“But that’s kind of self-mutilating on your behalf, right? Why would you want to love someone who constantly hurts you?”
“Because I knew that he had intentions to never let it happen again. I knew that his heart outweighed all of his wrongdoings. And Lilly,” she says, making sure she has my attention. “What you did wasn’t all that bad. Lashing out was to be expected, and it’s obvious it’d be directed at the person you love the most. In fact, Justin blames himself for not trusting you with the truth in the first place. Maybe you two would have been spared all of this mess.”
I shake my head. She doesn’t understand. “It’s so much more than that.”
“How so?”
“I’ve never—” I clear my throat, uncomfortable with what I’m about to reveal. “I don’t know how to love someone.”
Her eyes soften, and I turn my eyes away from the pity. “That’s the wonderful thing about falling in love,” she says with a wry smile. “Someone can help you figure it out.
“I’m just trying to find myself,” I say, knowing that I sound like a parrot by this point.
“I can guarantee you, you’re not going to find how by secluding yourself.” She walks to the fridge and takes down the piece of paper. “And I’m taking this back until you gain some sense.”
I throw a hand up. “I have it memorized anyway.”
She looks at me, dubious. “Did you perfect the caramelized sugar on top?”
I open the fridge and retrieve the bowl. “You tell me.”
She peels the film back and breaks a piece of the crust off. “It could be better.”
I’m about to tell her she’s delusional, that I’ve made it every week for four months, when there’s more knocking on the door.
“Were you expecting someone?” she says, eyebrows raised. “It’s almost nine o’clock.”
I roll my eyes. “No, I was not.”
She walks with me to the door, taking the bowl with her. I open the door to find Mr. Wilson wearing an angry mug and holding a plate of brussel sprouts. “Mr. Wilson,” I say, not at all feeling the sweet smile on my face.
“Don’t you Mr. Wilson me, young lady. After thirty minutes of trying to coerce Cal to eat his vegetables, he confessed that you’re feeding him more of your asinine peach cobbler.”
I drop my head back. “I told him to keep his mouth shut.”
“No, I believe what you specifically told him to do was to tell me—”
Tess shoves the bowl at the old man. “That she wanted you to have the rest.” Mr. Wilson is taken back by Tess’s interruption. “It’s the best cobbler, hands down, and if you hate it, you can keep the bowl.
I give her a look.
Mr. Wilson looks down at the plastic-wrapped container and back to me. “Well…that’s awful nice of you.”
Tess smiles. “How old is your son?”
“Grandson,” he corrects. “He’s seven.”
“That’s the hardest age for picky eaters. If you just throw a little cheese on top of those sprouts, he’ll eat them right up. It’s the only way I could get my boys to eat them growing up.”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” he says.
“It was nice meeting you, but I’ve got a long drive home, so I’m going to head out.” She looks at me pointedly. “I look forward to seeing you, Lilly.” We watch her get into her car and back out of the driveway.
“I’ll have Cal return the bowl as soon as we’re done.”
“No hurry,” I say, trying to close the door. “Goodnight, Mr. Wilson.” I peek out the eyehole and watch him stand there for a moment, staring at the bowl in his hands. I catch a small smile as he briefly looks up and walks away.
IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKS since Tess showed up at my house and dropped a colossal wrench in my engine. The thought of Justin being just as miserable as I am makes me giddy. In turn, I’m reaching new levels of shame for finding pleasure in it. What kind of person finds joy in knowing the person they love is miserable? Me. I’m selfish and I admit it.
I’m a mess.
I’m up and down and back and forth and everything in between. Yesterday I had somehow convinced myself that I’ll be an awful lawyer, and was set on marching into admissions today to switch my major to something more accomplishable, like accounting or history. Then I woke up this morning and realized I’m just being a wimp, and I need to pull my shit together.
What would I even say if I was confronted with the chance to see Justin again? I’m sorry for running away like a scared baby? You were right. I should have been stronger than that. I should have stayed and come to grips with everything I felt between us.
