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Before I could send her any of that, her next message came through.
Kennedy
I know I’m not what you or Finn need. I’m going to come back for my stuff another day.
“Another day? What the hell?” I hit the call button. Of course, she didn’t answer.
Fucking pick up your goddamn phone, or I’m coming to your sister’s house. I’m pissed off now.
Kennedy
I know you are, and I’m sorry. This is all my fault.
“Stop fucking saying that,” I nearly shouted as I clumsily stabbed the letters.
what happened today isn’t your fault and I swear to christ i really will be pissed off if you apologize one more time. come home so we can talk about this.
Kennedy
I’m sorry. I quit.
“No. No, you don’t.” I typed out another quick message.
You’re not quitting.
I threw my cell phone onto the couch and curled my knees up, resting my elbows on them to drop my head between my hands.
I didn’t understand how this had happened. How she could suddenly want to leave.
I knew the past week had been strained between us, but I’d been feeling a lot of pressure from all sides. I didn’t want to take anything out on her, so I’d specifically made sure I had time to box and keep my anxiety about work separate from her.
Then today happened.
Everything was falling apart.
And she couldn’t just quit.
Then again… I rubbed at the back of my neck. Memories from a conversation we’d had months ago floated through my brain like dust motes, and I closed my eyes to concentrate. To remember.
We’d been talking about failing and how she often abandoned jobs.
“You’ve quit a lot?”
“I wouldn’t saya lot, but I was in the ‘if it doesn’t bring you joy, get rid of it’ camp long before it became popular.”
I breathed heavily and rubbed at my chest again. It felt tight, like someone was sitting on it.
If she quit, did that mean she didn’t find joy in being with Finn and me anymore? It wasn’t just her feeling guilty? Or, maybe, she felt so much guilt, she couldn’t be happy here anymore.
Either way, I felt sick and stood up, raising my arms, locking my fingers at the back of my head to expand my chest, breathing in my nose and out my mouth.
“But you’re sorry,” I said out loud, like Kennedy was in front of me. Anger beginning to sprout up through my despair. “You’re sorry.” I huffed.
Sorry didn’t begin to cover it.
This couldn’t be fixed with a fucking texted apology.
Sorry didn’t help Finn, who adored her, who would be heartbroken when he found out she’d bailed on us.
