Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Meadow
I haven’t moved from the couch in hours.
Time feels irrelevant as I lie on my side, blinking slowly as I stare off into space.
The TV is on, but I couldn't tell you what’s playing. My phone could be ringing with an emergency, but I have no idea where it is.
Late last night, I texted my boss and my coworker, Amy, letting them know I wouldn't be in today. After that, I have no idea where I put my phone. I don’t care.
I couldn't care less if my boss is angry at me for calling in on my first day back from vacation.
And the only reason I decided to text Amy is that I knew Owen would worry. Out of everyone in the office, Amy is closest to both of us. I knew he would ask her if she’d seen me, and she’d let him know that I’m ‘sick.’
I might not be sick with the flu or a virus, but I feel like I'm dying. I never knew that a broken heart could make your body physically ache, draining you of all your energy.
My apartment looks nothing like me.
Laundry is scattered across the floor, a bowl of ramen that I’ve barely touched sits on the coffee table next to a half-empty Diet Coke, and my suitcase still sits near the front door.
It’s wide open, clothes spilling out because I’ve been using it as my closet since I got home.
I haven't had the motivation to unpack, make a proper meal, or even do…anything.
I feel like a zombie. A hollow version of myself.
I hate it.
I hate the mess I’m living in. I hate the way it reflects exactly how I feel: sad, overwhelmed, broken, and completely withdrawn.
I pull my knees up to my chest, curling up in a ball in my oversized T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. I stare blankly at the TV, trying not to think about him. But all I see is him.
All I see is Owen, baring his soul to me on the night-shrouded beach, confessing his love to me.
All I see is him waiting for me at the airport gate, seconds before bending down to help an elderly woman gather her things.
God, I’m such a coward for scurrying off like a scared animal.
How can I be so cold, especially after how great a friend Owen has been to me? I will carry this shame forever.
Over the weekend, I’ve been questioning if I did the right thing. And even if I did, I’ll never be able to forgive myself for letting him go.
He probably hates me for how I've been pushing him away and avoiding him.
As I’m wallowing in self-pity, refusing to move a muscle, my body flinches as a firm knock comes from the front door.
I lay still, holding my breath, willing whoever it is to go away.
The last thing I want right now is to see a human being. I’m not ready for the world to witness my puffy eyes or my greasy hair, which is now fused into a brittle nest on top of my head.
Another knock sounds off, louder and more insistent.
Maybe it’s a package. Or Sally, my neighbor from down the hall, who likes to bring me baked goods from time to time. But I can usually smell her baking before she brings anything over.
The third knock is punctuated with a familiar, deep voice that stops my heart.
“Meadow. It’s me.”
My entire body goes still as my pulse thuds against my ears.
Owen.
When he knocks again, I shoot upright on the couch, my mind scrambling for a plan.
“Meadow. I hear your TV,” he sighs. “Either open up, or I’ll stand out here all day.”
I briefly close my eyes and push a hand through my hair.
What the hell is he doing here? How am I not dead to him by now? I’ve treated him so terribly.
At the very least, I owe him a conversation.
Finally, I exhale a deep breath and shuffle to the door, my heart rattling around in my chest.
The closer I get to him, the quicker my breath falls. I glance at my reflection in the entryway mirror and recoil at the sight. I look like I’ve been dragged out of a rain gutter.
I open the door just a crack, hovering behind the chain.
Owen stands in the hall, snow melting in his hair, his nose pink from the cold. He has my favorite latte in hand, a peace offering.
He looks just as broken as I do. His face is hollow, his skin pale and ashen from exhaustion, and dark bags sit beneath his gorgeous eyes. Even his posture is off; he’s slightly hunched, like he can barely keep himself upright.
It breaks my heart. I’ve never seen Owen look so disheveled.
Without another word, I unhook the chain and let him in.
I breathe in his scent as he steps past me and stands in the small foyer, snow pooling at his boots. I try to close the door gently, but it thuds anyway.
When I turn to face him, Owen gives me a nervous smile and holds out the coffee, his arm slightly trembling as he waits for me to take it. I do, and the warmth seeps through the cardboard into my hands.
Neither of us says anything, but I can feel the words brewing, heavy as storm clouds.
Owen looks around my apartment, his gaze sweeping over the mess, then settling back on my face.
