The way he looks at me makes me think I’ve said something wrong even though I’ve stated the obvious—I’m ending today with less money than I started with and no closer to the gold I came to find or the divorce I came to finalize. Maybe it was a little fun, but fun isn’t what I’m here for. It’s certainly not the priority.
He steps away from the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rue.”
I slip into the driver’s seat and close the door, wringing my hands around the steering wheel as I stare blankly through the windshield. A million thoughts tear through me as Cap situates himself in the passenger seat.
Flawed is a word I’d use to describe myself. I can be stubborn. I like for things to go as planned to a fault. Based on the number of lies I’ve told Bennie, maybe I’m a liar. But I also see myself for what I am, and right now, what I am is extremely bothered by the way Nash just looked at me and the fact he’s in a relationship, even though I’m engaged to another man—a wonderful man who checks every box I’ve ever wanted.
I’m blindsided by it. By him. By how he’s somehow exactly the same yet totally different.
A woman once brought a 1950s radio into the store. It was a mid-century model made of cream-colored plastic with a geometric clockface. As soon as I plugged it in, Taylor Swift’s staticky voice blasted through the speakers. I remember thinking how little sense it made: something so old playing something so new. I expected “Blue Suede Shoes” but got “Bad Blood” instead. A convergence of old and new.
That’s how Nash feels: old and new. Two hims that don’t line up. I can’t comprehend it.
I thought I’d see him and he’d instantly annoy me with how unchanged he was. I’d tell him about Bennie then he’d easily sign the papers because he had places to go and things to see. Out of every flying piece of debris in the shitstorm of my life, he was supposed to be the easiest to clean up. But that’s not how any of this is. It’s one more thing I didn’t see coming on top of everything else. I’m getting married to one man yet don’t want another to be with anyone else. I want him here helping me and not warming someone else’s bed. I’m the biggest hypocrite who has ever lived.
My eyes burn like they’ve been blasted by a blowtorch.
“You okay?” Cap asks.
I shake my head, barely able to swallow around the barge-sized lump in my throat. Barely able to get a full breath in my lungs. Out the window, Nash is gone. He must have gone inside.
“Wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head again, unable to make words. I came here to fix things, and it all feels more broken.
A woman pushes a stroller down the middle of the street and disappears around a corner a block away. Out of sight, a dog barks and a truck backfires. On another continent, some man is spending our money. In my mother’s skull, there’s a growth that feels much bigger than four centimeters. In a stack of envelopes on my desk, there are bills with due dates. And in the house right next to me, Nash has a life that has nothing to do with me.
I am so fucked.
Cap clears his throat. “Want a hug?”
I look at him; he’s serious.
At the same time inexplicable tears start running down my cheeks, my torso droops across the center console, face-planting me into his shoulder. A painful sob rolls up my throat and outof my mouth, my shoulders shaking as my cries echo around the car. Between Cap’s cane and oxygen tank, it’s not really a hug; he sits there with his hands in his lap and fake foot frozen on the floorboard like a maimed statue. I don’t care. I cry the very first tears I’ve shed since this whole disaster started into his salty, marijuana-scented shirt. I cry and I cry and I cry, and Cap simply lets me. He doesn’t move and he doesn’t say anything; I don’t need him to. I need him to let me drain myself dry of heartache and worry, and that’s what he does.
When I’m done, I sit up, thumbing the last lines of moisture from under my eyes.
“Sorry,” I tell him with a sniff. “Allergies.”
A slight smile cuts through his beard. “Better than the screaming.”
I snort; Cap might be funny.
“Barbecue?” he asks as I turn the key. “My treat.”
I look at him sideways. “You have money to treat?”
His thick brows raise. “Got a lot more money than you, kiddo.”
Of course he does. Everyone has more money than me. If I had any tears left, I’d let myself cry all over again.
“Barbecue sounds great, Cap.”
He grunts.
“Dad.”
I roll my eyes, but I also feel a little bit better.
