At that moment, a realization hit me like a ton of bricks: I didn’t want to talk to my boyfriend. My boyfriend was the guy I was supposed to be in love with!
The guy I should be missing like crazy when he was out of town. I didn’t want to talk to him because I wanted to talk to Nick, instead. Nick was such a close friend -- he was my confidant, my comedian, my texting buddy, my cook, my encourager, my advice-giver. And then, for the first time, maybe he was something even deeper.
And Nick had his own love interests, he wasn’t pining after me by any means.
Nick and I met during my junior year of college when his cousin, Dave, invited me to a party they were attending. I was actually seeing someone else at the time, so the thought of anything romantic didn’t even cross our minds.
We were both friendly, but that’s just not the way it went.
One night that week, I was hanging out at Nick’s place.
Nothing unusual about that, but this was one of those semi-rare occurrences when I was the only other person at Nick’s apartment.
The hang-outs became more frequent, and I was soon finding myself at Nick’s place several times a week.
And I wasn’t the only one -- Nick’s place became a sort of hub for our friend group.
Soon after this, Dave was cast in a scene I was directing for one of my theatre courses.
He started inviting me to hang out with him and Nick after rehearsals, since they often cooked dinner and watched movies at Nick’s apartment.
Although I cannot pinpoint when he became my best friend, I can pinpoint when I started to realize that I wished he was more.