Chapter 18 Halfway Gone
Halfway Gone
Jude was right about missing each other.
I’ve hardly seen him since I fell asleep on his lap, and wow, it sounds so much worse when I put it like that.
It’s only been a few days, but other than texts or sharing funny videos back and forth, there hasn’t been time.
We haven’t crossed paths in the parking lot, shared rides, sung together, or watched baseball, and it royally sucks.
He flips his light switch a couple of times around midnight every night before sending a silly good-night meme. That should be enough, but it’s not.
Oh my word, how has it only been three days?
Friday, as I’m packing up to leave for my mom’s house, I tell Jude and Jace to come steal our cold food from the fridge because Annie and I will be gone all weekend.
Mr. Stark: Yes ma’am. Got bread?
Me: Yep. Take the milk too.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: Sweet. Thanks. Be careful and tell us when you get there.
Mr. Stark: Yeah, what grandpa said.
Me: Y’all feed Sammy too.
Mr. Stark: We’ll even walk him and throw a tennis ball.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: He’s going to Nashville.
Me: Unsupervised?
Mr. Stark: He gigs with other people sometimes.
Me: How rude.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: I don’t mind the break.
Me: Wow, I can take a hint.
Mr. Stark: HURTFUL, Danny. It’s ok Spice Cake. I never need a break from you.
Me: Sweetheart, that’s not what you said last night.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford:
Time of death—1:15pm.??
Mr. Stark: My girl. I’ve never been so proud.
Me: I aim to please.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: Make it stop.
Me: Love you too. Y’all behave. Be back Sunday night.
I stuff my backpack and say goodbye to Annie as we load our cars.
“Weren’t you just home earlier this week?” I ask her.
“Yeah, but you’ll be gone, and I don’t have anything to do until fall semester begins, so I’m going to work at the bakery for a few days and make some money.” She shrugs. “Plus, free meals and a pool, ya know?”
If I didn’t miss my own mom, I’d go with Annie.
I love helping in her mom’s bakery. My siblings will fight, Dad is still Dad, and I’ll have to share a bunk bed with my sister.
Okay, that part doesn’t bother me, but if I stay here, Nathan will either ignore me or want me to spend the whole weekend with his family. And I can’t.
Because all I want is to escape.
But if he ignores me, I’d be tempted to spend time with Jude, and that won’t solve anything. I can’t keep breathing him in to stay alive like my rescue inhaler during pollen season.
I decide to stop by Nathan’s before I get on the road. Maybe a few stress-free minutes will give me some new perspective. Maybe he misses me.
But if I’m being honest, I don’t miss him.
Maybe I miss the idea of what I thought this relationship would be, but I don’t miss the circular gotcha conversations or aggravated sighs when I ask for help. I don’t miss carefully choosing my words or being talked down to, and I really, really don’t miss stuffing down every part of who I am.
What I want is a way out.
A way that won’t include getting caught in his rage or cornered without witnesses.
He hasn’t had time for me, and the longer I’m away from him, the more I return to myself.
I feel obligated to put in some half-hearted last-ditch effort—at least see him in person. I can’t control his behavior, but I can control mine. Right?
Giving up feels like failure, but worse than that, confronting him will be like throwing a live grenade.
I work the morning shift at Pop’s, then head out to Jonesborough without the foggiest idea of what I’m doing.
Jackson smiles and waves from his desk facing the window when he sees me pull in the driveway of his modest split-level home. He’s a project coordinator for a construction company, and since he works in the kitchen, we usually stay in Nathan’s room in the basement.
Jackson’s an easygoing guy around thirty. And I like him, but I get the feeling he allows Nathan to run over him to keep the peace too. I’m sure living with Nathan is no picnic.
I follow the driveway around to the back door that enters the basement apartment and park next to Nathan’s car. I knock twice before I use my key and push the door open. It’s mostly dark except for the TV.
“Hey, Nathan, it’s me. Can I come in?”
“Huh? Yeah. Thought you went to Cookeville,” he says, unenthused. “What are you wearing?” He squints at the light coming in the dark room.
“This?” I look down at my clothes, wondering what I’ve done wrong now. “A T-shirt and shorts? I’m going to my mom’s, but I needed to see you first.”
My eyes are still adjusting from the bright outdoor sun to the underground darkness of the basement, but my clothes seem fine to me.
“You dress like a twelve-year-old boy.”
