“My gosh.” I lean my head in my hand against the window. “Do you listen to anything I say?! We’ve been together almost two years now and youstillcan’t seem to understand the basics to this.”
“Well, my bad. I didn’t expect you to get all worked up over a movie. It’s amovie, Addison! It’s not that serious!” His voice is hostile and it makes my heart beat faster, the bile in my stomach stirring.
“Pull over.” I gag, fumbling with the door handle. I push it open and throw up before the truck even comes to a full stop. My hands are trembling, my face is hot, but I feel a little better.
“Here.” Brantley hands me McDonald’s napkins and I clean myself up.
He doesn’t say anything else. No “I’m sorry for yelling” or “Are you okay?” Nothing.
I set the napkins I used on the floor by my feet and lean back in the seat, taking in a breath and sipping from my water bottle.
“So, I guess I’m taking you back home?”
I glare at him, but I honestly have to think about it, studying how I feel. I already got sick, so I might be okay now. My gut twists at the thought of continuing on and that’s enough of a sign for me to agree with him.
The whole way home is quiet. He still doesn’t say anything and I’m certainly not talking. Why should I? I’m the one who threw up.
When he pulls up to the house, my mom and Ella are on the front porch swing.
“Want me to hang out for a little?” Brantley asks.
“No,” I’m quick to say while I get out of his truck. I slam the door harder than I mean to, but he doesn’t react. Tears build in my eyes as he backs up and leaves. I want to scream. I’m so angry with everything…myself, Brantley, the tension between Wes and I, the season, the air, the entire situation.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks, meeting me at the top of the steps.
The frustration quiets to a simmer and sadness takes over instead. I feel so defeated, like I took ten steps backwards with my anxiety. It’s like losing a game you never signed up to play but you still had a desire to win.
“I got sick,” I tell her.
“Okay, well, was he mad about it?”
“Yeah. We were arguing about the stupid air, and I just…it just…sent me over the edge.” My voice is broken and shaky. My body is heavy, I’m tired. I’m so mentally exhausted.
“Okay. Well, deal with that later. Just go in and lay down.” She gestures inside, pushing me along into the house.
I get a drink first and stare into space as I replay everything. My appetite slowly resurfaces as I stand in the comfort of my home, so peaceful and quiet.
“Hey,” Ella’s voice sounds from the doorway. She softly steps into the kitchen. Her arms are loosely crossed and resting on top of her stomach.
“Hi.”
“Do you wanna talk?”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, can I at least say something?”
“Sure.”
She steps further into the kitchen. “I can’t help but notice how much you’re trying to do for him. Going to that concert, the rodeos, his house, this movie. What’s the last thing he did foryou?” she asks, taking a seat at one of the barstools along the edge of the counter.
“Oh, jeez…I don’t know.” I laugh, but Ella tilts her head, waiting for it to hit me.
I honestlydon’tknow. Unlike Brantley, I’m fine with hanging around home. It’s easier, less stressful, and more comfortable.
“Why don’t you ask Brantley to come do something that’s comfortable for you?”
“Yeah.” I sniffle. She has a good point. I keep pushing myself to do all these new things and I’m suffering for them. Maybe I need to take a step back and start again, slower, and build up a better foundation to try new things, while asking Brantley to meet me where I’m at.
