Page 79 of Almost Yours
At first, I was afraid this was history repeating itself, but this is not the same at all. This is history…mutating. Back then, I didn’t know the risks. I only knew the emptiness he left behind. Now I know the dangers he faces, and it’s not just about his absence—which is part of the issue, yes. But it’s also thenotknowing if every phone call will carry something I can’t fix.
Her voice softens. “Have you told him any of this?”
I shake my head, staring harder at the glass, willing it to give me answers. “I don’t want to bethatgirl.”
She tilts her head. “Which girl?”
“The needy one,” I say, the word sour on my tongue. “The girlfriend who can’t handle her boyfriend having a career. The one who makes him choose.”
Whitley exhales slowly. “Violet, having feelings doesn’t make you needy and telling someone what you need isn’t forcing them into a corner.”
I’m fighting back tears at this point. “What if what I need is more than he can give?”
“Then you deserve to know that now,” she says gently. “Before you’re in any deeper. I don’t like this, V.”
The truth is, I’m already drowning. Every day without him is like holding my breath, waiting for the moment I can surface again. What if that moment never comes?
“I’m just…scared.”
“You know what, babe?” she says, her tone deadly serious. “You’re thinking too damn much. You’re getting all tangled up in your head like some kind of emotional pretzel. You’re so busy trying to be the passive girlfriend that you’re not being honest with him or yourself. That’s bullshit, Violet.”
I flinch, not expecting her to come at me like that. “Geez, Whit.”
“And you know what else?” Whitley continues, setting her wine glass down with a sharp click. “I think you’re selling yourself short. You’re not asking for the moon here. You’re just asking for basic consideration.”
I blink at her, taken aback by the edge in her voice.
“Don’t give me that look,” she says. “You’re sitting here worrying about being ‘that girl’ when all you want is for him to actually talk to you for more than five minutes a day. That’s not needy—that’s the bare minimum.”
“He’s out there making decisions about both your lives, and you’re letting him.”
Good lord, she isn’t done yet.
She takes a gulp of wine. “Five weeks away when you just got together? That’s not nothing.”
“I don’t?—”
“Uh-uh.” She holds up her hand. “You need to have a real conversation where you tell him how you actually feel instead of pretending everything’s peachy when it’s not.”
“What if he resents me?”
“What if he does?” She shrugs. “Better to know now than waste years of your life with someone who can’t handle your feelings. That’s not love, that’s convenience.”
Her words echo in my head. My eyes burn with unshed tears, and I swallow hard, trying to sort through everything she’s just thrown at me.
“Violet?” Whitley’s voice suddenly softens. “You okay?”
I shake my head as the first tear slides down my cheek.
Her arms wrap around me, pulling me into a fierce hug. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles into my hair. “I didn’t want to get all harsh on you like that. I just couldn’t watch you shrink yourself anymore.” She pulls back, searching my face. “I feel awful, but did it work? Did any of that actually help?”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “I think so. I guess I needed the verbal slap across the face.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Your feelings matter, okay? And this isn’t Therapist Whitley talking. It’s your best friend.”
I lift my glass, managing a small smile.
“That’s right,” she says, picking up her glass and clinking it against mine. “Drink up, bitch. You can spiral again tomorrow. Tonight, we’re choosing denial.”
