“What are you doing?” Ryan asks. I didn’t even hear her come in, but the second she sees me, she’s on her knees in front of me. “What’s wrong?”
I drop the calendar, put my head in my hands, and I sob.
“Quinn, hey, what’s going on?” Her voice is sympathetic, which makes it even worse.
I lift my head and look at her. “I don’t . . .” A fresh wave of tears comes on hard. “I don’t know how many days it’s been since he died, I lost count, and now I can’t remember, and I need to—” I gulp for air before another sob shakes me, and I put my head back in my hands.
Ryan’s arms come around me, and I feel her chin rest on my head. “Shhh . . . it’s okay. It’s okay,” she repeats, and I want to believe her, but she has no idea. “You don’t need to keep count,” she says softly.
I cry into my sister’s chest, the only reply I can manage.
“You don’t,” she says, gently pulling herself away so she can look at me. “It doesn’t make it any less important, or mean that you miss him any less.”
I press my lips together, shake my head. There are so many things she doesn’t know.
“It doesn’t,” she says, firmer now. “It’s going to happen, and it’s supposed to happen this way. You’re allowed to feel less pain, and you’re allowed to feel happy again.” She pauses. “You’re allowed to start living again—it’s not a betrayal to Trent. He’d want you to.”
A fresh wave of tears springs free at his name.
“What is this about?” she asks. “Is it about forgetting the number of days, or is it about Colton? Because you’ve spent every day together for the last two weeks, and you know what? You’ve been happy. You don’t need to feel guilty about that.”
“But it’s . . .”
“It’s a good thing,” Ryan says.
I want to believe her—and part of me does. Part of me knows she’s right, because I absolutely cannot deny the way it feels to be with Colton. But I also can’t deny the guilt that sits just below the surface every time I am. It seems like a betrayal to Trent to feel this way. And I know that keeping the whole thing from Colton is an even bigger betrayal. I stare at the calendar on the floor in front of me, each blank square a day that was equally as blank until I met him.
“Hey,” Ryan says, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re gonna have days and moments like this, when it all comes rushing back at you, and that’s okay. But you’re also going to have days, lots of them, when you feel good, and that’s okay too.” She tucks my hair behind my ear. “Believe it or not, you’ll even have a day when you fall in love again. But you have to open yourself up to it.”
I can tell she’s trying to catch my eye, but I keep my eyes focused on the calendar in my lap.
“You two loved each other so much, but you still have a whole life to live. You have to know Trent would want that for you again.”
I nod like she’s right, and wipe the tears from my cheeks, and look her right in the eyes and say, “I do,” but it’s not because I believe her. It’s because I need to be alone. Because if Trent could see me now, I don’t know if he’d want me to be doing this.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. . . . Who looks inside, awakes.”
—Carl Jung
I’M ALREADY AWAKE when my phone buzzes from the nightstand. I know it’s Colton calling to say good morning and make plans for the day, but I hesitate instead of reaching for it. I didn’t explain myself after wanting to leave so abruptly yesterday, and he didn’t ask, but I know this can’t go on much longer—me having these mini-breakdowns and him just letting it go. Eventually, he’s going to ask for some sort of explanation, and I don’t know what I’ll do then. The phone stops buzzing and beeps a moment later with a voicemail.
“Quinn?” There’s a knock on my door. “You awake in there?” It’s my dad’s voice.
“I’m up,” I say, loud enough for him to hear me. “Come in.”
I sit up, and he opens the door but doesn’t come in. He just stands there in his running clothes, which is a surprise. It’s a weekday. “Morning, sunshine. Time to run.”
“Where’s Ryan?” I ask. After last night’s episode with my calendar, I’m a little wary of seeing her as well.
“She went off to paint,” Dad says, and I feel a flicker of relief. “Only has a few more days to make the deadline to submit her portfolio. She seems serious about it. Took all her stuff and said she wouldn’t be back until tonight.” He shrugs. “Anyway, she left me with strict orders to fill in as your running partner.”
“What about work?”
“Took the day off—one of the perks of being your own boss.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s get goin’.”
I nod, but I don’t move. The calendar is still on the floor next to my bed, and I still don’t know how many days it’s been. After Ryan left last night, I collapsed into bed, unable to do anything, let alone count the days.
“Don’t jump up all at once,” he says, his face falling a little.
I immediately feel bad. “I’m sorry, I just . . .” I still feel drained after last night. Heavy and hollow at the same time. “I don’t really feel like running today.”
My dad comes in now and sits on the end of my bed. “What about a breakfast run? Now’s our chance. Come on. You haven’t been around much lately. I wanna hear what’s new. Over bacon. And eggs. And biscuits and gravy.”
“You’re not allowed.”
“Light gravy. Turkey bacon.” He grabs my foot through my covers. “Come on. Humor your old man with your company.”