Page 64 of Somewhere Along The Line
“It’s too much.”
That particular phraserings in my ears, a painfully familiar refrain on loop. It pounds on my chest in rhythm like CPR, each aggressive pump bruising my ribs and pressing on my aching heart.
What he means isI’mtoo much—too anxious, too eager, too needy with my requests for favors, too conscious of my meager bank account. The damn bank account that got me into this mess.
I’m always too much.
My brain flickers back to the Fundament office, to the last time I cried in front of a man who told me the same.
“Why couldn’t you leave this alone?” Henry screams, the whites of his eyes bulging as he fences me in with his shaking hands, my back against his desk. “God, Piper, it was always going to be like this, yeah?
“You not being able to be the person I need you to be, not being able to smile and nod, sit still and look pretty. You’re always trying to help, to do more. I should have left you once I realized you’d always be too much—that was years ago, Piper—before your eager-to-please conscience took me down and the company down with it."
Henry’s monologue ripped a fissure somewhere deep in my being, tearing open a wound I’d spent years hiding from. It had exposed nerves, that part of my heart, frayed from decades of never feeling good enough. Henry’s words landed like a hot spark on each one. And while his words seared with pain, they also cauterized the vessels of vulnerability I once had, sealing them shut.
It worked for me. For two years, it worked.
But then I let James pull at the seal. And his tugging was so gentle, so wrapped in care, I didn’t notice the new, tender flesh appearing where the scar once was. I didn’t feel the fissure re-opening, becoming exposed and available for new hurt.
Until today. When James became Henry, another cold and callous banker, just like I feared he would. And I stayed Piper, the woman who always cared too much.
The truck bumps into the parking lot of the office before screeching to a stop. The noise jostles me from my thoughts, having neither heard nor seen anything during the last thirty minutes of the drive. Tommy hops out of the driver’s seat, and I scoot my way across before stepping carefully down to the asphalt.
That I can stand is surprising when my soul has all but collapsed. The ground feels mercifully solid under my feet.
“Thank you both,” I turn toward Jamal, still sitting in the cab, “for letting me join you this morning. You did great work today.” This half-hearted attempt to slip back into my Piper-At-Work persona is all I can manage.
Tommy nods and steps back into the truck, pulling the door closed and entering the address for the next pick-up into his phone. I raise a hand in a weak wave as they pull out, leaving me in the parking lot alone.
Home. I need to go home. I request an Uber, money be damned. I can’t face the train and all the memories that ride it, the ghosts from these past few weeks occupying every seat. Facing the train can wait for another day. Right now, I need to get home.
Sami is waiting when I arrive at the restaurant, laid out between my two favorite chairs, her feet pushing against the opposite seat and swiveling back and forth. I sent her an SOS text the minute I walked in our door, and she didn’t press for details. Just gave me a time (5:30 p.m.), a place (Tempest Tapas), and the promise there’d be a drink waiting for me (white wine).
I’m greeted with the usual sights and sounds of the space as I make my way to Sami. The smell is a familiar comfort, a mix of spiced sauces, alcohol, and a hint of old books from the haunt’s bookstore days.
Somehow, I pull my face together to greet her, wrapping her up in a hug as she squeezes me tight. The tears have stopped for now though they’ll start again soon. I can tell by the way she is hugging me.
I ease down into the seat opposite her, moving slowly as though one sudden move might break my fractured self completely open. Sami hands me a glass of white.
“Alright, lovey,” she starts softly, “tell me everything. But before that, what’s the vibe? Are we hurt tonight? Disappointed? Angry? You let me know and I’ll match it. Personally, I’m pulling for vengeful.”
She takes a sip of her red, and the smile that peeks beyond the glass is everything I need from her.
“Hmm… mostly upset. Sorry to disappoint.” I return her smile, though mine falls as quickly as it appears. The tears spring back to my eyes and they sting the chafed skin at the corners, a parting gift from my afternoon dripping fresh hurt all over our house.
Sami reaches over and grabs my hand, meeting my gaze with gentleness and earnest concern.
I force a swallow through the tension gripping my throat. It presses in on all sides, a thick knot that won’t budge.
“James… we… he ended things today. At his dad’s house. Sorry, I don’t even know why I’m crying!” (Every woman who has ever said this knows exactly why she’s crying.) “It’s not like we were actually dating. Maybe that makes it worse? It’s hard enough getting dumped by a person who used to like you, at least. But being broken up with when you’re not together? That’s a new low, even for me.”
Sami increases the pressure of her grip. “Piper, it was clear James liked you. Whether or not things were defined between you two doesn’t change that,” she says with resolute confidence.
“He made it very clear he cared about you. Don’t believe for a second you misread the situation. James led you down a road toward an obvious outcome until he flipped the script today. You weren’t wrong to believe he wanted you too.”
“The worst part is he said he still does.” I try to blink back some of my tears but it’s a useless endeavor. “He said he carestoomuch and that’s why he can’t keep seeing me.”
“God, I hate that ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit. It’s like going into a job interview and saying your worst trait is being a perfectionist. It’s a total cop-out.” Sami rolls her eyes, indulging for a moment in her building anger before resuming a stance of patient listening.
