Page 31 of Forgetting Rafe Thomas
Luna
Prolonging the inevitable isa bit of a personality trait for me. I hold off on doing the hard thing for as long as humanly possible. It doesn’t make much sense that I’m still that way, but I am. Countless times I’ve gone and done the thing, gotten it over with, taken that great big breath of relief, only to forget how freeing it is and put off the next unenjoyable task once again.
While I fidget with my phone, putting off the call I know I need to make, I stare out the cottage window. It’s raining now, which is a solid reason not to ask Rafe to come back over and talk through this with me. Who would want to get soaked walking between the cottages with the promise of a difficult discussion when you reach your destination? No one, but that’s not the point. The conversation needs to be had, but where do we begin?
I close my eyes and groan. Instead of calling Rafe, I call the little instigator that got this whole thing started.
Mav answers with his usual cheerful voice, though I can’t be sure I didn’t wake him. I don’t even know what time it is inNorth Carolina right now; I only know I need to talk this out with someone.
“Should I guess by the fact that you are calling me that something went horribly wrong?” Mav asks instead of hello.
“I made him mad, then hurt his feelings,” I admit. “I said something about his work being important to teens and guys living in their parents’ basement and—”
“Holy smokes, woman. Even I’m offended by that. Rafe works so hard, and he doesn’t want to make video games and silly apps his whole life, you know. Actually, the game he’s designing now is an amazing educational app for kids with dyslexia.”
Yikes. It seems like I’m on a roll, angering the Thomas clan, but it wasn’t intentional. “I know that, Mav.” My tone softens significantly. “I suddenly felt like that woman all over again. The one that was ignored and put aside for months while he worked ononeapp, let alone multiple apps, and I lashed out. Of course, I don’t believe what I said. Lots of people play video games and use apps. I get it. I feel absolutely stinking, pathetically awful. Help me fix it, please?”
Mav sighs then goes quiet for a moment. “Luna, is there any chance you can just let it go?”
“What do you mean? I’m not surehe’sgoing to let that go.”
“No, not him. He has a right to be annoyed with you right now. I mean you. You let it go. Move on from the notion that he put the app before you and try to look at it a different way?”
“How so?” I’m open to the possibility, but I need perspective. Facts. Solid evidence. My heart wants to go all in again, but my stupid brain clearly is not getting the message.
“He did things for you, for your future, and maybe he hyper-fixated on that app because, in his mind, it’s what he needed to do in order to provide a future for you both.”
“I get where you’re going, but I still needed my boyfriend to acknowledge my existence. No one can be ignored like that for so long, Mav.”
“Hey, look, I get it. I’ve lived with the guy my whole life, and getting his attention when he’s down the coding rabbit hole is almost impossible, but it isn’t because he doesn’t love you. Can you honestly say that when you did have his attention, he was ever distracted? Didn’t he put his whole focus on you alone?”
Is it true? I look back over the years, all the times I dragged Rafe away from his computer, and realize that yes, it is. The problem wasn’t maintaining his attention, it was getting it in the first place. Surely, there is some way to work through this with him; let Rafe know that I need him and find a balance that works for us.
“You can’t expect Rafe to be the only one making concessions, Luna,” Mav whispers, almost as if he’s afraid he’s saying the wrong thing. He’s not, though, and that realization hits me a lot harder than I want to admit. There are things I might have to compromise on if I want this to work, so the real question is, how far am I willing to go? Can we meet in the middle, or can I be satisfied with the ebb and flow of a relationship like we had before?
I can’t answer that, not yet.
“I know. For nineteen, you’re pretty smart, by the way,” I tease, trying to ease the stress all this thinking has dumped on my brain.
“I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere,” he jokes. “Listen, I don’t know how you ended up in that disagreement, but now is the time to settle it. Don’t wait. Hang up with me and call him. Work through it with him. You’ll never solve these issues talking to me.”
“It’s raining and getting dark out now. I don’t know if he’ll want to come back up to my cottage.” There I go again, putting off the task.
“That’s the most pathetic excuse I’ve ever heard. I said call him. You don’t need good weather to place a call.” Busted. Darn Thomas.
“Okay, okay, I’ll call him.”
“Good, do that. I gotta get back to work, okay?”
“All right. Be safe, littlest Thomas.” After a few pleasantries, I hang up and stare at my phone. I should follow his advice and call Rafe, but the sudden urge to justgoto him takes me. Yes, it’s raining. Yes, it’s dark. It’s cold. I’ll be a wet ice pop when I get there, but at least it will get his attention. He can ignore a call, but he can’t ignore a soaking wet woman on his front porch. I mean, I guess he can, but I sure hope he won’t.
Dropping my phone on the table, I grab my coat and slip it on. Maybe if I run, I won’t get too wet and can dry off by the fire. That could even be romantic if I play it right. I yank the door open and make a run for it, slamming it behind me. I make it two steps across the porch andbounceoff of a man. He huffs but manages to stay upright and keep me standing with him.
“That stings,” Rafe mumbles, and I realize I’ve also poked him in the eye…somehow.
He holds his hand over his eye and takes a step back, which is one step too far. He misses the stair and slips on the wet porch before flailing his arms in a useless attempt to keep himself standing. I grab for him and manage to get ahold of his coat, but his backward momentum and my small stature do not make a good pair, so I go with him, increasing his speed until he flops into the mud at the bottom of the stairs.
The air is crushed out of his lungs when I land on top of him with a yelp. And just because, or maybe for fun, the rain picks up and we’re sloshing around in a mud pit trying to stand.
