Chapter 66 Owen
I shouldn’t be kissing her. I know this.
I should be talking to her, or trying to.
But the need to feel that our connection is still there overwhelms me. To know we’re still as strong as ever, even when things feel like they’re so tenuous.
Holding her is like being home.
I’ve never felt like this before. This amorphous limbo that causes me to lose sleep.
“Please talk to me,” I say, breaking off our desperate kisses. “Tell me what you want.”
It’s like a punch to the gut seeing tears form from my plea.
“Owen, I want to talk to you about all of this. God, I want to know what you want. But if I don’t give myself the independence to really weigh this possibility, I’m going to question how I made my final decision and if I, once again, let someone else’s wants overpower my own before I’ve really considered them.” Her hands hold my face so our foreheads are touching, like she can feel how easily this could slip away depending on her choice. “I know it’s unfair of me to take this much space, but when I think about what this could mean. I never thought my photos were good enough for anything remotely close to this opportunity and I just feel…frozen.”
Something about what she says feels like a slap in the face.
“And you think I’d ask you to not consider accepting this?” I ask, pulling back so I can try to read her expression and her hands fall to her lap as she looks shocked.
Am I such an asshole like her ex that she thinks I wouldn’t be supportive of her dreams?
“What? Why would you think that?”
“What am I supposed to think, Poppy?” I stand because everything feels like it’s crowding in around me. Or maybe that they’re crashing down is more accurate. “I’ve been stewing for weeks while trying to focus on work, the students, and gathering the data needed for the English initiatives. All I can think about is you and guess what you’re planning. Without me.”
“I’ve never said anything about not being with you.”
“True,” I say, letting out a rueful chuckle. “But you also haven’t said anything to even hint that you’re considering me in the equation.”
“What am I supposed to say to you right now?” her voice hitches and she wraps her arms around herself as my heart breaks and my own pain grows. “Each time I think about the possibility of truly moving away, my stomach is in knots. And that’s only when I think about leaving my parents and Andi.”
I wait.
And wait.
Finally, I nod and walk to the door only taking the time to slip into my boots and grab my jacket. I don’t even care enough to put the damn thing on. The pain of hearing her not even say she’d miss me making me go numb.
“Well,” I say as I walk out the door, unable to fully look back. “When you know what you want, you know how to find me.”
And I leave.
***
Samson rubs my face with his and stretches on the pillow next to mine, pulling me out from my restless sleep.
God, why didn’t I say something else last night? Anything else? Now I just need to wait to see if her decision is to rip my heart out and have her dream job, or stay here with me while knowing that she could’ve done something amazing with her photography, but that she gave it up for me.
I think about how she simply might not want me to move with her and maybe that’s why she hasn’t asked.
Fuck, if nothing else is a clear sign of where her head’s at, that should be a good one. She’s simply not interested in me going with her. Even if her reasons are about why I chose to move here, it’s not what I want.
I want her.
Part of me is dying to tell her. Part of me is trying to relax, remembering that her last relationship had her life revolving around Steven and his wants. I have to give her the space to think about what she truly wants because she’s even busier than me with the senior art show coming up and she’s balancing so much.
The other part of me needs to be reassured that we’re in this together. That she wants to hear my thoughts about what could be and plan a future for us .
Samson hops out of bed and stands in the doorway, looking back at me until I throw the covers off of me. “Okay, buddy, if you’re up, it can’t be too early in the morning.”
Grabbing my phone, I check the time and it’s not quite seven. I might as well get a workout in. There are a few messages on my phone though, so I scroll through them.
Brandon: Hey man, call me if you need anything.
Well, I can only assume that Poppy and Andi talked last night. I start typing a note that says that I’m okay, but delete that and just send one thanking him. We’ve gotten too close for me to start lying to him now.
I read the next message several times, looking for any clues about what she’s thinking, but finding none.
Poppy: I’m going for a run in a minute. I didn’t want you to message and think I was ignoring you or anything like that. I love you so much.
Owen: I love you, too, babe. Have a great run.
An impatient meow gets my attention. “Alright, Samson, time for breakfast.”
He hops into my arms and I place him on my shoulder on the way into the kitchen, purring happily. He watches intently while I prepare his food, occasionally kneading my shoulder with his front paws. When I place his dish on the ground, he starts scarfing his food down as noisily as ever.
After going to the bathroom and washing my face, I go back to my bedroom and grab my pull-up bar from where I store it behind the door. I stare at it for a moment, thinking about how long it hung in the doorway before Poppy came along and how I’ve been taking it down daily because she might come over.
“Stop throwing yourself a pity party,” I mumble, putting the bar into place. The first pull-up is never quite right and I make a few minor adjustments then start my reps. Today, I work in some different leg lifts and twists while hanging and push myself further than usual, breaking out into a sweat while I’m still using the bar.
When I drop, I leave the bar in place and pull out my mat and go right into my usual sequences. Then I repeat them, doubling my regular workout and letting my mind focus on the burn.
A fluffy gray and black face peeks over the top of his cat tree in the sun room every now and then, but this morning, Samson leaves me to my workout. He must be able to sense that I need to burn off some of this mounting frustration.
My muscles are aching when I fall back on the mat, finally feeling spent. One thought is on my mind:
I wish I could tell her .
That’s the core of all of my frustration. I can’t tell her that I’d move to Toronto with her. She deserves to figure out exactly what she wants to do without having a guy weigh in, no matter how good his intentions may be. She spent five years thinking of Steven and what he wanted.
She’ll ask when she’s ready. I just need to be patient.