Chapter 19
NINETEEN
COLBY
Josie left a while ago for her solo walk, and I sneak into the recording room.
Something is happening here between us. Something deeper than I expected and I need some time to process.
I’m really not sure if I’m ready for something, but I’m definitely much more open to the idea.
All I know is that I really, genuinely like having Josie here.
And when she goes home, I’m going to miss her. A lot.
But I need to be smart about this and settle my sporadic thoughts.
It’s like I’ve known Josie for years. There’s a comfortability with her that’s hard to describe.
It’s easy, light, normalized somehow. But I need to think, slow down, and gather myself because right now, my body is urging me one way, hard.
My brain another. And my heart… is all over the place.
The very last thing I want to do is hurt Josie. Or myself.
I crack the window to pull in some cool, fresh air and check the cameras I have set up on the perimeter of the property (which is more for wildlife than a murderous zombie). Good. Josie’s far enough away that I can squeeze in a quick journal entry and get some of these things off my chest.
I slide into the chair at the desk and hit record on my laptop.
“I really like her,” I say. “She’s funny, and smart, and so kind.
I see how she is with Kona, and it just melts my heart, you know?
Sure, it’s her job in the outside world, but it’s not her job here, at my place.
And yet, she does it without any complaints.
Would I be this nice to someone else’s dog?
Maybe? Of course, I would never hurt a pet or anything, but I am not sure I would be this caring. ”
I shift the chair further under the desk and shiver under the air streaming from the cracked window.
“The first few days of having Josie here, I was so off. It was jarring, having someone in my home. Not that I minded, of course, but being alone for six years and then being essentially trapped with someone was a huge shift. I didn’t talk a lot, which I know is my standard operating mode.
But now it’s completely switched. It’s like something in me splintered, and all of these things that were stuffed inside for so long begged to get out.
Sometimes I feel like I’m talking too much.
Like Josie is this cushion that I’m dumping everything that I’ve held in for years onto, and she just absorbs it all.
And Josie, who’s normally a total chatter bug, now seems more thoughtful.
Quiet, but not like the kind of quiet that makes me think she’s sad. She’s more… pensive, I guess?”
Is this normal? Is this what happens when two people who are so stuck into their daily routine have something that shakes them up and forces them to look inside?
“The weather app showed this morning that roads should be all cleared by tomorrow or the next day. And honestly, when I read that, my heart sank. Can you believe that? I’m not ready for her to go. ”
This is what’s really confusing me. I genuinely don’t want Josie to leave.
I don’t want to go back to watching TV alone, or making meals for myself, or crocheting without a cranky, frustrated partner.
Will she come back sometime out here to visit?
The friendship that we started before this, will it remain and maybe keep growing, or slowly wilt?
Being cocooned in my house like this, it’s easy to think things won’t change.
But once the security blanket is ripped off, I’d be silly to think that they’ll stay the same.
I prop my elbows on the desk and rest my forehead in my palms. “I don’t know, Amelia…
What should I do here? Nothing? Something?
And shit. I really want to kiss her again.
But this time, I want to kiss her because I want to kiss her, not because I’m filling some void.
But what if I’m still filling that void, but I’m not recognizing it?
How do I know when it’s right?” I sigh a shaky breath.
“It really does feel different, though. The first night when we slept together, there was this ache in me, and I just wanted it filled so fucking bad. I just needed it gone, for even a moment. But now… it’s not to cover up something.
It’s to explore.” I bite the inside of my cheek, pulling back a smile.
“It’s funny, I feel like I need to write into my own show and ask ‘Ruby’ this question. ”
I tap stop on the recording and wait. I’ve been journaling like this for years, and Amelia always talks back to me.
Of course, she doesn’t really talk back.
But I always know what she’d say if she were here.
All these years, I’ve imagined the way her nose scrunches when she says something cute, or the dramatic eye roll when I definitely don’t say something cute, or the way that she’d whisper and tell me what I need to hear.
But for the first time since I started recording these sessions, I’m met with silence.
A hefty sigh leaves my mouth, and I dig through my emails.
Questions pour in from listeners and I scan them to see if anything jumps at me.
It’s shocking how many couples, straight, gay, platonic, experience similar issues—annoyance at a messy partner, feeling unheard in a relationship, angry that the one invites people over without a fair warning.
It seems at the core of relationship problems is communication.
Sure, sometimes people are just assholes.
But really, people just want their partners to be respectful and truthful.
I press my thumbs into my forehead and exhale.
Sigh. Josie is not my partner. And yes, I feel really close to her, closer than I’ve felt with anyone since Amelia.
And it’s not like I’ve forgotten that I haven’t told her that I’m Ruby Reanne, the one who gave her terrible advice and encouraged her to rip her heart open to her ex and be humiliated.
Obviously. But I still don’t know if I have to tell her about my show.
She hasn’t asked about my job, not much anyway, and it’s not like I’ve flat-out lied to her.
And no matter how close we’re getting, I don’t want to tell her about my podcast. The show is something that I hold closest to my heart, a secret that’s just for me, a little piece of my identity, even though the identity is a facade. I’m not ready to tell her.
But why? Why, if I feel so close to her, am I not opening up to her about this entire other side of my life?
“Don’t make me say this,” I say to Kona, who looks up with a very uninterested eye.
Besides the fact that I’m not ready to share, what happens if I do share this side of me with her?
And what happens if it’s something she deems unforgivable, if she blames me for her and Zoey not getting back together, and she leaves.
Not only leaves the house, but leaves leaves.
My life. Our friendship. Right now, after just dipping my toes back into the social waters, I’m not ready for the first friend I’ve made to vanish.
Maybe it’s selfish. And maybe it’s okay to keep this piece to myself.
Sure, we’ve shared a lot, but it’s only been a week.
There’s got to be a ton of things that we don’t know about each other.
Right?
Kona lifts her body up, with a whimper. “You’re getting used to having her around, too, huh?
” I say and rub the top of her head under the cone.
“Don’t worry. I know she’s been gone for a long time, but she’ll be back soon.
She just went for a walk.” The whimper grows.
And grows some more. Kona dashes—as quickly as she can currently—and barks at the window.
“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”
The barking turns furious for my typically mellow dog, and the hair on my neck stands up. Something’s not right. A tree on the verge of falling? My roof collapsing? Are my fire alarms not working? I leave the room as Kona hobbles next to me, still barking at the window.
At the kitchen I look outside. The sun is bright, the wind settled, the snow barely moving. I crack the door open to listen if there is something else happening that I’m not noticing, but Kona’s so agitated that I quickly shut it. “What’s going on, girl?”
I grab my phone from my pocket and pull up the security app.
Way in the distance where my camera barely pans, Josie’s standing frozen.
What’s she looking at? I tap the other camera feed, pinch to scroll, scanning the dense snow, the trees dragging with accumulation, the foot stamp path that Josie made on her hike.
“What in the…” My heart flies into my throat. Oh shit.
“Oh no. No, no, no…” I leap from my spot so fast that I knock into a chair and it slams into the hardwood floors with a sickening thud.
My pulse rages as I spring to the entryway, shove my feet in boots, and grab my shotgun from the wall.
I shove a couple of rounds in the chamber, sling it over my back, not even bothering with a jacket or hat, and sprint outside.
The winter air smacks me as I rush outside without proper gear and bolt to the shed. My heart hammers in my chest as I grab my keys and hop on my snowmobile. My mouth dry, my hands wet, my body alert, I grip the wheel and tear down my property.
Go, go, go! I scream internally at the snowmobile as I push it to max speed. My pulse thunders against my chest.
For everything holy in this world, I have to get to Josie in time.