Page 105 of Autumn on My Mind

I clamp my jaw shut against what I know I have to say, because I don’t want to. I don’t want to offer him those words. But they nudge insistently at my lips anyway, until finally my heart crumbles.

“Maybe we should stop, then,” I say.

Because I have to give him a way out. I want to keep him more than anything. But if he’s been this miserable the whole time we’ve been together—a soul-crushing, devastating thought—I have to at least give him a chance to leave. So I struggle through my tears and say it again: “Maybe we should stop everything.”

And I hate the relief that passes over his face, mingled with the pain and the frustration—there’s true, genuine relief in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, an awful finality in his voice. “But we should. We should never have done this.” His words are quiet as he goes on. “It’s my fault, Reese. I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

“But you did. We did,” I say. “And we’re running from the consequences?”

“These are the consequences,” he says dully. “Ending this relationship because it never should have happened in the first place. That’s the consequence.”

I can’t argue. I can’t even disagree.

“Fine,” I say faintly. I can’t stop my tears, and there’s no point trying anymore. “Then I guess—” The words resist, but I push them out. “I guess we’re done.” I eye him as his posture eases, only slightly, but noticeable, and a hollow laugh escapes me. “You’re so relieved. You’re so relieved to be done with me.”

Dominic doesn’t look at me, doesn’t deny it. His eyes are fixed on the ground, his head hanging low. “I really am sorry,” he says. “But—water from a poisoned well. This has been eating me alive, Reese.” He pauses. “Your mom’s not good for you. You know that?” Then, with that final parting blow, he turns and opens the door. He closes it quietly behind him, but the sound echoes in my mind.

One week later he’s gone, like he never existed. I withdraw at the urging of my academic advisor.

And although I try to keep the sunshine he brought into my life, try to find the light wherever I can, it’s not the same.

I don’t see him again.

Ari’s little sister is getting married, with the wedding on Thursday. Dom goes over to the stables to help get the lighting ready on Wednesday, and now that my pumpkin patch hours are reduced, I come along.

I accompany him under the guise of being helpful, but really I just like to watch manly men do manly things. Initially I worried our interactions might be awkward after our dinner and conversation last night, but to my relief, Dom has acted like nothing unusual happened, so I do the same.

I spend some time at the hardware shop too—the man there is manly enough but unfortunately related to me, and therefore much less enjoyable to watch—before returning to my shed Wednesday evening and putting in more work for my online job.

By the time the sun sets, I’m officially tired out. I’ve been distracted all day, and now that I’ve finished what I need to do, I can let my mind wander. My eyes fall on the dress hanging from the cracked door of the wardrobe, and I bite my lip.

I stopped by Nathan’s earlier and grabbed it from my closet there, along with a pair of heels. Wearing it to Thursday’s wedding would be a bold move, but…

I guess I’m feeling bold.

Bold because it’s Dom’s favorite dress. He’s never said so in words, but the few times he saw me in it, he couldn’t quite pull his eyes away. They lingered in a way that made me feel warm, on the soft fabric hugging my curves and the low dip of the v-neck in front.

I haven’t worn it in years, since Alvina informed me that emerald green is not my color. I bet it still fits, though.

I get up off the couch and shimmy out of my clothes; then I slip the dress on. It wraps around the front and ties at my left hip in what ends up being an uneven bow. Looking down at my body, it seems okay, but I hurry to the bathroom in the back to check the mirror.

The light flips on to reveal my reflection in all her shed-living glory, hair on top my head in a floppy, messy bun. The dress looks fine, though, and dare I even say…good? It’s a little tighter than I remember, but everything is covered, and I like the neckline a lot. It’s lower than my usual attire without being too much.

I give myself a determined nod in the mirror before exiting the room. Alvina can say what she wants—and she will—but I like the green.

I’m wearing it.

My pajamas feel too loose compared to the dress when I lie down on my couch bed later that evening. It’s once again hanging from the wardrobe door, and although I’m nervous for tomorrow, I’m excited, too—a glittering, magical feeling. It’s been a long time since I actually dressed to impress. I fall asleep with butterflies in my stomach.

The butterflies are still there when I wake up, which is uncalled for, in my opinion. I try to shoot them down, but they dodge my attempts until finally I’m forced to let them be and get on with my day.

By which I mean work. I get on with my work. No pumpkin patch this morning, so I log into my work portal and check the creative briefs still up for grabs—I can take as many or few as I want, although as a project manager it looks different, since I’m the one proofing instead of compiling. I claim as many batches as I can realistically get done before the wedding this evening, and then I hunker down.

I’ll probably go over to Main and grab lunch later for a break, but right now it’s just me, my laptop, and my bottle of water. I power through until eleven-thirty, at which point I set my computer aside, do some stretches, and then head out.

My phone rings on the way, and I answer without looking at the screen. “Hello?”