by A. J. Pine
He looks down at our feet, toes nearly touching in the wood chips.
“We should have been a mess together. I should have tried harder to be there for you, to get through to you.”
His blue eyes darken with what I know is regret, and for the first time I let myself see him, see what this has done to him, and it breaks my heart all over again to see how I broke his.
“I wouldn’t have let you,” I tell him. “I should have, but I couldn’t. I needed someone to blame. I needed somewhere to direct my grief, somewhere outside of myself. I couldn’t bear what I took from you, so instead I held you responsible—and pushed you away before you could leave on your own.”
He stills himself on the swing and stands. I expect him to walk away, to say I’m full of shit, because I probably am, but he steps in front of me and lowers himself to his knees, his hands gripping the chains beneath mine, a repeat of that first fight and the uttering of those three words.
“Look at me, Jess.”
I open my eyes, not realizing I’d squeezed them shut when he stood. We haven’t been this close in over a year. I can smell the familiarity of him through the late November chill, and for a few moments I imagine burying my face in his neck, taking in the memories along with his scent. For so long I wanted to be who we were, but we’re both past that now, different. Still, I savor the small taste of first love while I wait for what he’s going to say.
He moves his hands up so they cover mine as they hold the chains of the swing.
“I shouldn’t have listened to my parents,” he starts, a renewed ache in his voice. “When you wouldn’t see me, they said it was for the best, that I needed to start fresh. I know in their way they were worried about me and wanted me to be happy, but they never should have encouraged our separation. A clean slate may have worked for them but not for me.”
He lets go of one of my hands and brings his fingers to my cheek, hesitating before letting his skin touch mine. With a gentle sweep, he traces the outline of my face from forehead to the line of my jaw, and I watch his eyes close as he takes in the memory too.
When he opens them, he continues.
“I can’t say what would have happened, Jess, if we would have gotten through it together or if we still would have ended up here, but I can tell you this much. I still loved you. I still hoped for whatever future we may have had. And I’m sorry you never knew.”
I let out a long, shaky breath and lean in to his hand.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I needed to hear that.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to listen.”
His other hand lets go of mine and moves to my cheek, both sides of my face now cupped in his palms. He pauses, but I don’t object. I need this as much as he does. This is our closure, our final good-bye.
He pulls my face to his and kisses me slowly, gently, filling me with the love I thought I’d lost, the love I thought I didn’t deserve. And I kiss him back, letting him know part of me will always love him, but tonight I’m finally letting him go.
When our lips part, my forehead stays resting on his.
“Do you love her?” I ask. “Ashley?”
He pauses for a few seconds, giving me my answer before he even says it.
“Yeah. I do.”
For the first time I can see what she’s done for him, can look at him without the anger. This is what I want for Bryan, a release from the pain and the guilt.
“Then you’re happy?” I ask.
“I think I am now.”
I swallow hard, knowing that although I mean what I’m about to say, it’s still hard to see him with her. “Then I’m happy for you.”
He deserves happiness as much as I do. I know that now.
“Do you think maybe one day you’ll forgive her? She misses you. So much.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“Maybe,” I admit. “But I’m not ready yet. What happened with her and me, it’s different than us. You know? I’m not angry at her for being there for you. Not anymore. I just need time.”
He sighs. “I get it.” Straightening up on his knees, he looks at me hopefully. “What about you and Adam Carson?”
My chest constricts, and I feel the color drain from my face. I’m not prepared to hear his name or for my reaction to it.
“That bad, huh?” Bryan smiles, and it’s real and beautiful, and it makes me smile to see it.
“That bad,” I admit. “Remember, I’m messed up. He got a pretty good dose of that a couple weeks ago.”
Bryan grabs my hands and pulls me to stand with him. Then he wraps me in a hug that feels like home.
“You’re a hard one to fall out of love with, Jess Elliott. Two weeks isn’t enough to kick the habit.”
I exhale into his chest.
“I hope so.”
And I do, hope. For the first time since I met Adam, I hope.
23
Having Zoe with me makes Thanksgiving infinitely more bearable. Not that I don’t love my family, but listening to various versions of, “Hey, Jess. How are you?” can only elicit a non-aggressive response from me so many times before I start to lose it, which would then prove to the family members who think I’m crazy that I actually am. But with Zoe there, I can laugh at all the hushed whispers when people think I’m not looking. My mom joins the fun after a particularly untoward comment from my great-aunt Lillian.
“Such a shame,” she says, peering dangerously close at my breasts. “These will never get any bigger if she doesn’t carry a child.”
My boobs. She’s worried about my goddamn boobs. When she walks away, my mom leans between me and Zoe, speaking so only we can hear.
“When she got here this afternoon, your sister had to take her into the bathroom so she could put her bra on inside her blouse. The woman can’t tell if her tits are on the outside or inside of her clothing. Don’t worry what she thinks of yours, Jess.”
She walks away, leaving Zoe and me standing, jaws hitting the floor.
“Your mom said tits,” Zoe says.
“I know. My ears are bleeding.”
