I chipped away at your cold exterior
dodging shards of ice until
you were no longer hard,
but even though I cracked the surface
your heart would not melt.

- Christy Ann Martine

"I'm heading out for the day!" I say to my boss at The Morning Call.

Tina sits behind a stack of files that dwarf even her gargantuan frame as she slams her fingers into the keys with a fury they don't deserve. Her pale blonde hair frizzes around her head in a halo as she types the last article for the paper. My editor in chief doesn't even look up as she answers me.

"That's fine, Rachel. Have a great weekend."

"You too," I answer as I throw my oversized purse over my shoulder and grab my lunch bag.

As I walk out the front door and head to my car, I check my watch. 5:00 P.M. Right on time. I'm supposed to meet Aaron, my boyfriend, for dinner at Demetri's, our favorite Greek restaurant. My mouth waters at the thought of devouring an authentic gyro. I send Aaron a text to let him know that I'll be there in just a few minutes while a warm breeze disrupts my curls.

I climb into my car, a refurbished Volkswagen bug that I bought on a whim and now deeply regret. Why I thought it was a good idea to buy a car with no storage space, rust around the rims, and a thousand mechanical problems, I don't know. Actually, I do know. I thought it was cute. I know, I'm a genius.

Before I start driving, I call Emmalee, my roommate, to let her know I won't be home until later tonight. If I don't give her a head's up, she's bound to freak out when I don't show up exactly seventeen minutes from the time I leave every day.

"Hello?" Em calls into the phone.

"Hey, it's Rachel."

"Hey!" Her voice sounds like it's a thousand miles away. "Hang on a sec." I hear scuffling and then her voice, clearer this time. "Sorry, I was cleaning and I had bleach on my hands."

I laugh, unsurprised. When Emmalee's stressed, she cleans, even on a Friday night. She makes me look like I have a life, which is really saying something.

"It's fine. I'm just calling to let you know that I won't be home until later tonight. I'm grabbing dinner with Aaron."

There's an awkward pause before I hear her answer, disturbingly chipper, "Oh, okay. Um, I'll see you later."

I sigh and wonder if I should ask her what's wrong. Emmalee's hit a rough patch recently, and even though we've been roommates for four years, this last year she has been especially difficult to deal with. Six months ago, she was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Since finding out, Emmalee's been at her wit's end trying to figure out how to cope with her diagnosis. Most of the time, I don't know what to do except listen to her.

"Is everything okay?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I just...I had parent teacher conferences today, and one of the moms yelled at me for how I treat her kid."

Emmalee's a special education teacher at the local elementary school, and she's incredible. I've never seen anyone more passionate about their students; she spends hours each weekend planning lessons and pouring over IEPs. She's the most dedicated teacher I've ever met, and any time I've seen her with her students, she shows a kindness and sensitivity to her students that I only dream of having. To hear that one of her student's parents has treated her like crap breaks my heart.

"Aw, Em, I'm so sorry. When I get home, we can talk about it," I say, thrumming my fingers on the wheel.

Emmalee curses and I flinch. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Crap, I can't do anything right."

I bite my lip. "Em, it's okay. Don't worry about it. I'll pick up some ice cream on the way home and we'll talk. I promise."

She pauses. "Okay, sounds good. If you don't mind."

"I don't. I'll see you tonight."

"Bye, Rachel!"

I hang up the phone and sigh, slouching in the driver's seat and leaning my head against the steering wheel. I love Emmalee and I feel guilty for saying this, but sometimes it's so hard to be her closest friend and her roommate. There's no escape, no time for myself. When I need a break, I have to hide out at Aaron's apartment because I can't go home.

I arrive at Demetri's a few minutes later, my car squealing as I pull into the parking lot. At six o'clock on a Friday night, Demetri's is packed; luckily, I know Aaron got us a reservation. I recognize his beat up Altima in the corner of the parking lot and I pull my car into the spot next to him. I smile; of course he's early. Aaron is the most thoughtful, reliable guy I've ever met, the only person I can really talk to after days like these.

I enter the restaurant and the smell of spices and meat hits my nose with the force of a tractor trailer. The smell awakens my appetite and I feel like I could eat a cow. The waiter smiles at me beneath a thick black beard and I wonder if he can hear my stomach growling.

"You're with Aaron Webb?" he asks in a thick Greek accent, wiping greasy hands on his apron.

"Yes, please."

We're such regulars that the wait staff recognizes us. He nods and I follow him as we weave through the restaurant, overflowing with diners. Demetri's doesn't look like much, but it's the only authentic Mediterranean restaurant in the city. I spot Aaron; he's reserved a corner table for us and he stands up when he sees me, beaming.

"Hey, Rachel," he says, kissing me on the cheek and pulling out my chair for me. "I'm glad you're here; I'm starving."

"Me too," I exclaim as I sit and scan the menu. "Gosh, this looks good."

My mouth waters as I examine the pictures in the menu and I forget Aaron's sitting across from me for a moment. I imagine the taste of honeyed baklava on my tongue and my stomach grumbles.

"I think you're more excited to see that menu than me," he teases with a soft smile on his face, nudging my knee with his under the table.

I toss the menu down and reach for his hand and squeeze it. "Of course not." He raises his eyebrows and I laugh. "Okay, maybe I'm a little more excited about the food."

When I first met Aaron two years ago, I was pretty sure he was the perfect man. Almost two years of dating have confirmed that I was right. Plus, he's nothing like anyone else I've ever dated, which is a huge bonus. He's kind, serious, respectful, calm, and thoroughly rooted in the present. There's no baggage between us and no similarities to turn him into an echo of my past.

