Page 124 of It's Always Been You
She scooches forward, shifting her body so she’s facing me. Her eyes comb my appearance, taking in my unbrushed hair and unwashed clothes with a tilt of her head. I say nothing as she scrutinizes me. The silence stretches between us like a runway carpet. Loud and colorful.
“Brandon, are you . . .okay?”
I blink. Shrug. “Never better. Why?”
Her eyes narrow as she plucks at my tattered shirt like that says it all.
I know I look like a slob right now, and my house is a mess, but . . . Over the past month, Evie has been busy doing what she does best—taking care of her loved ones. We haven’t spent much time together because of that—apart from work and when we bump into each other at church. She’s switched from Maggie’s Bible study to Adam’s, and I can’t help but take the transition personally, considering I’ve been hosting Maggie’s studies at my place while she recovers.
But during our time apart, I’ve been fighting my own battles. I’ve been thinking nonstop about what Jamie said to me at the hospital—how he’s nervous the old Brandon is still in there somewhere, and it’s only a matter of time beforeI mess up. Yes, I might be a new creation in Jesus Christ, but Jamie’s right. I still make mistakes. It’s not a matter ofifI mess up, but when.
And, admittedly, I’m struggling with the news of Evie’s miscarriage. My coping mechanism has been to spend more quality time with my son, but Cora has taken him on an impromptu vacation with Malcolm’s side of the family this week, and so here I am, all alone in this big empty house—yet again.
Evie grabs a handful of my shirt, rubbing the threadbare fabric between her thumb and forefinger. “This mess is unlike you,” she continues, searching my eyes. “What’s going on?” Her voice is soft, gentle. Caring.
This ismyEvie.
The thought strikes me as ironic, considering she’s not mine, never has been, and probably never will be.
“I’m struggling,” I admit, swallowing as I look away.
She sidles closer. Takes my hand in hers and rests her head on my shoulder. “With?”
“Many things.”
“You can talk to me.”
“I know,” I say, smiling. It would be so easy to unload on her right now. But I’ve made that mistake before. Flown too close to the sun.
“So?”
“I keep thinking about . . . the baby.”
She inhales and lifts her head. “Ours?”
“Yes.”
Her gaze falls to her lap. “I guess I’ve had more time to come to terms with it than you have.” Guilty eyes lift to mine. “I should have told you sooner.”
“Can’t blame anyone but myself for that.”
A small crease forms between her brows. “You always say stuff like that.”
“Like what?”
“That you’re to blame. That you deserve things.” She hesitates. “You’re too hard on yourself, Brandon.”
Shrugging, I stand and cross the room, eager to put some distance between us. Now that I know she’s taking the initiative to take better care of herself, I’ve made my decision. I’ve been wrestling with this for weeks, but now’s the time.
Lord, give me the strength.
Swiping my hands through my hair, I pace around the room. “Evie, we need to talk.”
Instantly on guard, she springs from her seat and crosses her arms. “About what?”
When I look over at her, I’m expecting her to be glaring daggers. But she looks calm. Composed. Ready, even—as if she can sense what’s coming. Maybe she can. I’ve been out of sorts about this for weeks, and I think she’s caught on. “I think it’s time for you to leave the practice.”
She chews on my words. “You’re firing me,” she surmises slowly.