***
Zoe is the last to leave that night, and when we say good-bye, it feels too soon.
“I wish you could stay and ride back with me Sunday. My dad drove my car back when they came to get me, so you could stay, and I can take you back, if you need a ride.”
“Can’t,” Zoe says, fidgeting with her nose ring. “Parental units say I have to ride with Zach or he will get a ticket. The boy can’t drive highways alone without getting pulled over for speeding. I am forced to play passenger seat police. But I’ll see you Sunday night, okay? And we’ll figure out what the next step is with Adam.”
My eyes dart to the floor.
“Look at me, Jess.” She palms my cheeks and lifts my head until our eyes meet. “Repeat after me.”
I roll my eyes. “Not again.”
“Repeat. After. Me.”
“Ugh. Fine.”
She smirks.
“I’m in love with a boy.”
I mimic her tone. “I’m in love with a boy.”
Fortunately for her, Zoe is a master at the look. She only has to flash it for a second, and I’m ready to comply. Plus, she’s right. I’m completely in love with Adam. I’m just not sure that’s enough after how I’ve treated him.
She clears her throat to continue. “And I messed up.”
“And I fucked up,” I correct her.
She raises a brow and nods in approval.
“But I’m going to fix it.”
“How?” I ask.
There’s the look again.
“But I’m going to fix it,” I say with complete obedience.
“And I have the rest of the weekend to figure out how.”
She holds my stare until I repeat the final line. Then she kisses me on the cheek and leaves.
“I’m so happy you have her,” my mom says after I close the do
or behind Zoe.
I turn to face her. “I am too.”
She sits on the stairs, an indication we’re not done talking.
“Do I get to ask about Adam?”
My arms cross instinctively around my midsection.
“Did Zoe already tell you everything?”
She breathes out a sigh. “Enough, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
She scoots to her left, and I sit down in the space beside her, leaning my head on her shoulder.
“He was . . . unexpected. I tried not to, you know, fall for him, but if you met him, Mom . . .” It’s all I can say without the knot in my throat turning into something bigger.
Her arm wraps around my back, and her hand squeezes mine.
“Jessica.” Her voice breaks on the last syllable of my name, and I know she is crying. “How do I convince you it’s still okay to love and to hope for someone to love you back?”
I lift my head to look at her, and her tear streaked cheeks confirm my assumption.
“It’s not your job to convince me,” I say. “And even if it was, you couldn’t. I have to get there on my own. Today was a good start.”
She kisses my forehead.
“Do I have Bryan to thank for this?”
I shrug. “Bryan, Zoe, you, Dad. Adam. Everyone’s played their role. It took me a long time to hear what all of you have been saying. I wasn’t ready. But I’m getting there. It might be too late with Adam, but I’ll do what I can to make him hear me the way I should have heard him.”
She runs a hand through my hair. “We’ve been so worried about you, Jess. Not just these past two weeks.”
“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “No more apologies, not for me. There’s no manual for how you are supposed to deal with all of this, and as scared as we’ve been, I also couldn’t be more proud.”
My eyes widen. “Proud?”
“Proud,” she says. “You are amazing and strong, and you are digging your way out of this shit storm that carved a path through your life. So yeah, I’m pretty damned proud.”
I snort with laughter, something I wasn’t expecting from our little heart-to-heart.
“Tits, Mom? And now shit storm? Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?”
She laughs and kisses me again.
“Listen to Zoe,” she starts as she stands up. “If you love him, then figure it out.”
“Okay,” I agree, knowing the task is much more difficult than it sounds. “Okay.”
***
The rest of the weekend is pretty mellow. Liz, Michael, and the kids spend the day Friday but head back to the airport on Saturday. Michael’s family lives in Arizona, so they always do a late Thanksgiving with them. Now it’s me, Mom, and Dad picking at leftovers on Sunday morning.
“You have to promise us, Jessica, that you’re going to take care of yourself.”
My dad’s been pretty quiet the past two weeks, letting my mom do all the talking when it came to the reason I’d come home in the first place. But in his one plea I hear the worry that’s been silently plaguing him the whole time.
I walk around the kitchen island where we’ve been standing and grazing and wrap my arms around him.
“I promise, Dad.” When I pull away, I look at them both. “I haven’t told you guys how sorry I am for scaring you.” I breathe in deep. “I wanted to believe I could figure this out without any help—from you, from the medication. But I get it now, how much bigger this is than me.”
I hoist my backpack onto my shoulder.
“Speaking of medication,” my mom starts.
I pat the side pocket of the pack. “In here. Haven’t missed a dose.”
“The therapist at the university?”
“I already called the hospital and have my initial consultation set up for tomorrow after class.”
Both of them exhale in unison. I’ve spent so long putting the responsibility for my happiness on everyone else but never realized how unfair it was to make them bear that weight. Being honest with Zoe, Bryan, my parents—relieving them of that burden somehow lightens mine too.
“Love you guys.” I wrap an arm around each of them, and they pull me in tight, each of them kissing the top of my head. “I’ll call you when I get there.”
***
I start the car and sit, waiting for it to warm up.
