“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Home. I need to think,” I explain as I stand.
“You can’t do that here?” he questions.
I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly.
“So, this is what you were thinking about all during happy hour?” he accuses, and it stings.
“Sort of. I just think…I need to figure out things with my dad, and you need to figure out things with your family. We need some time to sort out our shit, Hutch,” I state.
“What if we sort it out together?” he suggests, coming to stand in front of me, as if he can block me from leaving. I step around him and look back over my shoulder.
“It’s better if we do it alone,” I argue.
“Jocelyn, that’s crazy. It won’t be better alone. We work great together. We can help each other,” he pleads.
“Can we? You’re consumed by your accident still. You bury yourself in this flower mystery so you don’t have to think about it. I’m over here freaking out about my father. Neither of us has done anything to resolve either issue. So how exactly are we helping each other?” I ask.
“We are talking, aren’t we?” he says, his voice sounding desperate.
I drop my bag and walk back to him, taking his face in my hands. I lean up and kiss him. He clutches my upper arms, holding me in place.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispers against my lips.
“I’m not…leaving you…I’m just…we need to cool down. This is all so much so fast. Let’s just…breathe for a minute, OK?” I stammer, my gaze finding his hurt one. I feel like shit. I hate that I’m hurting him. I’d rather rip my arm off than hurt him, but we need this. How can we trust that this will work if we can’t even trust ourselves to fix the relationships that should be the most meaningful in our lives?
“Trust me, OK?” I ask him as I search his eyes.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers.
“You aren’t losing me. We’re just…spending some time apart,” I promise.
“Why does that sound like breaking up?” he questions.
“Because you’re calling it that,” I state.
“Promise me you’ll be back here in a few days?” he urges, and I want to promise that, but I don’t know how long I need.
“I promise I’ll be back here as soon as I can,” I say, because that’s as much as I can promise right now.
“I…OK. But don’t ghost me,” he stammers.
“I won’t. I’d never ghost you, Hutch,” I promise, and I lean up and kiss him quickly before I turn and grab my bag. I need to leave now, or I’ll not have the willpower to do it. I hurry from the room and out the door. By the time I get to the street level, tears are falling down my cheeks.
I’m not paying attention to where I’m going as I walk down the sidewalk. As I round the corner, I run into someone.
“Sorry,” I mutter, sidestepping.
“Jocelyn?” my dad asks.
I look up, shocked to see my father, even though he does live a few blocks from here. “Dad?”
“Hey.” He frowns as he looks at me. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and for reasons I don’t understand and maybe never will. I throw my arms around his neck and hug him. I hug him like I did as a little girl when my pet fish died. I hug him like I did when he’d come into my room after a nightmare to comfort me.
His arms come up slowly around my back, holding me tightly as I cry for the second time in one week. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m scared and upset. And right now, I just want my dad to tell me everything will be OK. I’ve wanted that for so long.
“Tell me everything will be OK,” I whisper.