He doesn't even attempt to judge me or make a joke. It’s very obvious that I’m not okay.
“I’m sorry,” he finally mutters, his voice cracking, “for barging in here like this. I—I didn’t know what else to do. I had to see you.”
The ache in my chest sharpens. I expect him to tell me off, accuse me of being a coward, or demand an explanation.
“I miss you,” he continues, letting out a breath like he’s been holding it in for ages. “God, Meadow. I miss you so fucking much.”
I stand there clutching the coffee, letting it warm my icy fingers as I try to gather words. I want to tell him everything. About the sorrow, the regret, how I’ve barely been able to sleep or eat, how every cell in my body wants to apologize for how I’ve treated him.
The words crowd my throat, too big, too jumbled to say out loud.
“I know…” I trail off. “I miss you, too.”
His expression relaxes slightly at my response.
“Are you… Okay?” he asks hesitantly, his gaze studying me. “Amy said you called in sick.”
A weighted silence falls between us as I slowly shake my head.
“No… No, I’m not okay,” I reply, my voice thin. “But I’m also not sick. I—I just couldn’t face you yet.” I finally look up, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
His brows pinch together like he’s perplexed, as if I’m not living in squalor right now.
“Like what?”
“Like this,” I whisper, looking around at my apartment that’s in shambles. “Like a fucking, pathetic mess.”
His face twists with emotion.
“And you think I’ve been any better?” he asks. “Meadow, I can’t sleep, eat, focus, or even function. I’ve been such a fucking wreck since we got back to Chicago. I feel like I can hardly breathe without you.”
I feel like I can hardly breathe without you.
His confession should make me feel better, but instead, it breaks me.
“How could you miss me?” I croak. “How could you possibly still want me after how I abandoned you? Literally ran away from you when things got hard?”
“Because I know why you ran,” Owen replies, understanding filling his tone. “I know why you left. I know you, Meadow Riley. I know you’re scared of letting anyone in, but that’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted—to be the one person you let in. To be the one person who gets to love you.”
To be the one person who gets to love you.
For a second, I think I might evaporate from embarrassment and shame. How did I ever walk away from him so easily? My heart beats out of control as my brain tries to process how Owen still wants me after everything.
“Owen…” I breathe.
“You’re everything to me,” he goes on, his voice emboldened. He steps toward me, closing the distance between us and cupping my face between his palms.
“Meadow, you’re more than enough,” he rasps.
“I need you to see that you are all I fucking need. I know you think that I’m destined to be with a certain type of girl, but I don’t give a shit about any of that superficial stuff.
I’ve never cared about any of that. I don’t want anyone but you. I’m in love with you .”
He’s trembling a little, either from the cold or from the effort of holding all this in, and it makes my heart clench in a way that feels both devastating and hopeful.
“I love you,” he continues, almost defiantly.
“I’ve loved you for a long time. I love you because you’re you.
I want all of you. Your sarcastic, dry humor, your baggy pajama pants with cartoon characters all over them, your collection of fuzzy socks, your Diet Coke obsession, your brilliant mind, and your gentle heart. ”
His lips twitch as the smallest hint of a smile fights through the emotion.
“I want to watch all the sparkly vampire movies with you and stay in and watch football while you read your books with shirtless men on the cover,” he chuckles as water fills his eyes.
“I want the days when you’re on top of the world, and the days when you can’t get off the couch. I want every version of you, even the ones you hate.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe—can’t think—can’t do anything but feel the intensity of his words.
It’s like being cracked open as everything I’m self-conscious about is being gently held in the hands of someone who loves those things about me. There’s a warmth spreading from the center of my chest, a feeling that has lain dormant for years.
He leans closer, pressing his forehead to mine.
“If you want me to back off, I will. But you should know that you can’t scare me away. Not even if you tried.” He hesitates, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You’re my best friend, Meadow. You always have been. But I want more than that. I want forever with you.”
My hands are shaking as I set my coffee down on the side table and reach for his waist, my fingers curling in his jacket. My eyes sting as big, fat tears start to leak down my cheeks.
I want to respond with some grand, romantic monologue, so he knows exactly how much I love him.
But what I feel for him is too much to even put into words, so I swallow a sob and whisper, “I want that, too. I want you, Owen. More than anything.”
I watch pulse pound against his neck as he hangs on to every word.