Chapter Thirty-Three
Mara-One month later
Can’t Catch Me Now-Olivia Rodrigo
Weekly dinners started out a bit awkward, we didn’t really know how to start conversations with one another that didn’t feel like checking boxes off a to-do list. They started with my parents asking if I’d thought about going back to school, what I wanted to do with my time, if I enjoyed working at the coffee shop.
I asked about their work, social circles, and charity functions.
It took us a couple dinners until we started sharing life events with one another, things they’d missed out on in my younger years, and things I’d never known about their youth.
Turns out, my mom was quite the catch at the university she and Dad met at.
And he was a nerd with his nose buried in books.
But he won my mom’s heart when her car broke down and he drove her back to their shared home town for Christmas break.
Apparently, it was his taste in music which was a shock to me since I only ever heard music when they had guests over and always classical composers.
Dad and I both have a soft spot for Led Zeppelin while Mom prefers the Beatles.
As different as this all is, it’s been a nice change now that we are more comfortable with our redefined relationship. I still have no idea what I want to do with my life, which I know gets under their skin, but I’m starting to think I do have a future, even if I don’t know what it is.
I thought about going to a local college but I don’t know what I want to study because my feelings haven’t changed even though my situation has.
I don’t want to be a career woman, I want to be a wife and mother.
I want to learn as many skills as I can to pass on to my children.
I want to value my home and the life I create instead of grinding so hard in the corporate world I miss out on the memories.
I don’t judge other women who don’t want the same things as me because we all have different strengths, and I’ve discovered business and deadlines are not one of mine.
I succeeded in school because my drive wasn’t for success but for attention.
My goals in life have drastically changed, and it’s taken lots of therapy to realize that’s not only ok, but commendable.
Every role a woman plays in this world is worthy of appreciation whether it be making and raising babies or building a thriving career.
Hooray for personal growth.
It’s Sunday, so I’m working the morning shift again which thankfully doesn’t start until nine in the morning on Sundays.
It’s nearly one now so I still have one hour to go and I’m already exhausted.
Despite all the growth and progress I’ve been making, healing is not linear and I still have bad days.
Last night was one of those. I couldn’t shut my brain off as it replayed my final morning at the cabin over and over and over again like a sick horror film designed specifically for my torture.
I just can’t get the hatred in Jason’s eyes out of my head. Through everything we went through to get to a good place, to find what I believed to be love, I still can’t wrap my head around how it ended so quickly.
I hate him.
I love him.
I miss him.
I’m angry he isn’t willing to work on things and runs at the first sign of trouble.
I spend way too much time going over the what-ifs and maybes of that final day, wishing I could change everything and savor the happy moments in his arms before it all went to shit.
The ring of the bell over the door jolts me back to reality where I’m not in a snow-laden cabin in the arms of a sexy man. I’m serving coffee to people who talk shit about me behind my back.
I’ve never wished I could teleport more than when I look up from the dishes I’m sanitizing and see Bryce—high-school-douchebag-boyfriend Bryce—step inside the coffee shop.
Judging by the amused expression on his sour face, he knew I would be here.
I’m not even remotely prepared to deal with his brand of bullshit, today.
But a customer service position doesn’t let you pick and choose your customers.
“Well, well, well,” he says mischievously, “Mara Meyers. I heard you were back in town. Actually, I heard quite a lot about you, recently.”
I bet you have.
“Bryce,” I don’t even sound convincingly sweet. “It’s been a few years. Nice to see you. Are you back in town for the summer?”
I’d like to say I remember the day I broke up with him so vividly but I honestly haven’t thought about him since. I remember he was pissed, he couldn’t believe I was the one dumping him. And I reminded him that it wasn’t feasible to maintain our “relationship” long distance.
“Yeah. I am. I’ll be here all summer long.” He drags out the l in all like that should matter to me. “I heard you spent the winter with the Alder boys, is that true?”
Here we go. “Yeah. I was in an accident and got stranded on the mountain.” I’ve perfected the simple answer to everyone’s questions about how I got stuck up there. “Can I get you something to drink?”
