28. #5
"I know things between us have been weird. I know I've been distant too, and obviously I've handled a lot of this horribly. But you have to believe me about this. I would never sleep with Rodney. I would never intentionally put you somewhere knowing he was going to hurt you. I fucked up. I did.
I let him scare me into helping him, and I should've told you."
I stared at my hands.
I believed that she was sorry.
Maybe that was naive.
Maybe I'd eventually look back on this conversation and hate myself for believing any of it.
I couldn't condemn Reese for being afraid of him.
"I'm sorry he put you in that position," I said.
Reese became quiet.
"I mean that. If he threatened you or intimidated you or made you feel like you didn't have a choice, I'm sorry. I know what that's like better than anybody."
"Thank you."
"But I can't pretend you didn't have any choice at all."
Her breathing changed.
"Naomi—"
"Let me finish."
She stopped.
I surprised myself with how steady my voice sounded. I wasn't yelling. My hands weren't shaking. I didn't even feel particularly angry anymore.
"Even if Rodney held you at knifepoint and told you to get me into that house, you still could've warned me somehow. Anything, Reese."
"I know."
"I would've understood."
"I know."
"That's what I can't get past." I leaned my head back against the seat again.
"You know what he's done to me. You knew he wanted me in that house, and you knew I didn't know he'd be there. Whatever you thought was going to happen once I walked inside, you let me walk in without giving me the chance to prepare for it."
Reese didn't defend herself this time.
"I'm sorry."
I believed she meant it.
That didn't change what I needed.
"I forgive you."
The words seemed to surprise both of us.
Reese inhaled sharply. "You do?"
"I believe you when you say you didn't know he was going to hurt me. And I believe you were scared."
"Naomi, I swear I—"
"But I don't think I can be your friend right now."
The silence that followed was different.
I could almost feel Reese absorbing the distinction I'd only just learned how to make myself. Forgiving her didn't require me to pretend nothing happened. Understanding why she'd made a decision didn't mean I had to be comfortable with what that decision had cost me.
"For how long?" she asked eventually.
"I don't know."
"So you're done with me?"
"I'm not saying that."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying I need space." I took a breath before continuing.
"Real space. Not us going two weeks without talking and then one of us sending some random message because we feel guilty. I don't want to keep dissecting everything between us right now. I don't want to wonder every time you call whether there's something else I don't know.
I just need some distance."
Reese was quiet long enough that when she finally spoke, the disappointment in her voice had settled into something softer.
"Okay."
I hadn't expected that.
"Okay?"
"I don't like it." She gave a small, humorless laugh. "But I understand."
My chest loosened slightly.
"I do love you, Naomi."
My eyes burned.
"I love you too."
"And whenever you're ready, I'm here."
I looked through the windshield again.
Maybe one day I would be.
"Take care of yourself, Reese."
"You too."
I ended the call before either of us could find another reason to keep it going.
The dashboard returned to its home screen, but I didn't put the car back in drive.
I stayed parked with both hands resting loosely in my lap while the song played quietly through the speakers.
I'd expected the end of the conversation to hurt more.
Reese had been part of my life for too long for asking her to step out of it—even temporarily—to feel uncomplicated.
I expected the guilt to arrive once the adrenaline faded.
I expected myself to reopen our messages, type another paragraph explaining that I wasn't trying to punish her and make absolutely certain she knew I still loved her.
That was usually what I did when somebody I cared about was disappointed in me.
I softened the boundary until it stopped being one.
The realization didn't suddenly make me feel better. I was still tired enough that I could've gone home and slept another twelve hours. Tomorrow morning I might wake up and miss Reese so badly that everything I'd just said would feel impossible to maintain.
But sitting there in Grant's ridiculous sweatpants, parked at a gas station I couldn't have found again without navigation, I didn't feel the familiar panic to undo what I'd done.
I'd told someone I loved that she'd hurt me.
I'd listened to her explanation.
I'd forgiven what I could forgive without using forgiveness as permission for her to immediately step back into the same place she'd occupied before.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I'd drawn a line and managed to leave it where I put it.
I reached for my water bottle and took a long drink before pulling out of the parking space.
The road back was waiting whenever I was ready to find it.