But sometimes she’d quiet down and ask me questions. Every time I answered, she’d lean in close with her chin perched on her hands as she listened. Even when I onlyspoke a few words, she’d smile like my silly, insignificant thoughts mattered. It reminded me of the way my dad listened to me.
Maybe that’s why it hurt when she pushed me away. She knew me completely, in every way, and she chose to leave me. Was I not good enough for her?
To be honest, this is the first time in a while that I’ve seen her spark back. The way she jumped me two days ago and refused to take no for an answer makes me wonder if maybe the Emma I used to know is still buried somewhere deep inside.
Emma doesn’t say anything more, and I don’t either. I don’t know how to process all of this, and I don’t know how to act around her. There are so many unresolved feelings consuming me. A hatred for how she treated me, the confusion of the moment, and the way my heart still skips when she looks at me.
I start the car and drive.
“Where are we going?”
“To the gas station.” We can’t just stay on the side of the road forever. “We need to fill the car up the rest of the way.”
She nods, accepting my answer, and we’re back to the awkward quiet. This isn’t what I’m used to. She’s the one who is supposed to fill the silence, but instead, the only sound is from the tires on the pavement.
When we get to the gas station, I step out of the car and fill it up, watching her the whole time. She leans against the window like she’s broken and tired.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I can’t stand it. If we’re going to spend the rest of the day together, I can’t handle her being upset the whole time.
I walk into the gas station, straight to the ice cream case, and grab a chocolate fudge bar.
When I get into the car, I set it on her lap, letting the plastic wrapper wrinkle against her pants.
“What’s this for?”
I shrug. “I figured you were hungry.”
“For ice cream?”
“Just eat it. I got your favorite.”
She stares at the ice cream bar, but she doesn’t open it. I’ve never seen her hesitate to eat ice cream before. It’s her favorite treat, so what’s wrong? Does she not like the brand? Did her favorite ice cream change?
“Why are you being nice to me?” she asks, eyes still on the ice cream.
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. I don’t know how I feel or why seeing her sitting next to me has me off balance and unfocused. Maybe it’s an old habit of taking care of her that’s kicked in or maybe I’m too flustered to think straight.
She stays still, in her thoughts, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through her head. Why does it matter if I’m being nice? Would she rather have us at each other’s throats again?
At this rate the ice cream is going to melt.
I reach for it. “I’ll open it.”
“No, it’s fine.”
She moves fast, and in a second her hand is on top of mine. My heart speeds up from the gentle warmth of her hand and for some reason I can’t pull away. All I can think about is how she avoided me for so long and suddenly she’s in reach again.
This touch is different. She isn’t being hostile or rude. She’s simply existing in the same space as me right now.
Her hand flinches away. “Sorry—”
“Why did you push me away?” I blurt out, hands shaking from the nerves running through my body. I need to know, and she’s never explained herself. She brushed me off and refused to talk to me. It’s not like she’s going to run off this time.
“What?”
I say it slower this time. “Why did you push me away back then?”
She fidgets with her seatbelt, pulling it loose like it’s too tight. “You know what happened.”
