“I can’t,” I say, dropping my hands and stepping back. Resignation washes over his face, shoulders dropping with my words.
“Can’t or won’t?” Jesse asks softly, though he doesn’t stop me from moving away.
I shrug, my eyes stinging.
“Does it really matter?” I ask, my voice cracking as I take a step back. I need to go back to my place. I need to get out of here, out of this familiar place that feels too much like home for my sanity.
Again, he doesn’t stop me.
Instead, the look of confusion, hurt, and, strangely enough, determination crossing his face is the last thing I see before I turn and run out the door, get into my car, and drive the short way home.
I unlock the door with shaky hands, then lock it behind me and text Madden that I made it inside, adding some stupid GIF in hopes that he’ll think I’m fine. Next, I quickly call Wren to tell her I’m okay, knowing if she doesn’t hear my voice, she’ll panic, and the last thing I need is her showing up at my front door.
I hold it together.
I assure everyone I love that I’m okay.
And then I lie in my bed and cry until I fall asleep.
BREAKtk
I bow out of family dinner on Sunday, citing a stomach ache, and no one questions it. Monday, I’ll deal with reality, but this weekend, I just want to wallow.
But when Monday comes, and I step out my front door for the first time since Friday night, there’s a box with a light blue bow on top. I look around, confused, before bending to lift the box and heading back inside to carefully inspect it. When I lifted the lid, though, a rock settled in my chest.
A pair of boots.
A note written on a slip of paper, like he tore it off the bottom of some paper Emma brought home from school.Stop being stubborn.
The boots fit perfectly, in case you were wondering.
I tried not to think about it too long, what he meant by 'stop being stubborn'.
The simple explanation was that he wanted me to stop being stubborn and wear boots acceptable for living on a farm in the middle of winter, so I wouldn’t slip on ice and fall on my ass and get hurt.
But another part of me thought he meant it differently: stop being stubborn and give us a chance.
Can’t or won’t—the answer is the same. Jesse and I can never happen.
TWENTY-ONE
On Monday, I texted Hallie asking if she could get Emma off the bus, but I didn’t get a response. Instead, an hour later, I got one from my mom, telling me she’s on Emma duty that day.
The same happens on Tuesday. I got into an argument with Emma that day about cleaning up after herself, which ended with her slamming her door and not coming out for an hour. After, she apologizes to me tearfully, and we sit on the couch to watch a movie together.
I’m a glutton for punishment, saying “fine”when she picksIn a New York Minute.
I don’t see Hallie on Wednesday or Thursday. On Friday, I got a text from my sister saying she’s picking Emma up from school to spend the afternoon together. For a moment, I think maybe Hallie is meeting them there, but when I drive past her place on the UTV and see her car in the same place it had been all week, I assume that’s not the case.
I fucked up.
I got angry, and then I pushed too hard, too fast, when I needed to go slow, to ease her into the idea of giving this a chance between us.
Despite what she wants me to believe, I don’t think she’s as opposed to the idea of us being together as she wants me to believe she is; she’s just absolutely terrified for some reason. In fact, on Friday, there was a moment where she almost said yes, almost took the plunge, and then thought better of it. I’ve gone over it a dozen times, trying to understand, but haven’t been able to figure out where I went wrong. And without that knowledge, I can’t figure out what to do next.
I get home late, spending more time out on the farm this week than I have in a while, trying to keep myself distracted, so when I make it home, Wren already has Emma in bed.
“How was she?” I ask quietly, assuming Emma is probably still reading in her bed, and my sister shrugs.
