But her face tells a different story.
In sleep, the hard edges of her anger have softened into something more vulnerable. Her dark hair spills across the pillow in a wild tangle, and her lips are slightly parted, her breathing slow and even. The furrow between her brows has smoothed away, leaving behind the face of a woman who hasn't yet remembered why she's supposed to hate me.
I want to reach for her. I want to brush that strand of hair from her cheek and pull her against my chest and hold her untilshe stops running from me. I want to feel her body relax into mine the way it did before everything fell apart.
Instead, I ease out of bed as quietly as I can, careful not to disturb the mattress too much. She stirs slightly but doesn't wake, and I stand there for a moment longer, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing beneath the quilt.
Seven days. I have seven days to make her understand.
Looking at her now, soft and peaceful in the early morning light, I almost believe I can do it.
I pad barefoot to the kitchenette and start the coffee maker. It's an old machine, loud and temperamental, and the gurgling and hissing seem obscenely loud in the silence of the cabin. I wince, glancing back at the bed, but Jade doesn't stir.
While the coffee brews, I stand at the window and watch the forest wake up around us. The trees press close on all sides, a wall of green and brown that blocks out the rest of the world. There are no neighbors or roads. There’s no cell service. Just us and the wilderness and the things we need to say to each other.
That’s why I wanted to come here. I wanted a place where we could be alone together, away from the noise and distractions of our regular lives.
The coffee maker sputters its final breath, and I pour two mugs. Black for me. I realize that I don't know how she takes hers. Despite all the time I’ve spent watching her, I somehow forgot to make note of this simple thing.
I hear the rustle of sheets and I turn to see Jade sitting up in bed, her dark hair a mess around her face. She blinks her eyes in the gray morning light.
For one perfect moment, she looks almost happy to see me.
Then reality crashes back in and her expression shifts to confusion and anger.
"Day one of seven," she says flatly. "Six more to go."
"Good morning to you too."
She doesn't respond. Just sits there on the edge of the bed, her borrowed flannel rumpled from sleep, her bare feet dangling above the cold floor. She looks small and tired and absolutely determined not to give me an inch.
I cross to her and hold out one of the mugs. "Coffee."
She stares at it like I'm offering her poison.
“I'm not trying to poison you, if that's what you're worried about."
"I wasn't worried about that until you said it."
"Just take the coffee, Jade."
She accepts it. Her fingers brush mine in the exchange, and I see the way she flinches at the contact, pulling back quickly. She wraps both hands around the mug and stares down into it searching for answers.
"Thank you," she doesn't say.
I'm getting used to that.
The day stretches ahead of us, long and formless and full of tension. I'm acutely aware of everything we don't have here. There’s no cable TV or wifi. The only entertainment is what lines the far wall of the cabin: a bookshelf stuffed with hardcovers and paperbacks that have been accumulating here for decades. Their spines are cracked and faded from years of use. There’s also a small collection of DVDs stacked beside an ancient television that still requires a built-in player. The movies are relics from another era, the kind of thing my parents left behind when they stopped coming here. Romantic comedies from the nineties. Action films with actors who've long since aged out of leading roles. A few animated movies from when I was a child, brought up here to keep me occupied during rainy afternoons.
"We should go for a walk," I suggest. "There's a trail that leads down to a creek. The view is beautiful this time of year."
"No."
"The fresh air might?—"
"I said no."
Her voice is sharp enough to cut, and I bite back the retort that rises to my lips. Pushing her won't help. I know that. But the alternative is sitting here in this suffocating silence, watching her hate me from across the room.