I don’t bother to respond. He views dresses as an open invitation and easy access, so I stopped wearing them.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember Jace saying, “Don’t take criticism if you wouldn’t take advice.”
I don’t have room for any more inner voices up here, but it must be effective because Nathan’s slight has no effect on me.
The douche waffle himself gave me this Peavey Electronics T-shirt when it shrunk in the wash. I cut off the sleeves and paired it with very classy cutoff denim shorts and hiking sandals. It’s ninety-two degrees with matching humidity. There’s no audience to see me drive for three hours.
It’s tempting to tell him the shirt was Jace’s. That would set him off real good. I hate filtering everything I say. It makes me feel like a kid again and not in a good way.
“Can I turn a light on?” I ask timidly.
Nathan’s propped on pillows, watching TV in bed.
“Sure, it’s not like I can sleep with the stampede going on upstairs. The dogs started running around at 7 a.m. Seriously, there’s no respect for people who have to work.”
Not that it matters, but he doesn’t reach for me, hug me, or otherwise act like he cares that I’m here.
Months ago when I was sick, he stocked water, cough drops, and tissues on the side table, then tucked me into his bed while he sat on top of the covers.
He rubbed my back while he was on the phone with his sister, saying I was the one.
Days later when I needed a ride to urgent care for a breathing treatment, Nathan wouldn’t answer the phone. He claimed he was asleep.
I let it go because he worked a lot, but he never apologized. Never checked in.
Annie would’ve missed class, so Jude insisted on taking me even though he missed work. He said what he always says. “My job’s flexible. I got you.”
I used to come over after class, before Nathan left for work in the late afternoon. We talked about our future, how quickly I could finish school, or promotions he was working toward. He always said he loved seeing me in his space, but soon it became more about his bed.
I loved spending time together, but right away he pushed for more than I was ready to give.
My boundaries weren’t a problem when I told him up front, but I guess he thought he could wear me down once I was lying on his bed. Maybe it’s my own fault, but I was always fully dressed, and there’s nowhere else to sit.
After his ring-less proposal, kissing would lead directly to ten rounds with an octopus. He began to say things like, “We’re going to be married anyway. Quit making such a big deal out of this.” Or “Stop being so tense. I promise you’ll feel better if you just let it happen.”
It makes me wonder if proposing was a spur of the moment love bomb to make me less likely to shut down his advances.
Or leave when he broke the baby news … oh my.
I never thought of myself as being all that uptight, but every word out of his mouth only made me feel less and less safe.
That thought’s been at the forefront of my mind for the last six weeks.
I don’t feel safe with him.
But, as Nathan says, “Of course I want to make love to you. Would you marry someone who doesn’t want you?”
That’s logical, I suppose, but he puts so much emphasis on that with so little interest in anything else. It makes me uneasy.
So uneasy that I’ve flinched at his touch for a while. I thought I had an aversion to touch, but that’s not it.
I have a problem when it becomes a weapon.
His affection was only for good behavior, and he took it away when I couldn’t meet his ever-changing demands.
In the beginning, he loved to hear me sing, but the last time he caught me humming in public, he leaned in and said, “You know people can hear you, right?” then later whispered in my ear not to be a know-it-all when I joined in a cooking conversation with his sister.
I made sure to keep quiet the rest of the day. When we got back to his room, he wrapped me in his arms, kissed me gently and said, “If you were a little friendlier, people wouldn’t think you were so stuck up,” right before his hand traveled south of the border.
We have an awkward family dinner, two hugs and a kiss, and I’m supposed to dispense full access to my body? I’m not a vending machine, thank you very much.
I’ve done nothing but shrink around him.
Don’t sing all the time, it’s weird.
Don’t talk too much.
Don’t talk too little.
Don’t act like a know-it-all.
I blamed it all on the baby stress, but I’m the idiot who keeps plugging holes in the boat while he keeps drilling.
My thoughts are all over the place as I stand in his room. I wish I could curl up beside him and be reassured everything will be okay, but Nathan isn’t capable of that.
And let’s be honest—the person who makes everything okay isn’t him.
Our phones buzz when Jackson texts to ask if we want to order pizza.
Nathan is ridiculously picky and has a weird hang-up about only eating once a day.
You do you, pal.
When he saw a picture of my aunt, who’s a larger woman, he said, “I’ll divorce you if you ever get that big.” I thought he was just bad at jokes.