Chapter 20
TWENTY
JESSE
My phone pings with another message and I groan, which makes Molly laugh for the third time in the last hour.
“You know that the more you don’t answer, the worse it’s probably going to get, right?” she says from the couch where she’s sitting, watching me trying to zip shut one final suitcase while doing absolutely nothing to help.
I sigh, giving up on the suitcase for now and stealing back the bag of chips she’s been munching on without my permission.
“I know that,” I mutter, frowning at the almost empty bag, before shooting her a deathly glare to which she just answers with a toothy smile.
She knows how much I love my snacks. Our entire friendship literally started because we fought over the last box of milk chocolate balls on the first week of classes freshman year in a mart near campus.
It took us approximately two minutes to snicker over a lame joke of both of us liking balls, balls we ended up demolishing later on together until we were high on sugar.
It’d been the first time I’d laughed in months.
“So why don’t you answer him?”
“Because we’ve only gone out a couple of times and he’s been blowing up my phone like we’re riding off into the sunset.”
“That’s because he likes you!”
I give her a faint smile, turning around to set aside the bag of chips, no longer hungry.
“Maybe I should just fuck him and be done with it.” I shrug.
My words are met with a beat of silence.
Molly’s hazel eyes are piercing when I look at her over my shoulder, chestnut curls falling around her heart-shaped face.
“Babes, fucking is good. No, fucking is great, and if that’s what you want to do, then sure. It’s just that,” she pauses, her gaze turning softer. “It’s just that sometimes, there is also more.”
My insides burn even as I plaster a fake smile on my face and nod.
I know there’s fucking more. I just don’t want it.
Clearing my throat, I shake my head while I bend down to fight some more with my suitcase. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be a six-hour drive away for more than two months. Not exactly a lot of chances to see where it goes.”
“I guess.” I hear shuffling sounds and then she’s right next to me, sitting on the suitcase so that I can close it. “Are you excited about this summer?” she grins, and I can’t help but grin back.
“I am. To get to actually work in a library fresh out of my Master’s, even if it’s just for their summer program? I can’t fucking wait.” My heart stutters at the thought of where that library actually is, but I stomp on that thought viciously.
“Please. After they see what an absolute gem you are, they’ll snag you for a permanent position for sure. Meanwhile, I’ll be stuck in classrooms with screaming children come September, daydreaming about all the quiet you’re gonna have.”
“Should I remind you that my job’s main focus is to literally be around children myself, and that you actually love being a teacher?”
“No. Just let me play my drama card for a bit.”
“Gotcha.”
She chuckles, but then her smile dims, her expression sobering.
“I’m gonna miss you, you know. It will be weird not seeing you almost every day.”
“I’ll miss you, too. But we’ll talk. And text. That will not change.”
“Absolutely. And your chocolate balls will be safe from me from now on.”
“Always a plus in my book.”
We nod at each other for all of two seconds before we’re hugging hard enough to bruise.
“Okay,” she mumbles when she lets me go and stands up. “Enough emotional crap. I’ll let you finish up and get ready for your nightly run, and I’ll be back tomorrow after you leave to check you didn’t forget anything and to hand the keys over to the landlord.”
“You’re a damn star.”
“And don’t you forget that,” she calls out as the door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone in the now all-but-empty, small apartment I’ve been living in for the last almost five years.
Most of my stuff has already been shipped off to my mom for safekeeping, so thankfully I’ll only be taking the absolute necessary with me at first, but it’s still several boxes and a couple of suitcases filled with clothes to the brim. That I will be loading into the car tomorrow all by myself.
Joy.
But that’s tomorrow me’s problem because now, all I can think about is expelling all the nervous energy running deep like an itch I can’t scratch, that I can’t soothe.
Hauling myself up from the floor, I straighten the suitcase and head to change into my shorts and loose crop top.
I step out in the warm, early June air a few minutes later, and take a deep breath, letting the balmy breeze caress my face. Phone and keys secured, and long hair tied up in a high ponytail, I take off down my usual route.
Running has been a lifesaver these past few years, helping me manage both my sleep schedule and the occasional stress-filled days, and living so close to campus it’s always been safe to run at all hours of the day or night since the streets are never completely empty of people.
I keep a steady pace, letting the rhythmic sound of sneakers slapping on concrete fill my ears.
No music today for me, needing to get lost in the familiar noise of my surroundings—distant raucous laughter of student groups out late, the random rumbling of a car engine here and there, happy chatter from the café nearby.
