He responds with something like a sad grin. “Probably.”
We sit there in silence for a few seconds while my mind continues reeling. It eventually kicks into gear and sends signals for my body to move. I stand, feeling unsteady for a dozen different reasons, and my dad follows me to his feet.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He nods and walks with me to the door. “Jackson.”
I turn back just as I step out into the hallway.
“Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
I offer him a small smile, one I hope says I’ll get there eventually, but I just need a little more time. “Okay.”
As I head down the hallway, I realize this is the lightest I’ve ever felt after walking away from a conversation with my father.
And hopeful.
Maybe it’s the promise in my dad’s voice. Or the fact that he didn’t explode or threaten Isaac again. Didn’t turn this into another disaster.
When I make it downstairs and to the front of the house, something soft and white catches my eye from past the tall windows on either side of the front door.
Snow.
Heavy, steady flakes drift down, already blanketing the ground in a layer of white.
I stand at the bottom of the steps for a full minute, my eyes looking outside but my vision going distant as I imagine driving back to Isaac’s. Walking inside, seeing his face. Remembering the feel of Professor Grant’s hand on my thigh.
My stomach tightens again, and I force the bile back.
Not tonight. Not while I’m still worried he might look at me differently, even though I know deep down he wouldn’t.
The key to the guesthouse still on my keyring feels like permission.
I tell myself it’s just the weather, that I’m just being safe.
But the truth is…I need a shower so hot and so long that it might peel my skin off before I stop feeling that touch.
I take my phone out and send Isaac a text.
Me:I decided to stop by my dad’s tonight. I think we’re going to try to work through things. But now it’s snowing, so I’m going to crash in the guesthouse. It’s just for tonight. I promise. I’m not disappearing, Isaac.
Returning my phone to my pocket, I step out into the snowy night, the flakes melting on my skin as I head to the guesthouse, repeating to myself:
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to him.
Tomorrow, I’ll be okay.
Tomorrow, I’ll keep my promise and stop keeping secrets from him.
I’m not disappearing, Isaac.
Jackson’s text came late enough in the evening that I was starting to panic when I hadn’t heard from him, expecting the worst after his meeting with Richard.
My heart skipped in my chest when I read his message. He knew I’d need the reassurance, and I love him for that.
But even with his reassurance, I could still hardly sleep last night, lying awake and listening for his breath in the dark. It had been weeks since I had to go without it that the emptiness on his side of the bed felt wrong. I kept reaching over, half-expecting to feel skin and warmth, and finding cold sheets instead.
As I make my morning coffee in the kitchen that feels too empty, I stare down at my phone screen, reading his text again and telling myself it really is as simple as it seems. That there’s not more to it.
