I take a few more steps, turning to pace as I listen to him. It’s almost like I’m not even in this bathroom. Almost.
“There aren’t a strict set of guidelines to follow with would-you-rather questions. Someone asks and you just answer. Come on,” I urge. “Which would you pick?”
“I can’t imagine having food on my face for ten years, not one single person telling me it’s there.”
I smile at that. “So you’re picking the foot?”
“Yeah, I think so. Although, wouldn’t a shower get rid of the food?” I consider the possibility of it as he adds, “Because if that’s the case, then I’m going with that.”
I can’t contain the laugh that barrels up my chest and comes out. “Okay, that’s a solid line of thinking.”
“What are you picking?” he asks. “Don’t leave me hanging. I have to know.”
“Probably the foot.”
“Ouch. You’re going to let me walk around with whatever I’ve eaten on my face without keeping me company? That hurts, Miss Prescott.”
I relax back into the door again, my shoulders a lot less tense than they were before. Why is it so easy with Dawson, but feels so hard with everyone else? Lance’s retreating hand flashes in my mind, and my smile drops. Is it possible that he already thinks what we have is beyond repair?
Quiet envelops the small room and the phone line, making it that much more obvious that something is wrong.
Dawson notices, because of course he does. He breathes my name out with such gentleness that it almost cracks me into a million pieces. “Emory, what’s wrong?”
My sigh is wobbly when it comes out. “I’m in a bathroom again.”
“Abathroom,” he repeats. “Not yours?”
“Not mine,” I confirm, secretly loving how well he pays attention to detail. “I did what you said. Well, kind of. Lance’s parents invited us out for dinner. I’m trying, Dawson, but…”
“But, what?”
“Does a person’s past mistakes, whether they were consciously made or not, always follow them? At what point do people stop bringing them up?”
“It’s different for everyone,” he says. “You’ll find your way.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Sometimes people need confirmation to help them get there or outside circumstances to fall into place. But not always. This is your journey, so only you can decide what it’s going to take to get there.”
“I don’t know how to figure that out.”
“You will. Just stay true to who you are.”
“What if I don’t know who that is anymore?” I ask.
“The beautiful thing about life is that we don’t move backwards. Our trajectory is forward, and with that, comes the truth that we’re always evolving. Some seasons evoke more change than others. This is one of them, Emory. It doesn’t mean you’ve lost yourself. It just means you’re learning who you are at this moment. You can look at that like a hardship or like an exquisite metamorphosis.”
I blow out a breath. “So what you’re saying is that I should go out there and give them the middle finger?”
There’s a smile in his voice when he says, “I’m slightly concerned that’s what you took away from everything I just said.”
“I’m kidding,” I say sheepishly, sighing. “Maybe one day this won’t be a thing—calling you from bathrooms.”
“Maybe, but it’s okay that it is right now.” A few heartbeats pass. “If I’m being totally honest, I don’t mind hearing from you. Your voice is grounding in a way I can’t truly describe.”
“Is it?” I murmur, resting my head back and closing my eyes. I just want to listen tohisvoice. To let it lull me into a headspace that doesn’t feel so thought heavy.
“Yes, and I promise you that it’s fine that you’re calling.”
