You know how.
Right. Because I haven’t had the balls tosaywhat I want—what I need—and live with any rejection that comes my way. And it’s so fucking stupid I feel like throwing my phone at the wall. Only the fact that Galen’sstill typingstops me. That he’s typing for so long I know I’m about to get an essay, or he’s measuring his words. Unless he’s confused about what he wants to say, but that’s my role in this.
Galen’s not confused.
He knows who he is and what he wants, and he doesn’t need me for any of it.
The last part hits like a stone, and I hate the cast iron certainty that washes over me. It roils in my belly and renews the compulsion to be violent, a trait more Tam’s than mine, but my grip tightens on my phone all the same.
Bordel…je suis trop con.
Yup. I really am a fucking idiot, but that was a given before I met Galen.
His message flashes up.
Not an essay, but still a lot of words that give me way too much scope for overthinking.
HotCraic97:Let’s take our time. Maybe set a meet for after Christmas? Or after NY? xx
I’m torn between the visceral fear Galen’s putting me off and gearing up to ghost me, and relief he’ll still be in my life after Christmas. And both takes on this messed-up situation have enough flaws that any reasonable person would turn away from them.
But I’m not feeling reasonable.
I’m feeling?—
Fuck. I have no idea. I tap a response as my head fills with white noise and I have no idea who I am anymore.
LeLionDuBois96:Sounds good. Let me know when you’re free x
I shut down the app and sit back on the couch, almost sure Galen won’t reply.
Why would he?
What else is there to say?
I need to move on. To dial out of this version of myself that’s such a fucking mess.
But just as I get to thinking it’s time I hustled Esme to her own bed, so I don’t have to sleep with her tiny toes wedged in my ear, my phone flashes again.
It’s Galen.
HotCraic97:I’m free now
Sab
I tell Galen to come on over.
Then I check on Esme, moving her to her own bed and disposing of the soggy sablé she’s hidden under my pillow.
By the time I’m done, Galen is knocking at the door, and I’m glad we’ve skipped the part where I have time to anticipate how I’ll feel when he gets here.
I open the door and find him waiting in the porch light, tiny flecks of sleet in his auburn hair, an expression I can’t immediately read on his way-too-handsome face. “Hey.”
Galen grins a little. “Bonjour, like.”
If it’s possible to make French sound gloriously Irish, he’s done it. And I can’t help smiling back. The air of awkwardness we parted on last time…it’s still there, lurking in the shadows, but for now at least, it doesn’t bear a Christmas candle to how good it is to see him.
I step back. “Come in.”
