Page 107 of Say You Will

“You’re associated with me now. They’d consider you a pinch point, even if I were the target.”

“I won’t marry you, and your deadline is almost up. You’re wasting time with me.”

His coldness hasn’t lifted an iota. “Not a single moment with you is wasted time.”

thirty-three

Franki

Already Gone | Sleeping At Last

Dinner passes with onlythe occasional sound of cutlery clattering, ice clinking in our water glasses, and my “Thank you for cooking,” and his “You’re welcome.”

When he finishes his meal, he rises from the table. “I’ll take care of the kitchen when I come back inside. I’m going to deal with the firewood while we still have daylight.”

“I’ll wash the dishes.”

Henry barely nods in acknowledgment as he heads for the bedroom, then emerges minutes later wearing well-worn jeans,a pair of boots in his hand. At the back door, he stuffs his feet into the boots, tugging the laces into place and tying them with brisk efficiency.

When I turn back to the table, the door snicks closed behind me as Henry escapes the breath-stealing tension between us.

I wish I could do the same. I hate everything about the way we’re acting with each other, but I don’t know the answer to fix it either. Every tender moment we’ve shared is now something I feel the need to put under a microscope and examine to determine his motives.

I believe him about his cousin and that creates a layer of guilt for me, as if by refusing to marry him, I’m about to be personally responsible for thousands of people losing their jobs and homes. Ridiculous. He could find someone else in a day.

Someone who will marry him for his money, who doesn’t understand his humor. Someone who doesn’t appreciate his intelligence and quiet, bossy, interfering kindness. Or understand that his feelings can be hurt because he hides his pain by pretending he has no feelings at all.

My face crumples, and I scrape my palms across my eyes to wipe away my tears. There’s no mascara to make a mess because I’ve never scrambled to put on my mask with him. He doesn’t treat me any differently whether I’m in a silk gown or pink pajamas. Or if I’m having good days and able to get around on my own or driving around a grocery store on an electric scooter.

He manipulated me because he wanted to use me, and I promised myself I’d never be that person again. I practiced saying “no” over and over. I can’t give him what he wants.

I’ve earned every ounce of my self-respect. I dragged it back when bullies at school wanted me to feel like garbage for being different than they were. In elementary school, I sent Jonny those humiliating Father’s Day gifts in some twisted belief that ifI loved him hard enough, he’d love me back. Then I stopped. And I clawed my way to a place where I could let go.

My mother, with all her tantrums and control issues. I’d tried to extricate myself from her so many times. I’d known within six months of going to live with her that I’d made a mistake, but she pulled me back every time I tried to leave, convincing me that I needed her. Until this last time, when I took my self-respect, wrapped it around me like a fucking cloak, and walked away.

It was one more attempt that neither of us was convinced would stick, but I’m not the same person I was.

“I gave you a ladder, not a cage.”

He did. Not just that Henry gave me a job, but that he put me in positions where I could prove to myself that I was capable of handling things on my own. I have lots of useful skills. I’m educated and intelligent, and the voice I heard telling me I couldn’t survive was never mine. It was my mother’s.

Fear kept me from cutting those last ties with my parents. I thought I couldn’t do it unless I had a safety net. If I had Henry, I wouldn’t be alone.

What I did with my parents was every bit as half-assed as what I’m doing now when I sit here and debate whether letting Henry use me is something I can live with if only he keeps looking at me like I matter.

I rise from the table, walk to the bedroom, and open the closet door. My personal phone sits there on the shelf, a silent accusation of my cowardice.“You thought you could hide me in a closet and pretend?”

It’s been in here since the first day. I’ve used Henry’s iPad and the work phone he provided me to talk to my friends while I left my personal phone powered off and stuck on a shelf in the closet. Never once did he pressure me to do anything else.

I was playing a game with myself. As if pretending mine didn’t exist would mean that I didn’t have to deal with any of it. I couldstay here on the mountain, exactly the way ten-year-old me imagined. All the adventure, but none of the suffering or work. I could hide from my life and not have to deal with it or make a choice.

I power the phone on. The moment I do, the screen fills with notification after notification from both of my parents. A pop-up warns me I have less than 5 percent battery life, and I carry it to the charger on my nightstand, plugging it in and sitting on the edge of the bed. I dismiss and delete every notification, every voicemail and text from my parents without bothering to read or listen to them. I block my father’s number. Then I call Guinevere Jones.

She picks up on the first ring. “Oh my God, Franki. Are you okay?”

“I’m great.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I’m worried sick about you,” she cries.

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