But soon it’s not enough. I’m too unsettled, too on edge for this pace, needing more, to push myself harder, to feel the burn in my lungs.
So that’s what I do. I run until every muscle in my legs aches like hell, until I feel like one more breath will set my insides on fire. And I revel in it, my mind blessedly empty of all thoughts.
I fall back to a light jog only when I’m sure I will sorely regret it tomorrow if I don’t slow down.
It’s a good thing I’m driving over there a day earlier, otherwise it’s quite possible my thighs would be shaking on my first day at work.
The thought of this new job is enough to pull a smile out of me, a tiny ball of excitement forming in my stomach.
I still can’t believe I actually got it.
I mean, my application was good and so was my interview, but I’m sure there must have been more like mine, or even better, and yet they still picked me.
Just remembering everything that was listed in the job description makes me wish it was already Monday.
Damn, I’m practically vibrating.
Or it’s just my phone that’s been shaking my whole arm from where it’s strapped in and I’m just an idiot.
Slowing down to a walk, I check the caller ID, my smile stretching wider when I see who it is.
“I’m sorry, who is this?” I tell my mom, biting my lip to keep from laughing.
“What are you talking about, Bug? It’s me.”
“Oh, wow. You sound exactly like a mom I used to have. You know, before she moved in with her newly-divorced, childhood friend, started having a blast and completely forgot about me.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve such a sarcastic child. And Izzy says hi, by the way.”
I chuckle, unable to hold it in any longer.
I love teasing her, especially because I know how calm she is nowadays, how happy that she has her life together, her job, a good friend who has her back, just as she has hers, and the opportunity to do a whole bunch of things she didn’t do when she was younger.
Like take a step back and actually relax and have time for herself.
“Give her my love. And probably something good, because I’m a fabulous child.”
“Yeah, Bug. You are.”
Her tone gives me pause, and when she falls silent, I feel a prickle of worry.
“Is something wrong, mom?”
She sighs and now I’m definitely worried.
“Well, I… I didn’t know whether I should tell you with you moving tomorrow. Your head is already full as it is. But I thought that maybe you should know.”
A weird tingling spreads in my chest that has nothing to do with my run.
“Know what?”
She hesitates briefly, just for a second too long.
“I got a call from an old friend yesterday,” she says carefully, her words measured. “She told me that Andrew was in an accident a few days ago. And that… he didn’t make it.”
My steps come to a halt, my heart starting to pound.
Not because of what she just told me, the piece of news registering but evoking only a whisper of minimal sadness.
No.
It’s because my mind reaches for him, for that name I haven’t spoken out loud in so long and that I can’t let myself think. Not if I want to remain functional.
I try to swallow past the lump in my throat, hoping I sound casual when I answer.
“I see. And are you okay?” I manage to ask. The last thing I want is for this bit of news to disturb the life my mom has built for herself.
“I am, Jesse,” she says calmly, her voice steady, and I believe her. “I mean, I’m sad of course, but it’s been years and you know how we left things off.”
Yes, I do. Because no matter how kind-hearted my mom is, no matter how much she cared about Andrew back then, she never forgave him for treating his son the way he did that night. Not after everything we’ve both been through. It simply created a gap that couldn’t be bridged.
That night.
God, I can’t—I can’t think about that night.
“Why did you tell me this?”
“Because I thought that maybe you should know, for—for him.”
She doesn’t say his name but she doesn’t need to.
Everything burns—my heart, my lungs, my eyes. I don’t even know when I start walking again, fast, as fast as my tired legs can carry me, back to the apartment, back where I can fall apart and no one will see.
“It wasn’t his fault, Jesse.”
But it was.
Because he made me need him, he made it hard to breathe without him, and then he let me go.
And I hate that I can’t hate him. I hate that it’s been years and that even though I’ve achieved things that I’m proud of, it all feels distant.
I hate that some part of me thinks my mom is right and that it’s not his fault for doing what he did, for acting like he did, because I want it to be his fault, I need it to be his fault, all his fault.
Because if I can’t blame him for tearing my heart out and leaving me hollow, then I have nothing left but pain, a pain I barely survived from.
I exchange a few more words with my mom, words I can’t remember, until I’m back safe behind closed doors, and I can finally let the world blur and let the hurt that never healed run down my cheeks.
And just for a moment, feel what it was like to be happy, to fall asleep in his arms.
Roman, Roman, Roman.
Just for a moment.
I’ll just let the memory of him wash over me for just one moment and then I’ll lock everything up again and I’ll be back to normal.
All I need is just one more moment.