Chapter 53
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
A week later I plop onto the suite couch, then immediately abandon it to sit on a throw pillow on the floor.
New rule: no more suite moping. My circumstances aren’t changing, so my behavior has to.
Kit tosses me a pillow, queues up the chips, and nukes my queso like it’s second nature. No questions, no explanations.
“Thanks, girl. So, rebounds are bad, right? That’s a thing?”
She bites her lip and tries to control her horrified facial expression. “Rebounds?”
“Davis Powell kind of reappeared today. Like, out of nowhere. And I know it’s only been three weeks and I’m a wreck.
I’m not even pretending this would fix anything.
It’s just … I can’t sit on my hands another day.
I need something else to focus on besides fixing the mess Austin refuses to allow me to fix.
I’m not trying to move on. I’m just trying to move. ”
Speechless, she busies herself, carrying chips and the hot jar to the coffee table, tidying the lounge.
I dunk a chip and lose a drip to the table while the pines sway outside. That last morning with Austin, the trees were perfectly still. Like they knew. The pillow won’t cooperate, so I readjust and drop the chip.
“Besides, I sort of owe him. I blew him off before.” I send her a look. I’m not blaming her, but … Fine, maybe I am a little. It’s hard not to think I could have picked the fun, low-stakes college thing with Davis. Instead of being buried under rubble.
Kit steels her shoulders. “I want what’s best for you. And I still believe that’s Austin.”
My eyes trace the lines on the pillow. “You know that’s not a multiple-choice option. He’d have to ever speak to me again, let alone forgive and forget.”
She lets out a sigh and studies the corner. “I know. I’m so mad at him. But that aside, Austin wasn’t the only reason I panicked about Davis.”
“Okay …”
“So what do you want to do this weekend? Movie marathon again, or we could venture out?”
Sudden change of subject. “Nice try.”
Austin was always saying that. It stings every time.
Like playing Operation as a kid—the way the buzzer would go off when someone touched the wrong spot.
Except now, the wrong spots are everywhere.
Every time someone pushes up their sleeves.
Says “you” with an accent. Goes back for seconds.
Sends a flirty smile. It’s not getting better.
It’s getting worse. And it scares me as much as it hurts.
“Spill, KitKat. I need to hear your other reasons.”
When she doesn’t, I motion for her to start talking.
“First,” she starts, “can I ask you, are you angry? At Austin?”
I let out a breath. “Sometimes I think I should be angrier. I mean, it’s not okay that he never even talked to me—just dumped me cold.
So not being mad … that feels like shame, somehow.
Like after Leo broke up with me because I wasn’t treating him right, it felt messed up to be happy.
And after that party …” I trail off, spinning a chip between my fingers.
“I was living under my mom’s cringing disapproval.
But Austin helped me escape that. I didn’t know anyone could see me like he did.
And, maybe it sounds weird, but he made it easier to believe God when he said he wanted me close. ”
She watches me, still and quiet. Like she’s holding it with me.
“And, I’ve been thinking about my Dark and Twisty days, and the long stretches of it …
That fog. Everything feels off, but even the awful stuff happening doesn’t quite explain why.
Like the volume’s turned down on your whole life, and even the stuff you used to love just …
sits there. I’ve wondered if that fog is where Austin is right now.
I hate that for him. I want it gone, for his sake.
And I can’t really be angry at him—not if he’s stuck in that.
When you’re there, it’s not about pushing people away. You can’t even reach for them.”
“Sophs? Is that how it is for you right now?”
I squeeze my pillow. “Some parts, but it’s not like before. During my parents’ divorce, it was awful. I couldn’t function. That was drowning—no air, no fight, no desire to get better.”
“What’s different now?”
“Well, Jesus is different. The weight is there. The darkness, the ache. But this time I’m not alone in it. I’m pretty sure I’d be drowning without him. He’s like … my snorkel.”
She nods like she gets it.
“But also, depression is unpredictable. I had a really bad day a few months ago, and I had Jesus then. I just don’t know. To be honest, I feel guilty that I’m not worse. Like, how heartless am I to not be comatose after losing Austin? It’s not like I’m okay at all, but …”
“That’s the Enemy. Tell him to get lost.” Kit stares me down, more than serious.
“Any amount of okay-ness we have is a gift from God. We just cannot even imagine how much evil he holds back for us every day. If you have good days, if you’re not comatose, that’s a gift, not a reason for guilt.
You can say thank you and move forward.”
Silence spreads, threatens.
The chip finally cracks between my fingers. “Well, story time’s over. Time to tell me why I shouldn’t go out with Davis.”
“Our snorkel,” she says reverently. “Jesus. How could either of us have survived the last year without him? But Davis won’t get that.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re one of those people who thinks you have to agree on everything before you go on a single date with someone?”
“Seriously? I called Levi an alien for a reason. We’re on opposite sides of the political spectrum.
He’s creepily rich, and I can’t afford a trip to IHOP.
He’s about to win student body president by a landslide, and I have like five friends.
We have vastly different hobbies and almost no similar childhood memories. ”
I blink. She’s not wrong.
“But at the end of the day, that man wants to make Jesus happy more than anything. And if he’s in the wrong, he wants to hear the truth. Somehow it’s working between us. Despite the million reasons for us to misunderstand each other, we’re learning how to be each other’s person.”
“What if Davis respects where I’m coming from?”
“But how could he? If he doesn’t know the Snorkel?”
I send her side-eye. She means well, but I’m not in the mood for the Sunday school version of dating advice.
“So go on a date with him,” she concedes. “Try to prove me wrong. But ask hard questions and pray the whole time, okay? And please meet him somewhere. In public.”
I pull out my phone, out of defiance or desperate optimism, I don’t know. Either way, I hit Send.