He knew before I did that I loved him, and I have no doubt that he knew it when I left.
All this time I’ve been trying to remain steadfast in my beliefs, and I can’t help but wonder if we’ve both been miserable for nothing. If I give in now, it would feel like I did it to be frivolous and childish. Maybe I did, but I want to stand on my own two feet. I need to prove that my happiness isn’t dependent on someone else, which is redundant because sometimes I feel like I’ll never be happy with myself.
And if I’m being truthful, another new goal of mine, a sliver of me is still peeved at the thought that our relationship was based on false grounds. I’ve tried to shove it down, to be understanding, to see the bigger picture, but it only leaves a bitter residue around my heart. I thought I could let it go. I even left thinking I already had, but I can add liar to my growing list of poor attributes.
I re-tuck my hair behind my ear for the millionth time today as I scan the breakfast options available.
“The cream cheese danish.” The guy behind the counter points to the pastry all the way to the right. “It’s the only one you haven’t tried.”
His hair is scraggly, blending into the beard hanging from his chin, and a flash of silver dangles from the center of his nose. “I guess I’ll have the danish,” I say.
Even as miniscule of a decision as it is, I’m marginally relieved. People behind me in line are probably happy as well to move forward. He rings up my order, and I feel a need to thank him for helping me, so I do. There’s possibly a smirk behind the forest of hair covering his mouth when he says, “Ah, every day you come in here and stare at the food like it’s a do-or-die decision. I figured, why not help you out, take a little stress off your back.”
“Well, thank you,” I repeat.
I’m crossing the threshold, holding the pastry between both of my hands, when a very important thought occurs. If I am grateful for a stranger making a small decision for me, or leading me toward one, why am I so hell-bent on not allowing Justin to do the same?
I’ve spent the better half of my life relying on Kip, and I thought since he’s gone that I’d need to prove myself. Prove that he did a good job and I’m not some helpless girl who fumbles through life.
Justin inadvertently stepped into the same role. He kept things from me. No matter how noble his intentions were, it only brought those feelings to the surface. I don’t want to be a pet project. I want to be wanted. How will I ever know the difference if I can’t fend for myself?
But who said I can’t stand on my own and lean on someone when I need to?
Oh yeah.
I did.
“CAN I COME?” Cal says, his fingers curling over the top of my driver side window.
“No,” Mr. Wilson and I say at the same time.
“But why not? I want to ride the zip line.”
Okay, so in my nervousness, I may have blabbed a little to Cal about where I was going. I didn’t tell him any specifics about why I was driving six hours, only that it’s really cool. It’s kind of what I get when my best friend is a seven-year-old.
“Maybe another time,” I say, ruffling his hair.
He pouts and drops back to his feet, letting go of the window. “You owe me an extra plate of cobbler when you get back.”
I smile. “There’s already a plate waiting for you at home. I made it
this morning.”
His eyes light up marginally, but Mr. Wilson, ever the downer, shuts it down when he says, “You have to each your lunch first.”
I wave and they wave back, standing in my front yard and watching me depart for the longest, most thought-provoking drive of my life.
After leaving the coffee shop yesterday, I went straight home and packed a bag, then remembered that I had two assignments due by midnight. So I convinced myself to wait a day. Right before dinner, I received a package addressed from out of state. It was from Kaley, and it contained the Christmas presents I had bought Kip and Justin. There wasn’t a note, but a picture she had taken in front of the Eiffel tower, blowing a kiss to the camera.
So here I am, driving six hours to Justin's childhood home and hoping he lives nearby. Tess made it seem like she sees him all the time, so that’s what I decided, and I’m sticking to it. I’m tired of myself and my wishy-washy emotions and how they conflict with what my head is telling me. It’s exhausting.