His eyes narrow at my dismissal of his baiting. “Sure. I’ll take a twelve ounce americano.”
Grinding the beans and pulling the shot drowns out the noise for a blissful minute but Bryce’s focused eyes never leave me. I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking up at him but I can tell, I can feel the pressure of his gaze like a hot blast of air.
I finish the drink, pouring the shot into the twelve ounce cup and adding the proper amount of water.
The rest of our encounter passes without issue as we exchange the drink for money.
“Thanks, Mar.” The way he says my name gives me a sickening feeling at the base of my stomach. With that, he departs the shop.
I have the ominous feeling this won’t be the last I see of him.
The last bit of my shift passes without any more trouble. I finally clock out at the end of the lunch rush. I stayed an extra fifteen minutes to help my boss with the huge line that formed five minutes before my shift was supposed to end.
We’ve been having nice weather lately so I wore a smocked dress today, a dress similar to the one I wore at the cabin for Thanksgiving.
I like the way the off the shoulder cut looks on my frame, I feel like it emphasizes all my best features.
This one, however, is pure white, adding to the feminine aesthetic the style provides.
I love it. Embracing my femininity is one of the things that stuck with me after I left the cabin.
It took me a month after starting therapy to get behind the wheel again.
I didn’t think I’d have any PTSD from the accident since the end of my stay at the cabin felt more traumatic, but as soon as I got in my car (that was towed from the bridge and repaired) to drive myself to my first session, it all came rushing back to me. My mom had to drive me.
Now, I can successfully drive myself from point A to point B without having a panic attack. Baby steps.
I’m walking to my car when the breeze picks up rustling my hair and sending a chill down my spine. That’s the trouble with summers in Oregon, they get warm but they can shift in an instant. This state loves the cold.
“Mar.” That voice grates against my skin. I hate that nickname too.
I lift my head to see Bryce leaning against the passenger side of my car, planting one foot on the sidewalk and the other propped against the car door. I want to tell him to get his dirty shoes off my car but I don’t want to start anything with him.
“Bryce,” I say with as little emotion as I can suppress. “What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to see if you would go somewhere with me.” Not a chance.
“Sorry, I have a late lunch date with my parents,” I lie easily, stopping short of my car to keep a safe distance from him.
I’m infinitely annoyed he won’t leave me alone.
Our history is just that, it should stay in the past. He’s just bored and looking for something to occupy his summer.
He’s never been very good at being alone.
“Oh, come on, I’m sure you can explain you’re catching up with an old friend and they’ll understand.”
Don’t engage, Mara. “Sorry, our schedules are so busy this is the only time we get to all be together.”
“They didn’t matter this much to you in high school.” He’s digging.
“Things change.” A lot of things.
I try to walk between my car and the one parked behind it to get to the driver’s side when he steps closer to me and grabs my elbow. Not hard, not threateningly. But the fact that he thinks he has a right to touch me at all ignites a fire in me. And I’m not very good at controlling my temper.
“Come on, baby, I just want to catch up.” I highly doubt he wants to talk at all.
“Don’t touch me, Bryce,” I jerk my arm out of his grasp. The way his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate tells me that was the wrong thing to do.
Bryce grabs me with both hands by the upper arms in a bruising hold and gives me a quick shake. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ll be a whore for the Alder boys but not for me? We have history. I was always good to you.”
I jerk myself away again but his hold is stronger than my attempt to get away. I can’t believe he’s doing this in the fucking street where everyone could see.
“Fuck you, Bryce, I’m no one’s whore. And you were a piece of shit. Always have been, always will be. So get the fuck off of me.” I shove my hands into his chest which is enough to break his hold.
Just before he can step forward to try again, a large body comes between us. I’d know that body anywhere. The way his shoulder blades pinch at the center, the way his neck muscles strain, the way his hair is tied back to keep it out of his face. I spent hours memorizing every detail of him.
And I can’t believe he’s here.