Page 71 of Protecting the Boundary
I was never going to be the love of his life.
Because he already had it.
A sob bubbles up my throat, and I know I’m seconds away from completely falling apart. “Goodbye, Romel,” I choke out as I push myself to standing and walk back to my car.
He doesn’t follow me.
I drive straight to my dad’s, brushing away the tears I can’t keep inside the entire drive. When I walk into the house, my dad is sitting in his favorite chair, sports highlights playing on the TV. As soon as he sees my face, he stands and lets me run into his arms, holding me tight as I finally let myself feel it all—the pain, the heartbreak, the loss.
“I’m so sorry, Sweetie.”
“I really thought he could do it. I wanted him to so badly.”
“I know you did.”
I sob in his arms until I have no energy left, and he walks me to my bedroom. It’s just as I left it, and that only makes everything worse. I feel like I’m going backward instead of forward.
Maybe I should’ve gone straight to PT school instead of taking a year off. Maybe I never would’ve gotten my heart broken.
I can’t decide if this feeling is worse than the numbness I felt before. But I guess I’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.
I wake up the next morning, my eyes swollen and dry from all the crying I did last night. I roll over in the bed and stare at thepictures I’ve hung up on my wall over the years—of my dad and me, friends, pets, art prints I bought because they made me happy. All things that used to be important to me at one point in my life.
There are two people not pictured on that wall who have come to mean more to me than nearly anyone else. But as I stare at the pictures—my chest aching so much it hurts to breathe—I start to accept that like many of those friends I don’t talk to anymore, maybe Romel and Kaylee were meant to only be part of my life for a short amount of time.
Yet they’ve left a lasting impact that I know I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.
There’s a knock on my door, and I hate that I immediately wonder if Romel came after me.
“Sweetie? I made your favorite blueberry pancakes with lemon whipped cream.”
I bury my face in my pillow and let myself feel the disappointment for a count to ten and then I take a large breath and push myself up. “I’ll be right out,” I tell my dad, wincing at how rough my voice sounds.
I wait until I hear him walk back toward the kitchen and then I open the door and walk across the hall to the bathroom. I splash my face with water, hoping the cold will help the swelling on my eyelids. I take a breath and then face my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes are dull and red-rimmed, my eyelids so puffy it looks like I got stung by a bee. My skin is paler than normal, my cheeks completely missing their usual rosy glow. My hair is in a messy knot on the top of my head, and I don’t have the energy to make myself look more presentable.
When I go out to the kitchen, there’s fresh coffee with my favorite creamer on the table next to a pile of my favorite blueberry pancakes. He used to make them for every birthday andholiday. When I was twelve and heartbroken that a boy I liked teased me and called me stupid for thinking he could ever like me, he started making them to cheer me up. He sets down a bowl of whipped cream and the maple syrup, then turns to go back to the counter for the extra berry compote he always makes. I grab his hand and stop him.
“Thank you, Dad.” I hope he can see the sincerity in my eyes. I don’t know what I’d do without him.
He drops a kiss to my forehead. “It kills me to see you hurting, Sweetie.”
“But pain reminds us that we’re alive, right?” He used to say that to me when I’d fall and scrape my knee. I don’t think he ever imagined I’d turn it around on him for this type of situation.
But I’ve also never had my heart broken as badly as it’s been by Romel, and I need the reminder that this pain will allow me to appreciate the joy I’ll feel in the future.
He grabs the berries and then joins me at the table. For a while we eat in silence. When my plate is half cleared, I set down my fork and pick up my coffee mug. “I’m going to look into grad schools.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “For physical therapy?”
I nod. “Yeah, and I think I might look to see if there are any programs I could start right away instead of waiting until next fall. Spring semester for most people starts end of January.”
He watches me closely. “If you’re sure, but you also don’t have to rush into anything. If you need more time off, you can still stay here.”
I cover his hand. “Thanks. I really do appreciate that, but I don’t want to get stuck wallowing. Maybe this is what I needed to push myself to take the next step. I’ve been thinking about it for a while anyway. I’ve already been looking at schools for a fall start, but now I’ll just move that timeline up.”
“Whatever you want to do, you know I’ll support you.”