As the miles tick down, I get more anxious. I purposefully refuse to think about what I'll say because it'll just cause doubt, and I need all the confidence I can muster. I emailed Kip last night to let him know I'd be gone for a day or two, and he emailed me back to make sure I bring a spare tire. I've been keeping him up to date since he only lets me visit once a month. The good thing about federal prison is the email access. I moved closer to him so that I wouldn't be making a long drive to visit, and now he won't even let me see him. He apparently thinks my life is more interesting than it is, considering my Saturdays are jam packed with reruns of Family Feud, cooking, and procrastinating on doing laundry.
The road leading to Justin's house is longer than I remember, and with every bend my heart grows in size. Every inch I get closer, the higher my heart rate picks up. It’s like it knows he’s so close. The house comes into view, and I let out a breath as I park, dust flying up around the windows and settling onto the windshield. Jacob appears from behind the screen door, his face masked in shadow until he pushes it open and steps out into the light. There's no smile or welcoming, a mask of indifference clouding his eyes, and it eerily reminds me of Justin.
It does nothing to calm my nerves. We're in a standoff, so I speak first, “Hey, Jacob.”
He scrubs his jaw with the palm of his hand, giving me nothing in return.
“Justin wouldn't possibly be here, would he?”
Tess appears in the doorway behind him, a smile lighting up her face, at complete odds with her son's reaction. “Lilly,” she says, walking onto the porch. “I was starting to worry that you were dumber than I thought.”
I weigh my head. “I feel dumb.”
Her smile grows. “That's good,” she says. “Justin's in the orchard with Bruce. They've been working on a down harvester all day, but I can take you on the buggy.”
“I’d like that.”
“No,” Jacob says, taking the steps toward me. “I'll take her.”
Intimidating was never an adjective I'd have used when thinking of Jacob, until he walks straight past me with his head down. I give Tess a look and she shrugs, absolutely unrepentant about dumping me with her seemingly peeved son. Gearing myself up, I follow Jacob to the barn, his back to me the entire time. He slides himself into what appears to be an off-road go-kart, and I get in, thinking I'd normally be much more excited about riding if it weren’t for the circumstance.
“Are you going to do it again?” Jacob says, looking at me.
“I can't make any promises. I'm a mess, Jake,” I say, not wanting to lie to him. “All I can tell you is that the past four months have been the most miserable learning experience of my life.”
He lets that sink in for a moment and nods.
I stop his hand from turning the key. “And I love him.”
This does a little better of a job convincing him, his smile cracking the hard exterior he's fronted. “You're not very good at words, are you?”
I laugh. “No, I don't think so.”
He starts the buggy and we zoom through the line of lemon trees. He takes a left turn, and I'm confused as to how he knows how to navigate where we're going, turning again at a gap in the foliage. The trees change into vines of grapes, going as far as the eye can see, the slope of the land dropping.
“This is the first year we've cultivated them,” Jacobs says, his voice raised above the howl of the engine. “That's why Dad and Justin have been busting ass to fix the harvester. If we want to see a profit, we need a good picking.” He makes one last turn and they come into view.
A large tractor straddles the row of grapevines. Justin and his father high-five, huge smiles across their faces, proud as the engine kicks into gear. He looks so happy. Tess lied. He's doing perfectly fine. Can I turn around and go home?
Jacob's smile is sweet when drops me off, and I'm pretty sure I grimace, making him laugh. The buggy whips up dust as Jacob swings it around, flying in the direction we came from. The sound of the retreating engine must garner their attention, because they look up at the same time.
Justin's smile falls from his face.
He straightens from his position over the machine, his feet balanced on the wheel as he turns around. He's shirtless, and tan, and much leaner than I remember. His face is more defined, with a deeper skin tone that people only get after spending copious amounts of time in the sun.
Bruce says something, and Justin nods a reply before hopping off the massive tire, his body taut as he lands. He wipes his hands on the legs of his jeans as we he walks toward me, stopping within arm’s reach.
