His smile falters for just a second but immediately slips back into place. “I probably caught a cold or something,” he suggests. “Remember, Casey was coughing at work the other day?”
I definitely don’t remember that but I nod emphatically anyway, just to set both him and myself at ease. Only it’s not working on my end.
“So listen,” he says, standing to grab his jacket and his boots, “I took off today because I’ve got some errands to run. I probably won’t be by again until tomorrow. Will you be alright?”
He’s asking if I’m capable of being by myself for the next twenty-four hours, and though I know he doesn’t mean it this way, it feels like pity.
I take a moment to assess my current mental state and try to imagine myself walking out the front door and down the steps, feeling fresh air on my skin, and knowing the entire world is open before me.
Miraculously, I don’t flinch.
“I’m better now,” I tell him, and it feels true.
I don’t think going back to my normal routine will send me into a panic spiral. It’s time I faced the outside again: aka the town and all their questions. Ethan texted me last night telling me I could take off the rest of the week. I was surprised by his generosity, given he’s not one for taking a mental health day, but most likely he’s just waiting for the drama to die down.
I try to shape the look on my face into something resembling confidence, but it’s been a minute since I’ve felt that particularfeeling. Without any other questions, Jamie nods and accepts my answer. Either I managed to pass his inspection with flying colors, or he just ignored any cracks in my facade. I’m beginning to think it’s the latter.
He hurriedly grabs the rest of his things, and before heading out the door, he leans in to brush a kiss to my cheek. Though it’s less than a second, I feel him lingering to feel the press of my skin against his. I relish the sensation and tuck it away in the back of my mind for later use. In case I need the memory as a life raft in another episode of panic.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promises.
I hear the sincerity in the tone of his voice, and I know he means it. Whatever it is that’s driving him away right now, he won’t let it keep him from me for long.
The door closes gently and I listen for the click of the handle as it settles in place. The moment he’s gone, I exhale the breath I’d been hoarding in my chest.
“You’re fine,” I tell myself out loud. “Everything is fine.”
It takesme longer than usual to get myself ready. Instead of the quick ten minute shower I tend to stick to, I linger under the warm water for twenty minutes. I don’t bother drying or styling my hair, only glaze the strands with leave-in conditioner to prevent frizz and let nature take its course.
I know I’m delaying the inevitable when it takes me almost thirty minutes to pick out my outfit. I’ve never put so much thought into what I’m wearing before, but internally I know it’s a stall tactic. Eventually, I decide to wear my favorite pair of millennial skinny jeans and one of my seasonal transition sweaters. It’s made from a deep maroon material that’s super soft and will help usher in the Autumn spirit, but it’s thin enough that I won’t melt in the afternoon heat. I finish off the ensemblewith an old pair of low top Chucks. The outfit is simple, but it’s comfortable—something I really need right now.
Standing in front of the mirror, I take in my appearance. Not the outfit or the still damp hair, but my face. I see the lines of worry around my brow and the corners of my mouth. My skin is dry and patchy from skipping my nightly moisturizer twice in a row. Yet there’s no part of me that cares.
The purple marks on my neck are more pronounced than ever, but I can’t bring myself to do anything to cover them. As much as I wish I could hide away from what happened, I don’t want to negate the seriousness of what Patrick did. Part of me wants everyone to see the bruise, and as I take a deep breath and plaster a smile on my face, that part of me wins. The mirror knows the gesture is fake, but hopefully no one else will.
I make sure Cleetus is fed and clean out his litter box that I’ve neglected for three days. He thanks me by rubbing against my legs and purring loudly.
“I’m sorry, sweet boy,” I apologize, crouching down to scratch his chin the way he likes. “I had a rough few days.”
He places a paw on my knee and I know this means he’s accepted.
“If Jamie hadn’t been here, you would take care of me, wouldn’t you?” He bumps his head against my thigh. “You always do.”
I grab either side of his face and kiss his forehead emphatically before grabbing my bag and heading out. The door closes behind me and I wait momentarily for the expanse of hallway to overwhelm me, but instead I find myself eager to start my day. This is the best sign I could hope for.
Giving myself little things to look forward to has always been a great tool for motivation. And now, as I venture slowly back to the simulation of my old self, I try to give myself a reward.
If I make it into town,I’ll go straight to Kiki’s and get a butter pecan iced coffee.
I’m not purposefully avoiding Double Double—Jamie isn’t working today anyway, and Kiki makes the better holiday drinks since Jamie never likes to go “cutesy” with his menu. Besides the fall themed beverages he’s forced to serve at the Founding Festival, the most spirited coffee he’s ever offered was the year he allowed one of his part-time baristas to get creative with the cafe lattes at Christmas. She created a little reindeer with the foam, and the town ate them up that holiday season.
Right now, I’m craving the feel of autumn in the air, and as I step out onto the staircase that leads down to the parking lot, I’m ecstatic to feel a crisp breeze blow across my face. It’s a bit chilly with my wet hair, but every muscle in my body relaxes at the touch of cool air, and instead of a push to go back inside, I feel a pull to venture further.
On the ride into town, I roll down my windows. I’ll probably end up with that fake cold Jamie has, but I can’t bring myself to care. Instead, I allow the chill to seep into my bones, waking me up from my two day hibernation.
As I turn onto Main Street, I spy the many dots of orange in every window and outside every door. The Founding Day Festival is two weeks away, and though everyone is hustling to get things in order, the sight of my home town dressed to the nines ushers in a breath of relief that immediately relaxes my shoulders.
I park in my usual spot outside of Kiki’s and glance over at Double Double across the street. I can see through the decorless windows that Layton, the assistant manager, is running the register. Looks like Jamie was telling the truth about being off today. I hate that it was instinct to check, and afraid my distrust is only going to grow the more he keeps hiding from me.
