Page 123 of Until Then

Ouch.

The verbal punches keep coming. But he’s not himself right now. That knowledge is what keeps me from dissolving into a puddle of tears.

“Okay. I’ll do that. I… You know I love you, right?”

He won’t meet my eyes, but he gives me a single broken nod.

Hands shaking, I turn to the door. I don’t want to leave, but I have to respect his wishes. So without looking back, I pull the door open and stalk to my car.

I text Via the moment I’m in the driver’s seat, begging to crash on her couch tonight. I have no interest in punishing Derrick. As much as the brush-off hurts, I want to give him the space he’s asked for. And I can’t do that if I’m in his house.

Via responds, telling me it’s no problem, so I head back toDerrick’s place to pack a bag and pick up Wonton. My stomach churns at the thought of Derrick being alone, but bearing the brunt of his devastation is something I can’t handle. If he needs me, I’ll happily come running.

I pile my things in the car, a little horrified by how much stuff I packed for what I desperately hope will only be one night. But I packed a few extra sets of clothes just in case, along with pajamas, skincare products, and makeup. Not to mention all of Wonton’s things.

It’s silly, but I linger at the house longer than I should. Foolishly hoping he’ll show up and tell me he doesn’t want me to go. Not even for a night. But he doesn’t come, so finally, I head over to Via’s, sniffling back tears the whole way.

She’s working today, but she’s left the apartment unlocked, so I haul my things inside.

“Izzy,” I tell myself as I slog up the stairs with a third load of belongings, “you have got to stop overpacking. This is ridiculous.”

Inside, I set Wonton’s cushion down and almost feel lighter when the little ball of fluff immediately dives for it.

Leaving him, I go down to the store, thinking the best way to pass the time and stop my brain from spiraling is to hang with my sister and paint a few pieces of pottery. She has plenty of other artistic things for customers to do in her shop, but the pottery is the only thing that interests me currently.

The store is full of end-of-summer tourists. I usually stop by early in the day, when it’s still quiet, so except for at her grand opening, I’ve never seen it this packed. Pride fills me as I take in the scene. My sister followed her dream and has turned her studio into a profitable business. She spent way too many years being unhappy. She deserves the world, andinstead of waiting for someone to give it to her, she went out and got it herself.

Via spots me and waves from the back, where she’s helping a small group of people at a table.

There’s a counter along the front, lined with stools. I set my stuff in front of one, then peruse the ceramic pieces.

I’m debating between painting a planter and a bowl when Via comes over and squeezes my shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Turning her way, I force a weak smile. “Okay, but sad for Maura and her kids and worried about Derrick.”

“I can’t believe you were there when it happened. Reid said he’ll check in with his dad tonight. Make sure he’s okay.”

The ache in my chest flares. I want to be the one to check on him. “Good.”

“Do whatever you want.” She gestures around the space. “We’ll order pizza or something after I close up. Is that okay?”

Grateful for the gentleness my big sister possesses, I nod.

In the end, I choose the planter. It’s the larger of the two pieces and will take longer for me to work on, thus distracting me longer.

Though I’m not sure the activity is all that helpful, since I keep checking my phone, desperately hoping for some kind of communication from Derrick. I know it’s selfish. I know he’s going through a lot right now, but it hurts to know that he’s not okay and I can’t be there to help. It’s a physical ache, being shut out like this, but we all handle grief in different ways, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.

As the sun sets, the store empties out. Via busies herself with cleaning up while I continue to work on the planter. I’m being way too detail-oriented, but after a while, I got into agroove, and it’s allowed me to quiet my thoughts. So I’ll keep at it until she’s ready to call it a night.

Forty-five minutes later, she says, “I wanted to let you finish, but I’m starving.”

I use white paint to highlight one of the tiny flowers, then set the brush down. “That’s okay. I’m being overly critical over here.”

“Do you want to talk about things?” she asks, dropping onto the stool beside me.

Tears prick at the backs of my eyes as I rinse my brush out in the cup of water. “No. I can’t make sense of my thoughts, let alone put them into words.”

“Okay,” she says, her tone soft. “You know if you change your mind, I’m always here to listen. Day or night.”

---