For over a year I’ve been stuck in a slow repeat of the week following the miscarriage. The only direction I was moving was toward the edge, and that morning with Adam, I could have gone over. But despite how much I hurt him, he wouldn’t let me. He made sure Zoe was there for me, and she did the same with my parents.
Before I put the car in drive, I pull out my phone and plug it in to charge. My thumb migrates to the Messages icon on the screen, and I don’t have to scroll far to find the collection that came from Sexy Vampire that first week.
No, I think. Man the fuck up.
After two weeks of no physical activity, my body feels weak, but I’m trying to believe what Adam saw in me when I couldn’t see it myself. I’m strong—not from hitting a bag or trying to survive depression alone. I’m strong because I’m not alone at all, because I’m not running anymore.
I scroll through our texting history, laughing as I read our early conversations and stopping when I get to the top, to the first one he sent the morning after he told me all he wanted to do was sleep with me.
Sexy Vampire: Get out here before everyone starts looking at the asshole sitting alone with two cups of coffee.
My thumb slides over his words and to the option on the top left of the screen, Call.
I press it.
After the fourth ring, I expect his voice mail, so when I hear him speak, it takes a second to register it’s really him.
“Hi.”
He sounds neither angry nor warm. He’s just there, but it’s him, and I want to say so much. But all that comes out is an echo, “Hi.”
Can he hear I miss you in that one word? Can he hear I’m sorry? Because it’s there. I hear it. I feel it, but my strength falters. I already blew it, but I’m still afraid of his rejection.
“I’m leaving for pregame practice soon.” He sighs. “What do you want, Jess?”
He can still do it, cause my breath to hitch with an utterance of my name. But I pull it together because tonight is his night.
“Right. Sorry. You have a game tonight. I . . . I wanted to thank you.”
Thank him? That’s what I come up with? How about, I want to tell you everything I should have told you weeks ago. I’ve got a shitload of baggage, and I love you. I know it’s too fucking late, but I love you. And I thought you should know.
He waits for me to continue, and I wonder if he can hear my inner monologue telling me what a disaster I am.
“For calling Zoe. She told me. You knew I needed help, and you made sure I got it. That means a lot to me, Adam. So, thank you.”
I can hear his slow exhale before he speaks.
“Are you okay, Jess?” His voice is weary, and I get it. It’s too much. Everything with me has been too much for someone who is already dealing with enough. Like I had to with Bryan, I need to let him off the hook.
“Yeah, I’m good. I mean, I will be.” I do my best to make sure he hears the smile in my words, to relieve him of the burden of fixing me.
My eyes close as I listen to the slow cadence of his breath, and for a second I pretend we are in my bed the morning I first woke up with him, my hand held tight in his against his chest.
“You should go,” I say with as much pluck as I can muster. “Good luck tonight. I’ll be cheering you on from the couch.”
I whack my head against the headrest. This was a mistake.
“Good-bye, Jess.”
The finality in those words is unmistakable, so I gather what’s left of my waning courage and tell him the one thing I need him to know.
“I’m sorry, for bothering you before a game. For every
thing else too. I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Good-bye, Adam.”
I end the call, shift the car into gear, and drive.
***
When I get home, Zoe waits for me with Yu’s and a pitcher of something pink.
“Oh, thank god,” I say. “I don’t think I could have watched alone.”
I throw my stuff in my room, not bothering to unpack. Ten breaths, that’s what I give myself before heading back out and dropping on the couch next to her.
“I won’t bug you about it during the game, but when it’s over, we’re strategizing your next move.”
“It is over,” I tell her.
Her brows crinkle as she looks from me, to the screen, and then back at me.
“Not the game, Zoe. I called him from the car before I left, and I’m pretty sure I just got closure.”
She shakes her head, as if she has a say in any of this.
“Did you tell him how you felt?” Her question drips with accusation.
“No.” She tries to interrupt, but I hold my hand up in protest. “Listen to me, Zoe. Please.”
She picks up an egg roll. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“You didn’t hear him. He sounded so tired, tired of me and my crap. And I don’t blame him. I told him I was sorry, but he doesn’t need to hear any more. Telling him how I feel would be selfish. It would be for me. And I’m done hurting others for my selfish needs. I’m done making others responsible for my well-being. Telling him how I feel is only going to throw more of my baggage at him, and it’s not fair, okay? I’m not going to do that to him.”
She eyes me for several seconds before responding.
“So you’re going to pull that bullshit move where you say you’re letting him go because you love him?”
I cross my arms and nod. “Yes, but I would argue it’s noble.”
“I’m going to stick with bullshit.”
“Thanks for your support.”
The national anthem shuts us both up, and I shift to face the TV rather than Zoe. She turns from me as well, and we watch tip-off in a silent standoff.
Adam plays well, sitting out for his requisite five minutes in the first half. I take this as a good sign. He’s listening to Tracy’s orders. This means our conversation isn’t weighing on him. He’s not throwing himself into the game in order to forget. I want to see this as a good thing, but that weight on my chest, the one I swore was getting lighter, it’s pressing down a little harder.