Page 187 of What We Brave
Joyce sips her coffee.
"I need to — there's something I haven't—" I stop. Take a breath. Try again. "You know how you asked me a few weeks ago if I was seeing someone?"
"Mhm."
"And I said it was new and I didn't want to jinx it?"
"I remember."
"Okay. So." I stare into my coffee. There's a film on the surface. Gross. "It's not that new anymore. It's actually pretty serious. It's been serious for a while and I should've told you sooner but I didn't know how to — I mean, I knew how, I just?—"
I'm rambling. I can hear myself rambling. My mouth is doing the thing where it just keeps producing words because stopping means getting to the point.
Joyce puts her coffee down. "Laine."
"Yeah."
"You look like you're about to confess to a crime."
"It feels like that. A little. Which is — that's part of the problem, actually, that it feels like that, because it shouldn't feel like?—"
"Breathe."
I breathe.
Joyce tilts her head. Patient. Steady. "Start with the easy part."
"There is no easy part."
"Sure there is. Who is he?"
I look at my coffee. The film. The fluorescent light reflecting off the surface.
"It's Reid."
The silence changes. Not a lot. Just enough that I can feel it shift, feel Joyce recalibrating behind those calm brown eyes. She doesn't move. Doesn't flinch. But her hand comes off her coffee cup and folds over the other one in her lap.
"Reid," she says.
"Yeah."
"Reid Garrison. The paramedic."
"Yeah."
Joyce is quiet for a moment. "Laine, the last time we talked about Reid, you were crying in the break room."
"I know."
"You told me it was over. You told me he'd hurt you. That the whole situation was?—"
"I know what I said."
"—toxic. That was the word you used."
I close my eyes. "Joyce."
"I'm not attacking you. I just want to make sure I'm understanding what's happening."
