you. You’ll never have to make that decision.
He’ll always just be there.
Your circles will overlap as you near graduation. You’ll have classes together, invite each other out, and maintain a different kind of friendship.
He’ll move away for college, and you’ll wonder sometimes how his life is going.
He’ll come home and tell you he’s taking you out, and you’ll laugh when he rolls up wearing a suit in his new sports car.
It’ll feel easy.
He’ll ask you questions like what inspires you, and he’ll make you laugh a laugh that can’t be faked.
You’ll half-jokingly kiss him on the cheek when he drops you off and leave feeling sure that this wasn’t a date—it won’t feel right assuming he’s still got feelings for you after all these years.
No, it couldn’t have been a date…
…but it was the best date you ever had.
You’ll let it go, and you’ll both go back to your lives.
Maybe you’ll stay in touch more intimately now.
You might start telling him things about you that you don’t share with everyone, because there’s no heavy weight on his opinions.
He’ll be that friend that you unload on, that you’re not afraid to call “an idiot,” that playfully pats your butt, and that stands by as you go home with another guy at the end of a night out.
You’ll make an effort to stay friends as years pass. He’ll throw freelance work your way, invite you on trips, and want you to meet his girlfriends.
It’ll always be important to keep him in your life.
Maybe you’ll feel a bit of something when you see that first photo of them together.
You might think that she’s not what you expected for him. But you’ll openly befriend her and be happy for him and wonder what it’ll feel like to attend their wedding someday.
You’ll continue your friendship the way it’s always been, but something about it will amplify.
You’ll find that you value his opinion more and more, and he’ll continually ask for yours.
You’ll send each other voice notes for days on end, debating profound topics like your purpose in life.
You’ll catch yourself wondering, sometimes, if this is a “normal” friendship.
And you’ll both run into jealous partner situations, but you’ll never feel worried about losing him. You’ll continually go to him, confessing, and he’ll do the same.
You’ll occasionally wonder if he’s really happy, but ultimately believe that he wouldn’t allow himself not to be.
And when both of you are single for the first time in almost 10 years, people will start asking questions
…and you won’t know how to answer them.
Maybe you’ll arrange a beach trip one hot Saturday in June, knowing you can always depend on him to show up.
You’ll make plans for the next weekend and, before you know it, every other day of your summer is spent by his side.
You’ll remember what it feels like to completely let go and laugh until your face hurts. It’ll feel like your battery is recharging.
His attention will feel more important now. You’re texting constantly, and it’s not enough.
You’ll feel a longing on the one weekend you spend apart, and will wonder if telling him that was a good decision, until he says he’s missed you too—and you’ll know you’re okay.
And the first time you find yourself thinking about kissing him, you’ll wonder where the fuck that came from.
You’ll catch yourself staring at him from across the room, mentally reciting that it’s no big deal. You’re just having fun and playing some harmless “could you imagine” scenarios,
and wondering if he ever does the same.
Maybe you’ll have the best summer of your life.
You might not know yet what this all means, but you’ll do what you need to do to keep it going. You’ll plan day trips and weekends away, and the weeks will drag on in anticipation.
You’ll start eating off his spoon, sitting next to him whenever you can, and using sunglasses to try to catch him looking at you.
And after laughing and drinking and floating under the sun for hours, he’ll reach out his hand to help you out of the water and you’ll anticipate taking it.
Something will click.
A pay-attention-to-this type of moment that you’ll replay in your head for the rest of the day,
assuming he must have felt it too.
Maybe the weeks will go by in a blur of laughter and ease and anticipation.
You’ll sleep in tents next to each other, talking until 4 am.
You’ll step out of your routine to go to the gym when you think he’ll be there.
And when he asks to take you out for dinner for your birthday, you’ll say yes without even a chance to overthink it.
He’ll be cute and pick you up and make you think and laugh all evening. And you’ll find yourself right where you were all those years ago:
wondering if this is a date.
The night will take unexpected turns and leave you not wanting to go home at 2 am. And when he pulls into your driveway, your mind will race through all your years together.
