Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
A shley
"Thanks for helping me at such short notice," Annica says as I inflate a pearl-colored balloon.
I hate to admit it, but the color reminds me of the time I tried to pry open the flip-lid at camp. Why? Because I was wearing pearl-colored nail polish that day, something I noticed when Liam asked if I was going to break a nail in my attempt.
Wow, what a stretch. I’m a pathetic person who’s hanging onto the memories like they’re in limited supply. The sad fact is, that memories of Liam are in short supply.
I pull the balloon from the nozzle and tie it off. "I'm happy to do it." The word happy really shouldn’t be in my vocabulary right now, but Annica knows what I mean. It’s good for me to have a distraction.
Tomorrow's couple requested a balloon drop from a sheer canopy onto the floor. They were set on releasing the balloons after they said I do , just as the groom first kisses his new bride.
But the photographer would kill her, Annica assured them, if she allowed anything to obscure the bride and groom during a crucial moment. And then of course, there’s the safety issue to consider: the elderly guests who’d be seated on the front row would need an escort without the squeaking, bobbing, bumbling balloons getting in their way. Luckily, Annica talked them into saving the special moment for when the youth hit the dance floor in the final hour.
I can't help but think about the fact that Beau and Kristin's wedding is less than three weeks away. The mere thought is a heart stab. It's a heart shred, if I even have any whole parts left.
My reaction that night at Liam’s house in the driveway— wow, that was something else. And the crazy thing is, I regret it as often and valiantly as I defend it. The walking contradiction? Oh yes, I've got that down pat.
I wrap a sheer balloon around the nozzle this time and watch it speedily inflate. It’s the rate that my love for Liam grew—whoosh, boom, bam! He came, he saw, I fell fast in love, and he went.
Sure, I'm the one who pushed him away. Only this time, he isn't sending me a bunch of texts. I guess that since he did that the first time we broke up so many years ago, I sort of assumed he’d do the same thing.
The fact that he's not…well, I really don't know what to make of it.
I was prepared to tell myself—on the chance that Liam did text me, that he simply doesn't respect me enough to give me the distance I was seeking.
But since he’s not doing that, well, of course, I feel rejected. Like I'm not worth fighting for.
These musings are the very reason I don't like myself very much right now. Who can respect a woman with thoughts this irrational running through her head?
I tug the inflated balloon off the nozzle a split second before the thing pops, then let a little air out so I can tie it off.
"Still no word from Liam?" Annica asks.
I shake my head.
"Are you glad about that?"
I stare and blink.
“Or mad about it?"
I nod, my eyes still stuck in an unseeing gaze across the room.
"Uh-huh,” I manage.
“Yeah, that's what I thought. Hey, this is probably enough balloons for tonight. Shan will be here first thing in the morning to finish these off and get them in the canopy."
I nod again, then help Annica with a few small details on the way out.
Soon, I'm in the passenger seat of her car, and we're headed home. The night is dark, and it smells like rain. I remember expecting this rain with Liam. We were excited about it. We had plans to set up the pup tent on his deck, which has a perfect view of the ocean. We were going to get cozy in the tent with popcorn and treats and watch the storm along the shore through the open flaps.
"You know what?” I say, not entirely sure what's about to come out of my mouth.
Annica, who has—very unlike her– not turned up the volume on her stereo, glances over and adjusts the rearview. "What?"
I don't have to think about what comes next because my subconscious has been well at work. "I think I sabotaged things with Liam."
"You think ?" Sarcasm drips off her tone.
I glare over her. "Geez, Ms. Snarky Pants, I'm just gathering my thoughts here. Can we make it a safe space?"
"Yes,” she says, “sorry. Tell me what makes you think that."
"I shouldn’t have ended things just because he wanted to talk about our past. That was…kinda nuts."
"Okay. Can I at least agree with you without getting in trouble?”
“Sure.”
“Good. It was nuts. So why do you think you did that?"
I shake my head. “I have no idea."
It's true enough. If I did, I’m sure I’d be able to produce some sort of answer. Or at least come up with a few possibilities.