Aaron smiles at me, his eyes a soft hazel green that reminds me of a field of untamed grass. His face is young and boyish even though he's a few years older than me, freckled and framed by soft blonde waves he keeps cut short. Everything about him--his gentle voice, soft eyes, sweet smile--says that he's trustworthy, and after what I've been through, that's what I need: someone I can trust.

I have to remind myself of that when memories emerge from the recesses of my mind, threatening to pull me back into that place of mourning and missing that I'm still not sure I've left behind.

"So, what are you going to order?" he asks, squeezing my hand.

"Better question: What are you going to order so I can get something else and we can share?" I ask with an overdramatic wink.

Poor guy. I'm the worst person in the world to share food with. I will eat more than my half with no regrets.

"Souvlaki."

"Then I'll get moussaka. And can we stop and get ice cream afterward? I promised Emmalee. I'll even buy you butter pecan."

"Deal," he says with a laugh. After passing our menus back to the waiter and giving him our order, Aaron leans across the table and takes my hands in his. "So how is Emmalee?"

I sigh. "Same as ever, I guess."

Aaron's been worried about my living situation ever since Emmalee started to take a turn for the worst, when she started to become dependent and clingy and susceptible to dramatic mood wings. She gets frustrated every time I invite Aaron over, so we've been eating out or hanging out at his place instead of my apartment. I really only go home to sleep. I hate the distance between Emmalee and me, but I feel suffocated when I'm around her all the time. I know Aaron wants to say something, but it's my life and he does his best to stay out of it and let me make my own decisions.

"Is it...is it healthy for you to live with her?" he asks.

I feel a flash of defensiveness for the girl that's been my best friend for the past four years. "She's stuck with me through some pretty rough crap, so I'm going to stick with her. Things are just hard right now. It'll get better."

Aaron looks about as unconvinced as I feel. It's true, though. Emmalee stuck with me through the worst year of my life; after I finished my last semester at college, we moved in together while I finished my internship and tried to heal from Josh. I was a hot mess, heartbroken, and completely bereft, and she was the best friend I could have asked for. Now I'm trying to do the same thing for her, and every time I get annoyed, I feel a pang of guilt.

"Okay, if you say so," he says, smiling to show that he's not going to badger me anymore.

Aaron always knows how far to push me; when I first told him about what happened with Josh, he was patient and kind and understanding. I can only imagine what it was like for him to hear his girlfriend share how deeply in love with her ex she had been, but Aaron is the most empathetic person I know, and through his gentle, constant love, he managed to break down the brick walls I'd built around myself and help me start to heal. I owe the wholeness of my heart to him.

Our food arrives a few minutes later on steaming plates piled with delicious meat, veggies, and dough. I could do without the veggies, but the rest of it looks delicious.

"That's what I'm talking about," Aaron says as we start to wolf down our food, eating off of each other's plates and scarfing down every last bite. I contemplate licking the plates clean but remember my manners at the last possible second.

"So how was work today?" I ask in between bites.

Aaron is a web developer at a local software company, and if I'm being honest, I have no idea what that means. He's tried to explain it to me before, but my brain turns off when he starts to talk about programming and coding languages. I know he's smart, he works hard, and his bosses adore him.

"Actually, I have some pretty big news," he says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I got offered a promotion today."

A huge smile spreads across my face. "Aaron, seriously? That's incredible! Congratulations!" I squeeze his hands and resist the urge to jump up and kiss him. He smiles back at me but there's something hesitant in the turn of his mouth.

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure if I'm going to take it." He scratches his head and breaks my gaze for a moment. "I'd have to move. To Massachusetts."

I fall back in my chair, a breath escaping in a long sigh. Massachusetts. That's like eight hours away. A sense of dread rushes over me; Aaron is more than my boyfriend; he's my best friend. We've been together for almost two years and it's so hard for me to picture life without him. I resist the urge to plead with him not to take it.

"Uh...wow. Are you going to take it?" I ask, voice strained.

"I haven't decided. I mean, it's a better position. A bigger salary, more responsibility, room for advancement, that sort of thing. But, I mean, my life's here," he says.

I can hear the conflict in his voice; he wants to take the job, but he doesn't want to leave me. He's wrong when he says his life is here, however. Aaron's family is in Idaho and he moved here for work, so I'm the only thing holding him back. I don't want to keep him from a better job even if it costs me my boyfriend.

"I...I don't know what to say. If you want to take it, you should."

My voice sounds hesitant; of course I don't want him to leave. I love him, but I can't be the reason he doesn't chase his dreams.

"Really?" Relief and astonishment merge in his expression. "But what about us?"
I muster a smile. "We can make it work, right?"

Aaron drops my hand and shakes his head, staring into his empty plate. "I don't know what I was thinking. This won't work. I can't just leave. We have a life here, and I'm not going to walk away from that."

I suck in a short breath--I don't want to be an anchor dragging him down and keeping him in place. "Well, you don't have to decide today, right? We can talk about it and figure something out."

Aaron smiles at me and I feel my heart swell. "You're the best, Rachel."

I smile back at him and hope he can't see the feeling of panic undulating inside me at the prospect of life without him. He's my friend, my sounding board, my shield. He protects me from myself, from the memories, from the regrets. I'm terrified of who I'd be without him.

I'm terrified of who I'd be on my own.

~~~~~

Thank you for reading the official first chapter of "The Definition of Fate!" What do you think of Rachel's boyfriend, Aaron? Stay tuned for more chapters in the upcoming weeks!