He stopped.
“Don’t say goodbye. I don’t want your goodbye. I want you. And I want Josh. But you don’t want me. You have no horse. No armor. No honor. You don’t know how to play chess. You don’t know how to love me. You stand at this fence because you want to be near me. Well, fuck you. It’s not all about you. If you walk away, don’t come back. Don’t look back. Don’t say my name. Don’t even think about me. I told you I wouldn’t be anyone’s regret.”
He tucked his hands into his pockets and continued to walk away.
I squeezed through the fence and ran inside. Then I kicked off my boots while holding my hand cupped over my mouth to muffle my sobs.
Someone touched my shoulder, and I jumped. Gabby had a glass of water in her hand, hair messy, nightshirt hanging off one shoulder. When she saw my tears, she set the glass on the floor and hugged me.
“He-he’s l-leaving without m-me …” I whispered between soft sobs.
She stroked my hair. “I’m sorry, Eve.”
CHAPTER FORTY
BILLY OCEAN, “THERE’LL BE SAD SONGS”
Eve
“Cheer up, my beautiful girl,”Grandma Bonnie said, wrapping her arm around me as I flipped the gingerbread pancakes on the griddle Christmas morning.
I tried to smile.
“What’s keeping you here?” she asked, removing the cranberry muffins from the pans and arranging them into a basket.
My mom and sisters were setting the table, and my dad and Sarah’s boyfriend were huddled by the wood-burning stove, drinking coffee.
“He doesn’t want me,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t believe that.”
“He said it’s not our time. That means he doesn’t want me.”
“When did he say that?” she asked.
“A couple weeks ago.”
“He’s scared.”
I shrugged. “Well, I want to be with someone who’s not afraid, so his loss.”
She chuckled. “Indeed.”
I didn’t mean it. I wanted to be with him whether he wanted me or not. I wanted to be with Josh. I wanted Clifford.
A messy life.
New adventures.
Fights that ended in passionate kisses where he called me out on my stubbornness.
I wanted the teasing and flirting.
Winks and whispered song lyrics.
“Let’s eat,” Mom said, taking the plate of pancakes as soon as I slid the last few onto it.
Dad said the Christmas morning prayer, thanking God for bringing his family together, for taking care of me in my troubled times, and for His unconditional love. I smiled on cue, barely registering the conversation about Sarah’s life or Grandma’s griefs with the nursing home.