They say you should have at least one bawl-it-out-with-an-ugly-cry session in order to properly grieve a relationship. I’ve had three since that night, and I feel another one coming on. My tears are probably on backorder at this point, so what’s left of the low reserve wells in the corners of my eyes.
“What's wrong with me that I would do something like that?” I ask as a sob breaks through.
Annica shakes her head, eyes serious and fixed on the road. “I’m not sure.”
“Why did I insist on doing that?” I press. “I made myself respond that way. I was waiting for him to say just enough to push me over the edge so I could drive away and…and give up something that was going so well. Why ?”
Annica nods thoughtfully, shifts her gum to chew it on the other side, then speaks up at last. "Can we talk about the fact that you still haven't done any of the things on your list?"
I roll my eyes. "That's an entirely different issue."
"Maybe," Annica allows. "But maybe it isn’t. Don't you think it's weird that you couldn't just follow through with at least one of those things?”
“I went to the campout,” I defend.
“Because I caught you in a moment of weakness and guilted you into it.”
“It wasn’t a moment of weakness,” I counter, “it was a moment of strength. I was on my say-yes-to-myself high.”
“Mm, hmm,” Annica says. “But then you didn't list the car, you didn't look for a new job, and you still haven't looked for a place in Virginia Beach."
"That's because I don't trust myself to make a good choice, Annica!”
That sentence seems to bounce around the inside of the car for a very long time. It’s a game of dodgeball—my words are the ball and I’m the target and if it hits me just right, I’m out.
I gulp, wishing Annica would hurry and say something, but she doesn’t. Just makes me sit as the ball hits its mark at last.
I don’t trust myself.
I don’t trust myself.
The statement triggers something new. Something that hovers, elusive in my brain, but potent enough to send chills up my arms and a shock of cold up my back.
I test it out by saying it aloud. “What if I feel nervous about being with someone like Liam…because he refuses to tell me what to do?”
Yes, I must be onto something because the goose bumps are growing goose bumps of their own. “He wants me to make my own decisions. He makes me trust myself, and that’s scary.”
“Scary, why?” Annica challenges.
“Because something bad could happen.”
“Something bad could always happen,” she persists.
“Yeah, but if it happens and someone else is calling the shots, then it’s just what it is. I don’t want to be the one to take all the blame.” The tears must have restored themselves because they’re flowing freely now.
Annica slows the car down, flicks on her blinker, and pulls off the side of the road at an overlook. “Sis,” she says softly. “Where is this coming from?”
The rain starts to fall as I relive the incident with Baby Thomas. I tell her how my mindset shifted, I think, from that point on.
When I’m through, Annica nods as she takes it all in. “So, you picked someone like Ross…on purpose?”
I laugh at the insanity of it all. “I must have! And even after Liam wrote me that letter, giving me every reason under the sun to pick him instead, it terrified me. The way it did when he showed up to my bachelorette party. Ross was safe. And I guess a part of me still believes that Liam isn’t.”
I smear a hand over my face, exhausted and somewhat elated, honestly, because I think I’ve just experienced the biggest breakthrough of my life.
I consider how it triggered my first breakup with Liam all those years ago. “I lied to myself,” I say. “I told myself that Liam was trying to control me when he asked if I wanted to date other people. Maybe that was my way of forcing him into making the choice for us, in a roundabout way, I guess. Okay, I was saying, if that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll get. But it’ll be on you, not me. Nothing could be on me.”
Annica squeezes me tight and lets me cry some more. When my breaths calm, and I’m wiping my face with a tissue I don’t remember her handing me, Annica speaks up again.
“I’m proud of you,” she says. “You know, I bet we’ve accomplished two-point-three years’ worth of therapy just now. Not bad. I’ll send you my bill later.”
“I’d gladly pay it,” I say, thinking—or at least hoping—that she might just be right.
We talk for another hour on the drive home. Then, I sneak into the quiet condo and climb onto the futon in the moonlight’s glow. There, I’m left with the metaphorical dodgeball in my hands: I don’t trust myself, and I’ve got to figure out how to change that.