“You cut your hair.”
I don't know what I was expecting him to say, but that wasn't it. Shy, I reach up and pull a strand into view. It took me a while to get used to not being able to put it into a ponytail, and now I’ve completely forgotten about it.
“Do you like it?”
I can't stop my smile. “No.”
A hint of a smile appears before he snuffs it out. His eyes trail up my legs and over my body, quickly but not overtly. “You look good,” he says, squinting against the sun.
“You too,” I say, sure I sound out of breath.
He wipes his hands again, turning to check on his dad before turning back around. “What are you doing here, Lilly?”
My name is stern on his lips and it guts me. “I don't know.”
I need him to read me. I need him to see what I'm feeling so I don't have to voice it. I need him to know how sorry I am. Of all the times I have turned away from his ability to perceive what I’m feeling, I’m begging for it now.
“We can walk to my place from here.”
He picks up a water bottle and a t-shirt, tossing the shirt over his shoulders and taking a sip. His eyes stay locked on mine as he swallows, and he holds the bottle out to me in offering. I decline. There's so much between us that it feels empty.
“This is the edge of the property. I live in a studio apartment right down the hill.” He points, and I can vaguely make out a small structure on the other side of the fence line.
After a few paces, I speak. “You and your dad look like you’re getting along.”
“Yeah,” he says with an ounce of uncertainty. “As long as we keep things superficial, we're fine. It's the past we can't agree on.”
I swallow. “You haven't forgiven him?”
“It's not forgiveness that's the problem,” he says, looking at me. “It's like being in remission. It takes time and a few slips before you finally feel like you’re standing on steady ground.”
We walk the rest of the way in silence, and I mimic Justin as he toes off his shoes at the door of his apartment. Once I’m inside, it’s equivalent to being transported to another universe. Where his apartment and childhood bedroom was void of any personality, his apartment is overflowing with it. A bed sits in the far right corner with a headboard covered in books. The kitchenette on the other side has copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, the cabinets stained a rustic color, and
strange granite covering the counters. Nothing matches, but everything somehow fits. If there’s one thing similar to the apartment, it’s the flat screen hung up on the opposite wall, able to be viewed from the bed and the threaded couch nestled in the middle of the room.
I walk to his bed, looking over all the paperbacks and textbooks stacked in the shelving outlets. On top, there’s a tin box with metal toy soldiers stationed across the lid, all in varying positions. I go to pick one up when Justin stops me.
“They have lead in them,” he says, still standing by the door, watching me take in his tiny apartment.
“This is nice,” I say, looking around. “Different.”
“It used to be a storage shed,” he says, shrugging. “When I came back from training, the owners let me convert it.”
“Training?”
“Yeah. It’s similar to basic training that the military go through, except more competitive.”
I’m disjointed, being in his surroundings and it looking nothing like the person I thought I knew. He has everything from Stephen King and Dean Koontz novels to a textbook on Modern Art. A gaming station sits under the flat screen with popular football games stacked on top. A pile of dirty clothes litters the floor at the foot of his bed, completely opposite the state of the apartment.
I need something to ground me, to remind me that he’s still Justin, and there’s only one way I know how. I walk toward him, and his eyes hold mine as I shakily place the tip of my fingers against the fabric of his shirt. Maybe if I just touch him, I can gain traction. He breathes deep as I run my fingers over the expanse of his chest, up to his shoulder, and trailing down. I reach the skin of his bicep and he swallows. Not thinking, I stand on my toes and place a kiss on the arch of his neck. It’s a brave move on my part.
Justin pulls away, gripping my hand and trapping it between his fingers. “What are you doing here, Lilly?”
I choke down the hurt from his rejection. “I, um...”
I can’t look at him as I try to find words for something I don’t even understand myself. I feel more than see the coldness rolling off of him, but he wavers as he watches me struggle. Letting out a breath, he takes a seat on the couch, bracing his forearms against his knees.
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