Page 89 of Blocked Shot
“Done. Nat?” Jesse stacks another box, then pauses, turning to her with a hopeful expression.
“Sure. Whatever you guys want,” Natalie mumbles, barely lifting her gaze from the plates she’s wrapping carefully in moving paper. Her hands move on autopilot, fingers folding the paper around the ceramic, but her mind is elsewhere.
The day has been a blur, one of endless chores and distractions, each one giving her enough space to keep the flood of emotions at bay. There’s a dull ache behind her eyes, thanks to the mixture of beer and gin she consumed last night before collapsing into bed, alone.
She’s grateful for the busyness, the motion of her hands, the never-ending to-dos of moving. But the truth is, everything is muted. Like she’s wading through some thick, suffocating fog, and the more she tries to focus on the task at hand, the harder it is to shake the weighted blanket of heaviness.
“Nat?” Jesse’s voice breaks through the fog, a little hesitant now, his eyes scanning her face. “You okay?”
She blinks at him, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Yeah, just…” She trails off, looking down at the plates again, pretending to focus on the task as if it could offer some escape from whatever is pressing down on her.
Jesse doesn’t buy it. She can tell from the way he studies her, eyes softening with concern. His brow furrows slightly, his hands pausing in the middle of stacking another box. He’s young, naive in many ways, but not enough to miss the shift in her energy.
“You sure?” he asks, stepping closer, his voice quieter now. “You look... I don’t know. Off.”
Off. She bites down on an icy retort. The lump she’s been swallowing all afternoon threatens to choke her if she lets it, but she clamps down, forcing herself to keep it together.
It’s not Jesse’s fault.
With his easy smiles and his unshakable optimism, Jesse doesn’t deserve to be the target of her anger, even if every word he speaks reminds her of the wreckage of her own heart. But still, her resentment lingers, hot and sharp beneath the surface. She clenches her jaw, forcing the bitterness down, like she’s been doing all day. She arranges her face into a smile, shallow and thin, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s the only mask she has left.
“I’m fine,” she says, the words too quick, too sharp. “Just... tired.”
But Jesse’s gaze lingers, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. He opens his mouth, probably to say something else, but before he can, Mila chimes in from the other side of the room.
“Come on, people! The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can eat our weight in sushi. Jesse’s buying,” Mila says, eyes on Natalie. She feels a rush of gratitude for her best friend. She doesn’t have the energy to explain herself, and Mila knows that, even if she doesn’t say it outright.
Natalie turns back to the dishes, the moment lost, but she can still sense the weight of Jesse’s gaze on her. His unspoken concern lingers in the air between them, and it’s almost worse than the silence.
She’s tired, but she’s also... tired of pretending. Tired of holding it all together, of shoving her messiness into neat little boxes, like the ones Jesse is stacking on the counter. Everything feels too big, too much for her right now. But she keeps going, because what else is there to do?
Finishing with the plates and other dishes, Natalie sets them down. “I’m going to start the guest room,” she murmurs, brushing past Jessewith her eyes downcast. She pads down the hall, her sock feet soundless on the carpet.
Jesse’s voice drifts down the hallway, low and uncertain.
“What’s going on with her? Is she mad at me or something?”
“Bold of you to think this is about you,” Mila says, her tone is light but firm. “But that’s typical, right?”
Their voices fade, but Natalie still hears the thud of a box dropping to the floor.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jesse’s voice cracks, laced with hurt.
“I’m saying you know exactly what’s wrong. You’re only pretending not to. And no, it’s not about you. It never was.”
“Are we still talking about Mac?” Jesse’s voice rises, frustration coloring his words. “Jesus, if she wants to go back to him, fine. We’re not even on the same team anymore.”
“It’s not that simple, and you know it, Jesse,” Mila bites out, her voice now sharp. “He’s gone. She chose you over him, because you’re her family. You’re the only family she has left.”
“This isn’t my fault! She lied to me. They both did.” Jesse’s words come out defensive, whiny.
“Uh-huh, because look at how you reacted,” Mila sighs. “Look, just let her grieve. She loved him. It takes time.”
Natalie can’t take another word. She closes the door to the guest room with a quiet finality, putting a wall between her and the people she loves most.
The silence swallows her whole.
