Still, I didn’t bring us out here to just sit.
Even though we’re back together, I’ll never forget the reasons we broke the first time. I know what I did. I know what I didn’t say. I know what I can’t afford to screw up again.
So I came prepared.
“You know I love campus, but please tell me we aren’t here to swim.”
“No way.” I laugh. “We aren’t like Mallory and Kenneth. I’ve got something else planned for us.” Reaching behind me, I grab the picnic basket, turn to face her, and place it between us. “Open it whenever you’re ready.”
She pulls out two bottles of water, a bag of dark chocolate chips, two pens, and two stacks of pink sticky notes.
“Are we having a BYOB night?”
“Sort of.” I reach for a pen. “It’s still Bring Your Own Breakdown, but not about baseball. Normally, we’d break down the highs and lows of each game, but tonight, we’re going to talk about how to not breakus.”
Her body stills. There’s no teasing smile. No laugh. She holds the sticky notes in her palm like they’re made of glass.
“We’re going to break down . . . us?”
“Yeah.” I lean forward and brush a loose braid behind her ear. “I want to do it right this time. I can’t lose you again, Shay.”
If I have one chance to get us on the right track, this is the way to do it. Blending our past and present to make something even better.
“BYOB coming full circle?” She gives a small, sure nod. “It’s perfect.”
After setting up, I reach into my pocket and grab the rules I wrote on an index card last night once she went to bed. Hours passed before I figured out what I wanted to emphasize and finally narrowed it down to three sections.
“First,” I say, tapping the top line, “we list four things we didn’t do right last time, and then we break them down.”
She places the pen cap between her lips in deep thought, but my answers come easily. They’re things I’ve regretted every single day since things ended. Each sentence feels like a punch to the gut, but I manage to get them all out there.
Never came home
Didn’t tell you what was going on in my head
Was afraid to show you I wasn’t as golden as I was expected to be
Pulled away because I was struggling and thought it would be easier for you
I take a moment to study Shay as she writes. It’s not surprising she found a way to mix pink and navy. A light pink ribbed tank clings to her in all the ways I’m trying not to think about right at this moment, with my ridiculously oversized navy flannel falling off her shoulders.
Just looking at her calms my racing heart better than deep breathing ever has.
Placing the notes facedown between us, she looks nervously at my stack. “Switch?”
When I take her notes, I expect to see she wrote whatIdidn’t do right, but these are specifically tailored toher. Things she didn’t do.
Didn’t see that you were struggling
Was too afraid to chase after you because I didn’t want to hurt anymore
Didn’t fight harder for you or us
Didn’t tell you I appreciated every part of you. Not just the golden ones
The ache that fills me is impossible to explain, but breaking it down is part of the process.
“I was scared,” I admit, dropping my head. “If I showed you how much I was struggling, I thought it would ruin everything. That you wouldn’t be happy if you knew the truth. That you’d either leave because it was too much or stay and regret it.”
