“You’re different. Now,” he stated, changing the subject.
I furrowed my brows. “We’re all different. Seven years is a long time,” I defended.
“For some. Why do you wear your hair straight?”
My hand instantly shot up to my hair which was neatly tucked in a bun. My usual these days.
“I like it like this.”
“Liar,” he accused.
“I do,” I insisted. “It’s easier to manage. Can’t have my hair in the way while trying to treat patients.”
“You used to call your hair your crown. Even your mother couldn’t touch it once you turned fourteen. You hated wearing pants. Said you’d wear dresses or skirts to work everyday if you could.” He made a show of eyeing the black slacks I worn with a white button up top.
I should’ve known Joshua would recall all of that.
“Maybe those were just the words of a young girl who didn’t know anything.” The world had changed me.
“Or maybe that girl encountered something or someone that made her scared. Scared to the point that she asks an old friend for self-defense lessons and runs out when things get too close.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I countered, my eyes dropping to the folders on my desk. “I told you what that was about this morning.”
“And as much as I know you loved Chelsea, I don’t believe you.”
“I’m telling the truth! We—”
“When are you going to stop running, Kay?”
My mouth fell open but no words came.
“It’s what you do. You ran seven years ago when things got too tough. You ran the night of the charity event. And I just walked in here to hear you talking with your realtor. I figured you were braver but maybe I was wrong.” He stood.
This time my eyes narrowed.
“Maybe you were wrong,” I stated to his back, which was now to me as he made his way to the door.
He paused for a moment before turning to me.
“Or maybe I’m just fucking tired of people thinking they can dictate my life.”
“Who’s trying to dictate your life, Kay?”
“You. My parents. The po—” I stopped before the words could come out.
Joshua waited for me to respond but I didn’t say anything further.
“Fine.” He nodded. “When you figure out who you’re pissed at, come find me.” And with that, he stormed out, slamming my door behind him.
I was still seething. Not with Joshua. He’d only spoken the truth. I was pissed at myself for feeling so weak. There were so many reasons as to why he and I didn’t make sense. The flashbacks I’d experienced that morning, Chelsea, my lack of confidence.
I felt lost. Unable to remember who and what I truly wanted.
That feeling stayed with me the remainder of the day. After work, instead of going straight home, I aimed my car in the direction of the place that reminded me of the girl I used to be. Maybe I could find and recapture her somehow.
****
Joshua
