Chapter 33 Melanie
MELANIE
I wake up Sunday morning with a pain in my head that feels like someone took a jackhammer to it.
I reach across the mattress next to me for Josh, but he isn’t there.
For a moment, I think maybe he’s gotten up to make us breakfast. I smell the air for a hint of bacon or coffee.
But there’s nothing. Just a thick stillness of stale apartment air.
Bile rises in my throat as the memory of the night before comes crashing back to me.
I hurl myself out of bed and into the living room.
The bottle of Jack Daniels, the empty glass, and my crumpled letter all still sit on the coffee table.
The shades are drawn, and the room is dark, summer sunlight desperate to peek through.
I move the curtains to the side. Then I open the front door and step into the sunroom porch, gazing down at the alley, hoping I might see Josh’s truck.
Maybe he slept in it. But it’s not there. He really left.
I didn’t go after him last night. I should have, but guilt and shame overpowered my fight response, like I already knew we were over.
I deserve it. Keeping a secret like that from him.
I’m surprised he even said he’d be at the concert.
I trudge back to my room and climb back into my bed.
It’s Sunday so I’m off today, and I have no intention of leaving this room.
I reach for my phone but there are no messages from Josh or anyone else.
Not even my dad. How could I have hurt Josh like this?
I hate myself for selfishly keeping a secret because I knew it would bring up old feelings of hurt and loss for me.
I don’t deserve him anyway and that’s the truth of it all.
I tap on my messages, his name pinned to the top. It’s amazing how quickly he fell into place as my number one and now what? I tap on his name and type out a simple text.
I’m sorry.
I want to beg him to please come home, tell him he belongs with me, tell him it was a mistake. But he said he needed time, so instead I roll over and drift back to sleep.
* * *
I awake many hours later, but I don’t feel better.
My heart races when I pick up my phone this time and see several messages, a missed call, and a voicemail.
The latter is just my dad. He’s taken to doing a Sunday check-in, which I appreciate.
His effort makes me feel as if I’m not totally alone.
My dad really tries to keep us together, to be a family, but as hard as he tries, there is an emptiness that cannot be filled.
It started with his bad marriage to my mom, followed by losing everything senior year, to my mom leaving.
I’ve just never really felt connected that way to anyone.
Maybe it’s why I never found a partner of my own.
No matter which guy I chose, none of them chose me.
I open my texts to see a few from Sophie. She doesn’t usually text me, so I am anxious to read them.
Sophie: Melanie, I’m gone until late today but Liam told me Josh is staying at Ellie’s. Are you two okay?
Sophie: Mel, I’m here if you need to talk. Liam said Josh was pretty upset. I’m sure whatever it is, you two will work it out. Call me if you need me.
My heart warms at her messages. I wasn’t the nicest to Sophie when she moved here a couple of years ago.
I didn’t know her at all, but I thought I wanted Liam.
I thought we belonged together. Sophie never judged me, never treated me any differently.
She only looked at me with kindness and empathy.
As time went on, we’ve gotten closer and despite raising two young girls, she always makes time for our friendship. I type out a reply to her.
Me: Thanks, Soph. I am glad he’s at Ellie’s. Unfortunately, I think I hurt him pretty badly. I’m not sure if he’ll forgive me.
Sophie: He will. He loves you. Anyone who looks at you two can see that. Let’s have lunch tomorrow. I’ll come by your work.
I sigh, texting back a time to meet and suggesting coffee instead, before tossing my phone on the bed.
The thought of working tomorrow sends a sickening dread through my body.
I thought I saw a future with Josh and in my mind, that was my way out.
My way out of a dead-end job, of this town.
A chance at a life with the man I first loved.
And maybe it doesn’t look like I thought it did at seventeen.
Maybe we’re not going to be rock stars touring the country.
Maybe it looks like a quiet life in Tennessee, writing music together, a house full of pets.
I just feel as if all of that is ruined now, and I don’t know how to get it back when he says he needs time.
I glance at the time on the clock beside me—just before noon. I groan, getting out of bed and padding toward the bathroom. My stomach grumbles and my head pounds. And suddenly my phone is ringing. Hopeful that it might be Josh, I dive for it.
