Arms envelop me, and my head falls against his firm chest. His embrace is tight, and though I don’t know the adult version of Brett well enough to feel comfort from a hug, the squeeze is easing some of the pressure in my chest.
The rate of my breaths slow, and I’m able to stop the tears from falling. Brett must notice I’ve calmed down because his arms release from around me, and he takes a step back. I don’t know what else to say or do aside from searching his worry-filled eyes as if I’d find the answer there.
He presses the pad of his thumb beneath my eye and sweeps away a remaining tear. "Take some time to process it all," Brett says, sounding wise beyond his years. "I don’t know how long you’ve known about your dad becoming sick again, but I doubt there’s any length of time long enough to accept or adjust to that kind of news."
"I’m going to—" I point to the car.
Brett backs away, slipping his hands into his back pockets. I close myself into the car, rest my head back, and close my eyes for a minute before starting the engine.
A knock on the window startles my eyes to reopen. Brett is standing outside of the car, holding up the bottle of Red Apple. I roll the window down and retrieve the bottle. "Thank you," I utter. "For everything."
He presses his lips together and holds his hand up for the same simple wave he gave me earlier at the airport when we didn’t recognize each other.
Ever since I was little, I have run away from blood, from people writhing in pain, from emergencies. I’m not the type of person who should be around a situation requiring immediate medical attention. I pass out when I see too much blood.
My mind knows the right thing to do, when to be there for someone, and when to suck up my fears and internal agony, which is why I’m home, but I feel helpless. I can’t even remember the one thing Dad asked for.
I ran away an hour after I got home, so I could take a break. I don’t know how I will make it through this.
With trembling hands and tired eyes, I make my way back home, easing into the driveway.
My phone rings as I step out of the car, and I see Ace’s name on display. I didn’t expect a clean break since, perhaps, I’m not in the right frame of mind to be making permanent decisions. Still, I debate answering his call, but maybe he wants to make sure I got here okay.
I press the answer button and hold the phone up to my ear. "Hey," I say, my voice sounding hoarse.
"Hi," he says,his response sounding meek. "I wanted to make sure you got home."
I nod my head as if he can see my response. "I did. Thanks for checking in."
"Mel, I know this isn’t the time to have this discussion, but had you been thinking about ending things with me before this morning, or was this a panic thing?"
I’m not sure how much more I can endure today. "Ace, I’m so sorry for the way I handled things today, but the thoughts had been on my mind for a while. We want two different lives. I want to get married and have a family, and I don’t think you’re in any rush for that."
There’s a moment of silence between my statement and his response, and I thought I could predict what he might say after being with him for so long, but I have no clue what is going through his head. "I—I don’t think marriage was on my mind because it feels like we have already been married for years, and I watch the neighborhood kids causing havoc and the parents looking like zombies. It all scares me. I don’t think it’s what I want."
We should have had this conversation a long time ago. I kept waiting, thinking he would come around, but Ace was living a comfortable life and didn’t desire more. "I had an inclination where your head was.”
"I still love you, Mel."
"I don’t think you’re in love with me, though," I reply. There has been very little affection, sweet gestures, compliments, anything to make me feel loved.
"I’m not sure I know the difference," he says. I know he didn’t mean to sound cruel, but how can someone question the difference between loving someone and being in love with a person? Being in love meansstanding by a man’s side with nothing but hope that someday he might want the same things in life.
I know the conversation is ending, and I see Mom open the front door, watching me, wondering why I’m outside, shaking from the brisk wind just for a phone call.
"Ace, someday you will know the difference. It just won’t be with me.”
"Okay," he utters.
"Take care." I end the call and drop the phone into my back pocket before heading for the front door, where Mom is still waiting.
"Ace?" she asks as she opens the door for me.
"Yup," I reply, sighing.
"He’ll be okay, and so will you," Mom says. She knows I’ve been feeling this way for a while. "I know everything seems like it’s falling to pieces, but we will pull through."
I don’t know how she can say such a thing. I’m having a hard time saying goodbye to a man who didn’t want a future with me, and she will have to say goodbye to a man she has spent her life with.
