The answer is right there on the tip of my tongue. A vision of her smearing motor oil across the front of her white dress drifts through my mind. It’s replaced by her determined marches past the kitchen window, groceries in hand. The way she saved the day when Birdie invited friends over for the first time. How she made it easier to go into a crowded restaurant because I witnessed her bravery first. Yes, of course, you could have made it on your own. You’re amazing. You’re dynamic. You adapt in a heartbeat and you refused to let me in until you’d settled into yourself. We both watched it happen.
But I hesitate. I hesitate because I desperately need acknowledgment that I’m important to her. I’ve never been a needy person, but goddammit I’m needy in the face of her packing up and getting ready to leave me. Implying I’m a bad decision. If she can just give me a glimmer of hope that I was good for her, I’ll have the courage to ask her to stay.
“Having me around to protect you wasn’t the worst thing. Was it?”
“No.” I can hear her swallow. “Thank you for being tactful, at least.”
It’s clear that I’ve fucked up. She doesn’t look pissed off anymore, just defeated. Her shoulders sag because of what I said. And God, that spirals me into a panic. I’m losing her. Did I ever have her? “It wasn’t a bad thing to have me around, but you would have found a way to last, baby. I’m positive of that.”
Too late. My confidence in her came too late. It’s diluted by my hesitation. She’s not listening. “Thanks,” she bites out. “I really need to get back to what I was doing.”
“So this is it, huh?” My tone is raw, just like my insides. She’s dismissing me. Ending this prematurely without any deliberation. “We’re done. A day ahead of schedule, even. Efficient.”
She squeezes her eyes closed. “We both knew this was temporary.”
That might be true, but my heart never believed that bullshit. She was my woman from the moment I saw her. Mine. How could she have made the same love in the same bed and still classify this as temporary? Casual. Panic and anger clog my windpipe, making it difficult to hide how desperate I’m feeling. She’s leaving. If I ask her to stay, she’ll say no. What do I have to work with? What do I have? “Wow. After everything, Naomi. After this whole adventure-seeking mission and all your attempts to be a big girl, you’re ready to pack up and run back to daddy at the drop of a hat, aren’t you?”
I’ve never known regret like the kind I feel as soon as those words leave my mouth. She gulps a breath, her arms wrapping around her in a protective hug. Guarding her against me. Oh my God. I hate myself in this moment.
“I didn’t mean that, baby. I’m just standing here watching you leave and—”
“You did mean it. You both did.”
That revelation that I’ve echoed something her father said is abhorrent. I want to heave. And God help me, in the wake of my defeat, I’m still obsessed with the possibility that she could go back to another man. It’s going to rule my every waking thought when she’s gone. The knowledge that she’s going to be in the same town as Elijah is a manacle around my neck and I just need…I either need to tighten that manacle until it strangles me. Or I need it loosened.
“Did you keep that dress because you think you might wear it again?”
Again, her silence is as good as a yes.
“Will you go to see him?” I rasp.
We stare at each other across the expanse of the room for long moments, but I can read nothing in her expression. She’s totally closed off to me, except for maybe her fingers twisting in her skirt. “Don’t ask me that,” she finally whispers.
That’s as good as a yes, isn’t it? Rage and misery claw my stomach, leaving nail marks. If she wasn’t standing inside this structure right now, I think I could tear it down with my bare hands. But her safety and happiness are still the most important thing in my world. Tell her you love her. In the movies, that sentiment solves everything, but I can see it won’t make a difference right now. It won’t even make a dent. Love can’t change the fact that our lives are taking different paths and she’s not interested in finding a way for them to intersect. Hell, maybe it’s impossible, anyway. Maybe it always was.
With my head on fire, I leave her standing there, the truest three words I’ve ever left unspoken fighting to leave my mouth.
*
I wake from a nightmare dripping in sweat, my fingers tearing at the sheets. My usual routine of reminding myself I’m in my room in Florida is useless, though, because it’s not the recurring dream. Being underwater with no oxygen, blasts going off overhead.