Page 36 of Waiting for Her

“Hey.”

“Hi. Does now work? To um, you know, talk?”

Listening to the nerves in his voice makes me feel only remotely better about the butterfly garden that recently took flight in my stomach.

“Yeah, now works.” I shift in my seat so I’m cross-legged, closing the lid on my computer and setting it gently on the floor.

“For the record, I don’t want to get into too much over the phone. I want to talk in person but we need time to devote to that.”

“I agree. But I can tell there’s something on your mind that you need to get out.”

He blows out a breath and I can hear movement in the background, an opening and closing of what sounds like a sliding door.

I wonder what his home is like and if I’ll ever see it.

His dad builds homes and he always said they would build us a house together. We talked often about what we wanted to live in one day—a gray two-story house with vertical siding, cream trim, rock accents, and a big backyard.

“You’re right – and I’ve been holding it in but need to say it,” he says, and I’m pretty sure I felt a butterfly flap its wings in my throat, feeling like I could throw up from the tone of his voice.

“Okay?”

“I’m not going to be able to forget the last six years.”

I expected that, just didn’t think I’d actually have to hear the words. It hurts. Badly. I fight against the feeling to fold into myself.

“I understand.” I answer.

“Do you?”

“I really do.”

“You hurt me,” he whispers.

If the earlier words sting, those three feel like he stabbed me in the heart. And I deserve them. I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I know,” I whisper back.

“What you did… not trusting me, our love. Not accepting me for who I am and putting your father’s mistakes on me, it wasn’t okay.”

I nod again.

I stand up, anxiety pouring through my veins as the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia settles in, so I walk out onto my deck in the backyard.

The warm, fresh, night air greets me, wrapping around me.

“Did I lose ya?” he asks, and I wonder if there’s meaning behind his question more than just my silence.

Always the double meaning.

“No. I’m here. Processing.”

“I need to be honest. I’m sorry if it hurts you to hear it.”

“I want you to be honest with me, Grady.”

“But?”

Sitting on a crappy plastic chair, I tuck my knees to my chest.

“I made a mistake. A lot of them.”

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