I drive away, hoping he knows how to get back to the shop. I have to gun it; I’m going to be sick.
Tracy’s in the shop when I get there. I slam the clipboard with the trip sheet onto the counter and, despite her concerned questions, lock myself in the bathroom.
I puke the second I bend over the toilet, grabbing my hair out of the way. I can’t breathe for a moment, but then, when I sit back on my heels and start to cry, the gasping sobs become my breath, and my lungs work again. (Just barely.) “What’s wrong?” Tracy asks, outside the door, but she’s not talking to me.
I didn’t hear Levi come in, but I know he’s there. After a moment, he sighs. “She left the funeral crying. Her dad.” That’s all he says, and I can just imagine him spreading his hands like he doesn’t know what else to say, like it’s self-explanatory.
“Bee?” she tries. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”
I can’t speak yet, so I grab napkins and wet them and drag them across my mouth to get rid of the taste and smell. I suck in the deepest breath I can, getting myself under control, forcing the sobs to stop. My stomach is still clenching in pain and my head is pounding. All I need is to get home.
I open the door to see both my boss and my boyfriend standing outside, mouths pressed grimly. Tracy reaches for me, wrapping her arms around my neck in a hug that calms me more than I expected. “Bee, sweetie, are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. My voice shakes.
“You take today off, okay? I’ll close the shop for an emergency and do the wedding and wire the deliveries to another florist.” She leans away and looks me in the eye, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Thanks.”
“No need.” She waves away my words, pressing my hand tight, and leaves me standing in the dark hall outside the bathroom. The sliver of light from the bathroom lands on Levi, who just looks at me, his eyes a thousand questions. My heart trips, beating a million beats per minute, as he reaches for my shoulder.
I shake my head and step away from him. Not right now, I can’t right now, I try to say, but my tongue is tied inside my mouth.
So, instead, I run.
Chapter 44
The air is chilly from the rain that has started pouring since I left for the shop earlier, and my house is empty. Tom is working late this morning, and when he gets home he’ll go straight to bed. Astrid and Millie are at school, and Mom is probably at the hospital, prepping with Dad for the surgery. (Spending time with him, as I should be.)
I message Gretchen, looking to vent, or cry, or something—anything—but she isn’t there, and she doesn’t respond. I wait for thirty minutes, curled into a ball on my bed before I decide it’s time to stop waiting around and do exactly what I’ve been dreading. My stomach hasn’t stopped burning, my head is still throbbing, and I know it’s not going to get better. In fact, I have this obnoxious feeling it will only get worse until I do what I’m supposed to do.
After another hour of debating, denial, and wishing, I come to the conclusion that nothing happens unless I make it happen. So I drag myself out of bed and throw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, putting my hair into a loose bun on the top of my head.
I stand just inside the front door and text Levi to see where he is. Still no response from Gretchen, so I resign myself. Taking a deep, steadying breath in, I run to my car, but the rain is falling so hard that I’m soaked by the time my seatbelt is on. I check again for Levi’s response (I’m at the new office. Come see me.) and I set my course for the south end of Escondido.
Traffic is terrible because Californians don’t know how to drive in the rain, but eventually, ten minutes longer than it usually takes, I arrive in front of TCP’s new office. I want to cry because it looks like home, a home I that love, with its wide porch and picket fence that they’ve painted dark blue since I was last here, and the window at the top of the house that lets you see out from the attic.
The attic where we had our first fight.
I swallow and text him again. Can you come out to the porch? Then I pull my hood over my face, turn off my car, and make a beeline for the front door.
It swings open as I’m walking up the porch steps, and Levi comes out. I get a tiny glimpse of color and joy behind him before he shuts the door and pulls me tight against him. It breaks me a little, how warm his arms are, how they welcome me back, despite everything.
I can’t keep doing this to him.
Then his lips are on mine, suddenly, and my chest aches. I grip his face, fingers coming into contact with the frames of his glasses. I am tempted to slip them off, to make things more familiar, but I’m being stupid—I can’t kiss him anymore. Period.
I turn my head.
Levi pauses, then continues along my jaw, making me shiver, guilt pressing into my stomach, rotting it out.
“Levi, stop, please.”
Like a good boy (always the good boy) he stops. “I was worried about you,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes and drop my head and take a step back. Because I’m the Queen of Bad Moves, I ask, “If you were worried, why didn’t you come after me?”
I think he won’t have an answer for that (oh, why am I still fighting this?) until he says, “Because I didn’t think you wanted me to.”
Right. I didn’t. I hug myself, arms crossing, shoulders sagging.
Moments pass before he breaks the silence. “Bee?”
I’m hardly breathing as I say the words, “I can’t do this anymore,” through my teeth.
He goes as still as he did the night I told him I couldn’t be there for both him and my family. He’s smart—and he’s equal parts optimist and realist. He understands what I’m saying. “I assume you mean our relationship,” he says, voice low, his mouth a grim line.
“I mean our relationship and my life right now.” I shake my head. There are a few tears on my cheeks. “Every day is a challenge. It takes so much effort to remember to ask you something as simple as how your day has been when all I can think about is my dad dying.”
He laughs, harsh and short. There it is again—that word I don’t like, coming out of his soft, pretty lips. “Bee, you don’t need to ask me something as petty as how my day is.”
“But I want to. I care so much about you and everything you do, but I can’t give you the time. I can’t be who I want to be for you.” I pause and sniff, my breath coming out as a wavering sigh. “It is what it is, Levi. I can’t run from you anymore.” I look up, catching the incredulous expression on his face. “I can’t run from anyone.”
“There has to be a different way to do this.” He swears again.
I cringe. “How? Tell me how, and I’ll try. I swear I will.”
“How about we don’t break up at all. How about we take a break? Or work through it—this. Shit.”