You’ll reach for the door handle before shaking your head, turning back, and saying “Fuck it” as you pull your lips to his.
You’ll utter something lighthearted as you step out of the car to go pace around the porch while you hope that you didn’t just make a can’t-come-back-from-this mistake.
But he’ll text you five minutes later, and you’ll know that you haven’t.
You might not have actually been that worried.
Maybe things will shift after that.
You might feel a vibration whenever you’re near him—that electric charge you’d completely forgotten about after years of meaningless encounters.
Second and third kisses come easy, all the while expecting the weirdness to set in—but it won’t, and that’ll surprise you every single day.
Your interest in anyone else disappears. You feel like there’s a magnet in your chest, pulling you, and nothing else even compares.
And on a Monday night in late summer, you’ll invite him over and talk with him for hours while you make the worst pancakes that ever existed.
You’ll go for a walk and sit near the river, losing time as you watch the city lights ignite.
You’ll look at him and wonder why you didn’t always see what you’re seeing now.
How beautiful his face is.
The ease in his words.
How he watches you when you speak.
You’ll catch him looking at you the way we all want to be looked at, and think that he’s got to be feeling this too.
While heading home through the Legislative grounds, he’ll stop you under the twinkling lights and pull you in.
And you’ll think to yourself for the first time:
We’ve never been just friends…
Maybe, yes, you’ll have moments where you worry.
What if you start to feel different and suddenly everything’s different and now there’s no going back?
What if he starts being more like a boyfriend, and less like him?
You’ll call your best girlfriend and sit on your floor almost yelling to her, worrying about whether or not this should happen.
Maybe you’ll start Googling “falling in love with your best friend,” not because you actually think anyone will send you that guiding-light message, but because you just need to hear someone say they did it and it didn’t ruin everything.
But then, you’ll be surprised by how those worries sort of just…dissolve away. Every time you see him, he’ll make you feel more secure.
This could be perfect, but you won’t know unless you try.
Maybe you’ll dig up photos from 10 years ago and see them in a whole new light.
The colour of some memories taking on a different hue.
You’ll start walking through your days with Jason Derulo’s “The Other Side” on constant mental replay, and question if some of the things you’ve always loved have had an association to him all along.
You’ve always appreciated how he never let you completely slip away. How he consistently made the effort to overlap your lives. You’ll wonder if there was some grander plan developing that you were too close to see—if it could have been this way all along, if you’d just chosen this.
You’ll learn that your typical defences can’t exist here. You won’t be able to hide things from him or disguise your insecurities or make back-up plans for when he’s not around anymore.
He knows things about you that took you years to confess to others;
things you’ve never told anyone;
things you’ve never actually even said aloud.
He sees everything that you do to portray yourself in a certain way.
He knows your patterns.
He traces your design.
He’ll change your mind about things you thought you’d never want, because a life with him is full of possibilities you hadn’t thought were possible.
It’ll feel intimidating, but you’ll know there’s no way you’d choose anything less.
Nothing feels better than this.
Maybe things you’ve always liked about him will amplify.
His voice.
His perspectives.
His smile.
His questions.
The way his names flow into each other.
You’ll have moments when you wonder if you’re ready for something this…different, after all this time alone—and he’ll know.
He’ll know when to push your buttons and when to leave you be.
And after too many glasses of wine, he’ll ask for a blanket to sleep on your couch—and you’ll lay in your bed adoring him for his consideration
and knowing it’ll never be needed again.
Maybe you’ll feel more excited than you can remember ever feeling.
You’ll plan a weekend away with friends and feel almost high from the minute you lock up. And you’ll know that sleeping next to him this time will be different.
Now, this is the part where you’ll worry that things could get weird.
After all these years of curiosity, you could fumble and find this just doesn’t work.
You could be nervous or look at each other at the wrong time or have too much going on in your head.
Or you might not.
It might just fucking flow.
He’ll know where to kiss you and how to have fun with it, and you’ll be amazed by how easy it feels.
Like it should have been this way all along.
Maybe the worries will ebb and flow.
You might feel both excited and defensive when your friends say that they can tell this time is different. You’ll sometimes try to remind yourself that it doesn’t have to be a big deal. You could just be feeling this way because it’s summer and you like attention.
