Page 121 of Even After This
“That’s not fair. It’s not about changing my heart’s desires.” He paces two steps and clasps his hands to the back of his neck. “I just—” He turns, and his expression rages with confusion, devastation, and frustration. “You’re making a decision for both of us. You’ve had time to think about this, and you’re making this decision for both of us.”
“At what point in a relationship is it time to let the person you’re dating know this kind of thing?” I don’t want to sound defensive, but I know the strength and slight rise in my volume are matching his. “There’s no manual for this, Harlan. It’s all just hard. It’s all just impossible.”
“Don’t do that.” He steps to me, takes my hand, and places it over his heart. “This is not impossible. Do not give up on us.”
“I’m not giving up on us.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve made a decision for both of us.”
“If I don’t make this decision, you’ll give up what you want out of life. That can’t be the foundation of our relationship. You’llresent me for it. I’ll always feel guilty about it. I’m making this decision so we don’t implode later.”
His face is set. Determined. “Yes, it’s a lot to let go of and adjust to overnight. I can’t tell you I’m okay with it right now. But”—his voice cracks and heartbreaking emotion crosses his face—“I also can’t tell you I’m ready to walk away from you. Don’t do this, Meredith.”
His heart pounds underneath my hand, and I stare into his pained eyes, barely able to speak. “I don’t want to walk away from you either. But I can’t do this. We can’t do this.”
He studies my face, exhales a long breath, and pulls me in to press a kiss to my forehead. “I love you.”
“I know. I love you too.” Tears rush down my cheeks as he tightens his arms around me in an embrace that could consume me whole.
In a blur of hushed words, final squeezes, and soul-wrenching pain, Harlan leaves the guesthouse.
I press my palms to the closed door. My choppy breath calms in time for Hank to arrive and load my luggage. I’m comatose watching him enter, pick up a bag, and exit the house.
When he returns, he inspects the room. “What about those?” He nods to my pair of Texas-flag cowboy boots lined up next to the door.
The memory of square dance shopping and the hope that filled those boots seeps bittersweet sadness through me. I may not belong here anymore, but somehow those boots do. They can’t go with me.
I lock eyes with Hank. “Leave them here.”
30
“I’m going to scareeveryone away.” Talking to the reflection in my bathroom mirror, I cringe. Five days of minimal showering has been unkind. I’m just grateful to live in a city with a wide range of food delivery services. It makes staying in bed so much easier.
My current lifestyle isn’t sustainable. Today is New Year’s Eve, and if I don’t leave my house and do something, this new sorrow could swallow me whole. Plus, I don’t think it’s a good sign when you’re on a first-name basis with the restaurant delivery guy.
After taking two hours to trudge around my house and get ready, I leave for the food pantry. Even turning the key in my ignition requires an abnormal amount of energy.
Monotonous volunteer work.
I’m back to square one.
Second to losing Harlan, I’ve lost the possibility of new dreams. A new purpose. It’s hard to tell which one drags me back to my bed of depression with a stronger hold.
The good news is, the annual black-eyed-pea-pancake breakfast should be a distraction. That concept is gross enough to challenge the worst melancholy day.
Today, volunteers do early prep work on the food and facility to prepare for tomorrow’s New Year’s Day breakfast. I chose this shift because interacting with people isn’t required.
But Cordelia, the administrator in charge, didn’t receive the memo about my no-talking rule.
Ten minutes after she gives me the rundown in the kitchen, she’s still chattering. She modified akara, a Nigerian recipe, with Bisquick to create the holiday-appropriate-but-probably-disgusting dish. “My nephew went on a mission trip to Africa. He studies medicine at UT Southwestern and wants to work for Doctors Without Borders when he graduates.” After a pause, she raises her eyebrows.
Right. We’re having a conversation. I should probably interact with her.
“That’s wonderful.” I stand in front of the ingredients spread across the top of the large, square, stainless-steel island.
She leans in. “He’s also dating the former Miss Grand Prairie.”
Grabbing the provided apron off the counter, I restrain my eye roll. Always a joy to hear about someone else’s perfect life. “Oh. Great.” I wrap the long ties around my waist and then back to the front.
