There’s a pause before he says, “She’s quiet. She won’t talk to me about Molly, but she’s opening up to Kirsten. The problem is, Kirsten has to go back to Phoenix after the funeral.”
“And what about you?” I ask gently.
“I’m okay… I guess. Just trying to be there for Laney.”
I swallow hard, my voice dropping to a whisper. “And who’s there for you?”
I wish more than anything that it could be me. If only he’d let me.
“I’m okay, Ash,” he says softly.
“I miss you.”
He exhales loudly, and I see the top of his head as he stands and paces the wraparound porch. “I miss you too.”
“When can I see you?” I whisper.
He sighs deeply. “I need some space, Ash. I need to be there for Laney, and my head’s all over the place.”
Pain spikes in my chest, and I can’t breathe. I want to be strong enough to
give him the space he needs, but I can’t help feeling that if I give it to him, he’s going to keep pushing me further away.
“I can’t shake the guilt, Ash. If I hadn’t told her about us, she might still be here.” I can hear the pain in his voice.
My heart hurts for him, knowing he feels this way. I hoped that, when he said it before, it was just the emotion of the moment overwhelming him. But if he still feels this way more than a week later, does he really believe he’s responsible for her death?
“Does Laney feel the same?” I ask cautiously. Last week, when I tried to reassure him that Molly’s passing wasn’t his fault, he snapped at me, and I don’t want to upset him again.
“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it,” he admits, his voice laced with exhaustion.
“Maybe you should,” I say gently.
“Yeah… maybe.” He pauses, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m just terrified that she blames me too.”
The pain in his voice cuts through me. “I’d be there with you in a heartbeat if you’d let me, Ben.”
“I just can’t right now. I’m sorry.”
The tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over. “I’ll give you the space you need,” I say, my voice unsteady. “Even if it feels like it’s going to tear me apart.”
“I know I’m hurting you. I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I don’t know what to say. Hearing him say he needs space is breaking me. All I want is to be there for him, but he won’t let me in.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I should go,” I say softly. Then after a beat, I add, “Night, Ben. I love you.”
Silence.
For a painful second, my heart holds on to hope. Then, finally, he speaks. “Night, Ash.”
That’s it.
My heart splinters as he ends the call and slowly heads inside, shutting me out in more ways than one.
I sit there for a moment, allowing myself to break down before wiping my eyes, taking a shaky breath, and starting the car. I can’t lose it yet. I have to get home first.
Twenty minutes later, as I step through my apartment door, I’m instantly grateful the girls are still here. The moment I crumble in the entryway, they rush to me, wrapping me in their arms and guiding me to the sofa, holding me together when I feel like I’m falling apart.
