Page 117 of Townshipped
I could tell her I just shot a man and she’d be shouting at me over her shoulder about how I should have never pulled the trigger andwhat’s she going to do with me, all while walking to the shed to pull out a shovel and silently concocting an iron-clad alibi.
“I came home because Aiden told me to. I didn’t know what else to do. He gave me so much, but in the end, I think I boiled down to one more project or obligation he felt he had to take on.”
I sigh, swallowing the thickness of that reality like a bitter pill.
“Mija, he didn’t look at you like a man with an obligation. Though he did have that possessive thing going for him, all macho andI’ve got this. Mmmm. Yes. Yes, he did.”
I chuckle. “He’s a caretaker and protector. Even his friends said he’s the stuff heroes are made of. But he let me go. We text these superficial texts almost every day that say a lot of nothing. Our text stream makes beige look exciting. We could be a lesson in careful neutrality.
“Anyway, he’s trying to establish a life with the kids and bring some normalcy into their lives after all they’ve endured. They are his focus now—as they should be.”
“Has it occurred to you that he might miss you as much as you miss him? I don’t know any man texting a woman almost daily out of the goodness of his heart. They’re men, chiquita. They fish or cut bait. They don’t string a woman along when she’s good and cared for, which you are.”
“Maybe.”
It has occurred to me. But then I question myself. When I think back over all the details of the week before Jesse even showed up, I remember how Aiden was already becoming more aloof. Ever since we came back from the funeral, he had been pulling back—with the exception of two nights of stolen kisses.
When the news reached us that my parents had located me, he seemed to figuratively brush his hands as if his time was up and his job caring for me was finished.
“I feel like I left myself in Ohio—or half of myself. I miss Aiden—his warmth, how he steadied me, the way he said so much without uttering a word. I miss the look he’d give me that seemed to be reserved for me alone. I even miss watching him move through the daily mundane tasks like mucking stalls or making coffee. I miss it all.”
I look up, afraid of seeing the reaction to my admission on Gabriela’s face. I should feel better spilling all that to her, after bottling everything inside.
Gabriela has the softest look in her beautiful eyes—deep brown warmth with a crinkle at the edges. She looks concerned, but also hopeful. I wish I could sponge up some of that optimism and make it my own.
Instead, there’s only emptiness where Aiden should be. The whole time I lived with him I skirted the void of my lost memories, always aware of the black hole an entire lifetime of experiences had filled. Then Aiden became my life. The cavern he’s left in the center of my heart makes my lost memories insignificant in comparison.
“He let you leave,” Gabriela says as if she’s reading my mind.
“He did.” I sigh. “And if he doesn’t feel enough for me to ask me to stay, I might be hanging on to a man I love, while he only feels a certain level of obligation to me. It would be flipping the tables. I’d be the Buck.”
“Don’t be the Buck,” Gabriela says.
She’s quiet for a moment and then she gets an impish glint in her eye.
“Maybe we could get T-shirts.” She waves her hand in front of her chest where the words would go. “Don’t Be The Buck.”
I giggle despite the way happiness feels so starkly out of place next to the chronic ache in my heart.
I look at Gabriela and shake my head. “I’m thinking, not.”
“No? Okay, no shirts. How about beer cozies?”
I stare.
“Key chains?”
“Since when have you used a beer cozy or a key chain?”
“Never,” she admits. “So if I’m not going into the tailgate accessory business, I’m thinking you should call Aiden … give him a clue how you’re feeling.”
“I don’t know …”
“Or at least text something besides checking on the weather. What’s wrong with a harmless text that pushes things just a little further? You aren’t asking him to marry you. You lived in the man’s home. You are friends at the least. You can just start with something casual like, ‘I’ve been thinking about you.’”
“I’ve been thinking about you?”
“Okay, we’ll work on content. All I’m saying is you could throw the man a bone. My guess is that he is waiting for you to make the first move.”