Lost in the thrill of it all.
Yeah—you could keep doing your own thing, casually dating four guys at once while still preferring your “you” time.
You’ll reassure yourself that you can call this off at any moment if it becomes too much. That’s convincing, right?
But that type of thinking won’t last long. You’ll know it’s a bunch of bullshit, and reciting it doesn’t feel fulfilling.
And you’ll be surprised by how quickly you’re willing to wave that white flag—cutting other ties, using the word “boyfriend” to colleagues, even posting a gushy photo of the two of you on social media with a caption that insinuates to everyone that this is not a fling.
You’ll want everyone to know.
Maybe stolen moments will make time seem like it’s warping around you.
You’ll find yourselves consistently at each other’s places.
You’ll talk for seven hours and then ask where the day went.
You’ll spend days glued to each other and then miss him before you’re out of the driveway.
Fourteen years of buildup compressed into three months of something else, and you’ll feel yourself changing.
The fog of the statements you stood in for so long have dissipated.
It felt true—just a couple months ago—to say that you preferred sleeping alone.
That you think you’re a weaker version of yourself when you’re in love.
That you don’t care to find someone to walk down an aisle for.
Those things could still be true, if you wanted them to be. But, you won’t.
Because every aspect of your life will seem like it’s falling into place.
You enjoy your days more.
You appreciate your body more.
You feel the love you have in your life more.
You see yourself in a different way, because you’re seeing what he sees—
what he’s always seen.
Maybe the final weight of worry will come now—the worst one yet.
On a chilly late night in the hot tub, while telling stories about past relationships, you’ll smile at how it doesn’t bother you at all to think about how he was with other women.
You’ll know that they had nothing on you.
Everyone who came before was just practice for this.
You’ll choke on your words as it all sinks in. This fairytale-like love was right in front of you this whole time, and you never—in your entire life—expected to actually find someone that makes you feel this certain.
This special.
This seen.
This important. Like you’re something worth never giving up on.
And the next evening when you’re about to leave, he’ll hold you and you’ll feel that familiar what-am-I-getting-myself-into pressure on your chest.
You’ll go home and lose sleep and cry a little, worrying about all the ways this could go wrong, and what it would do to you if it did. But you’ll wake up the next day feeling like some loose joint has popped back into place.
Almost vibrating, you’ll need to get the words out. So, you’ll tell him. And when he says it back you’ll realize that you didn’t actually need him to.
You knew a long time ago.
It’ll always be scary to make such big declarations; to feel like you’re handing your everything over to someone and begging they don’t drop it.
Who better than the person who’s been holding his hands out all these years?
Maybe you’ll watch him melt into your life.
You’ll start inviting him to your parents’ and find it almost eye roll-worthy how well he fits in. He’ll joke with your sisters and give your nephews high fives, ask your dad questions and make your mom laugh.
You’ll feel excited about re-introducing him to friends.
Zero awkwardness—like he’s always been there.
But then, hasn’t he?
Maybe you’ll start to adore him for his stamina.
His patience.
His perseverance.
You’ll begin an endless loop of
How long was this right in front of me?
How long was he trying and waiting and standing by as you grew and fucked up and hurt him and yourself—never asking for anything but your time?
You’ll start looking back on instances that now seem so obvious:
How you could never imagine the kind of woman he’d end up with.
How getting his first tattoo had you doing double takes.
How it wasn’t ever awkward to play with his hair, or let him touch you.
How you’d felt special that night you’d used five words to talk him out of getting in a fight.
And the dozen people who’ll say they’ve been waiting for this for years will be the cherry on top.
Stacking the memories together will have you shaking your head at your ignorance, but, ultimately, you’ll know that those pieces weren’t meant to fit at the time.
He’ll know it too.
Maybe you’ll finally hear it.
One evening while smoking a joint and eating pineapple in your kitchen, you’ll peel back layers of the past and he’ll say what you’ve been wondering for 14 years:
That you’ve always been there.
That he knew on that very first night.
