“Fine.”
“Not fine, like you’ll think about it. Fine, like I’m texting you my therapist’s number right now and you’re calling her today.” She’s already typing. “Dr. Chen’s amazing. Helped me through the Tyler disaster, remember?”
“Riley …”
“Nope. You’re going. Non-negotiable.”
My phone buzzes before I can argue.
JAX: Emergency. The chickens have unionized.
Despite everything, I smile. Jax has been sending me photos of the farm, simple things that he thinks I’ll like. It’s easy, we don’t have to delve into things. He showed me the chickens, and I instantly fell in love with their antics, so now he gives me chicken updates.
SLOANE: Unionized?
JAX: They’re demanding better working conditions. More mealworms. Weekends off. A 401k.
SLOANE: Sounds reasonable.
JAX: I’m not negotiating with poultry terrorists.
SLOANE: That’s a bold stance. What if they strike?
JAX: Then I guess I’m making my own breakfast. How are you doing?
There it is. The question he asks every few days. The one I never answer honestly.
SLOANE: I’m okay.
It’s not a lie. But it’s not the truth either. The truth is, I miss him so much it physically hurts. That every time my phone buzzes, I hope it’s him. That I want to drive to that farm and never leave. But I don’t say any of that.
JAX: Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.
My chest tightens.
“You’re doing the face,” Riley says.
“What face?”
“The I’m texting Jax and pretending I don’t have feelings face.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re keeping him at arm’s length.”
“I’m healing.”
“Or you’re hiding.” She softens her voice. “There’s a difference.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Dr. Chen’s office is in a renovated Victorian in Capitol Hill. Warm lighting. Plants everywhere. One of those white noise machines that’s supposed to be soothing but just makes me need to pee. Dr. Chen is in her forties with kind eyes and zero bullshit energy. I like her immediately.
“So,” she says after I stumble through my story, “nine-year relationship, cheating, snowstorm, hot stranger, and now you’re trying to figure out who you are.”
“That’s the highlight reel, yeah.”
“How does it feel to be starting over?” she asks.
“Terrifying.” The word escapes before I can stop it. “I’ve never been alone. Not really. I went from college to Chett to ... this. I don’t know how to be just me.”
“Do you want to be alone?”