Dad.
I suck in a breath and answer it. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hi, sweetheart. I hadn’t heard from you. I was starting to get a little worried.” His voice is filled with such sincerity I feel my chest tighten.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice wavering. Shit.
“You don’t sound fine,” my dad says, treading lightly. “Is everything okay with Josh?”
Before I can stop them, tears flood my eyes again. I’m surprised there are any left after the sea I cried last night. I sniffle and I know he’ll know I’m crying. “No,” I admit with a shudder.
“I’m coming over and bringing you lunch.” Dad hangs up before I can argue.
I force myself into the shower, letting the hot water run over me for several minutes before washing, focusing on taking deep, cleansing breaths.
But it’s not working. I’m crushed and the best thing I’ve had in years is over.
I get washed quickly, towel off, and stare at myself in the mirror for a few long minutes.
I look like death run over. My eyelids are pink and so swollen they look as if they’ve swallowed my blonde eyelashes.
My blue eyes are bloodshot, and dark circles cloud my features.
My dad is going to think something is terribly wrong.
I pinch my cheeks, hoping to bring some color back to them. I brush my teeth and my hair and then hurry to dress. As soon as my shirt is over my head, my dad is knocking on the door.
Realizing it’s still locked, I meet him there, swinging it open.
Dad grins, holding up a brown paper bag and a cup carrier with two frozen coffees from Coffee Tyme. “I brought bagels!”
“Dad, your cholesterol,” I mutter, but take the bag from him anyway.
“You look like shit,” he says gently, following me into the kitchen.
“Gee, thanks.” I roll my eyes, walking to the cabinet to get paper plates and napkins.
“Grab the ketchup, will you?” Dad says as an afterthought.
I spin back around, grabbing the ketchup, and a moment later we’re sitting face to face at my tiny café table. I get to work unwrapping my favorite breakfast sandwich—pork roll, egg, and cheese, but Dad just watches me.
“I drove all the way over here, are you going to tell me what happened?” His brows knit with concern. “I can’t take it anymore.”
I sigh. “Can I eat first?”
“I guess.” My dad holds up his hands.
I take a bite, chewing thoughtfully, and look at him still watching me.
“He knows,” I say softly. “About the baby.”
“Oh,” my dad says carefully. “He didn’t take it well, I guess?”
“Well, no. Because I didn’t get to tell him. He found my old letter snooping through my drawer. We fought. It got ugly. He said he needed time.” I shrug, taking another bite. It’s amazing how food can make things better, even temporarily.
“He’ll come around.” My dad pats my hand and picks up his own sandwich.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” I scoff. “Aren’t you supposed to impart some relationship wisdom on me?”
“Honey, if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been divorced and alone for twenty-five years.
Longer than I was married to your mother.
I’ve got wisdom. It’s just more of the ‘don’t marry your high school sweetheart just because she likes your car’ variety.
” My dad takes a large bite, watching me carefully as he chews.
He has a point. I just thought maybe he’d have something a bit more comforting to say.
“I just feel like everything is ruined,” I mutter, looking down at my half-eaten sandwich.
“He’s just digesting information, Melly. He’ll figure it out and come crawling back.” My dad nods. “Like when your mother told me about her affair, I needed time to digest it. But we stuck it out. We stayed together.”
I stare blankly at him. “You hated each other. It would’ve been better if you split up right then.”
He tips his head back and forth in thought.
“Yeah, I guess that’s a bad example.” He chuckles, and I marvel at the fact that he can laugh about his failed marriage decades later.
“Look, my point is, being with someone is a choice. You choose if you want to love someone for better or for worse, despite all that comes with it. If Josh needs time to mourn or to digest something that happened years ago that he’s just finding out about, and he still comes back to you… then you’ll know. He’s choosing you.”
“What if I broke something in him? What if he doesn’t come back?” I whimper, like the little girl I used to be.
My dad squeezes my hand. “That boy has been carrying you around in his chest all these years. He wouldn’t have come back here otherwise. One little secret isn’t going to change that. And if he doesn’t come back? Then he wasn’t ready for the kind of love you have to give.”
My face must fall because my dad pats my arm. “He’ll be back.”