That he’s never stopped chasing you in some capacity, trying to find resemblances of you in other girls.
You’ll already know—you’ve always known.
And you’ll think about all those times you felt like you knew, feeling guilty for making him wait. But then, he’ll say something that stops all those thoughts:
“I think I knew we’d be together, first.
But, maybe, you knew we were gonna be together last.”
And you’ll know that you couldn’t have done anything differently.
You two could have met up again after that first night, or gone on that second date when you were 23, or made a move on one of the countless occasions you were alone together—but any of those changes might have affected this, and suddenly 14 years feels like nothing to wait.
You both needed every single one of those experiences. There were things you had to learn.
There’s something to be said for waiting until you know a person, but something even more crucial about waiting until you know yourself.
Maybe other people will read this and think you’re full of shit.
They might laugh and call it a “honeymoon phase,” and the insecure part of you might care for a second or two.
You’ll need to go through those motions, but you’ll know that’s not even a possibility. You’ve been there before.
A honeymoon phase stems from a basis of not truly knowing one another.
A burning infatuation that dismisses red flags.
Falling in love with an idea of a person then slowly coming down from the high as the newness settles and you see the whole picture.
Only a few months in, and you’re already passed that finish line.
Because never, for one second, have you not been your full self with him. You’ve never given him an idealized version of yourself for him to love. He’s known all of you all along.
You loved each other before you were in love.
People judge what they, unfortunately, don’t understand.
Maybe you’ll start to resonate with the idea of a soulmate.
One person absolutely designed for another.
Who knows you—like, fucking knows you.
What you’ll want.
What you’re going to say.
How you’re going to perceive and embrace situations, because it’s how he would.
You’ll have that “aha” moment, when it becomes so clear why your pursuit of others never panned out. And now, those feelings you called love before feel like a childish interpretation.
The thought that you—for even a minute—believed that they could become this is genuinely funny.
It just wasn’t your time yet.
Maybe you’ll learn to let go of fear.
You won’t question anymore if you should or shouldn’t have done something, if a gesture was too much, or if you were too stupid.
When it comes to him, you’ll just know that you won’t get it wrong.
You might trip and fuck up and learn everything two steps after he does, but it won’t be wrong—it’ll be where you’re supposed to be.
He’ll be one of the few things that you’re sure of.
And you’ll start to shed the skepticism you’ve always carried. You won’t mentally travel down all the avenues of ways this could hurt you. Instead, you’ll do the opposite.
You’ll ask yourself how you can not fuck this up.
You’ll think about the part you played in all the heartbreaks before, and how to use that growth.
You’ll focus on how you can work at this every day, and keep providing all the things that made him love you.
Maybe you’ll never get over how incredible this is.
How impossibly lucky you both are to have found this—a bond that exceeds the once-in-a-lifetime benchmark.
This story is one that deserves to be told. He’ll encourage you to tell it, and you’ll be amazed at how easily the words flow.
After years of not wanting to write, you’ll find that you can’t stop. You’ll set the bar down, mid-deadlift, because a line pops into your head that’s just too good.
By the end of the day, you’ll scroll through your pages and feel excited to keep adding to it.
You’ll sit at the kitchen table while he flips eggs after having spent the last four days at your place, and you’ll keep at it.
Within a week, you’ll have created something of a mini novel for him, and it still might not be long enough. You won’t be able to fit in everything you want to say.
It’ll be sappy and unlike anything you’ve ever said, but it’s the truth—and it deserves to be said.
Because who can say that they found this with someone they built a foundation with over half a lifetime?
We’re not promised tomorrow, and those who love you should know that you felt this today.
Yours is the kind of story people want to believe in.
Maybe you won’t go back.
Maybe experiencing all these pieces falling into place has changed who you are, and now there’s just before and after.
You’ll know that no matter what happens, for better or worse, you needed this.
Every day might get better and surprise you more and teach you things about love and life and yourself that you’d never considered.
You might always be in awe of how he knew, and how long it took you to know.
“Your will, my hand” he’d said.
God damn—he’s always right.
Maybe you’ll fall in love with your best friend, and it’ll be the best thing you ever did.
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