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Without another word, he turned and walked away, to where his own apartment door was open. He walked through it and shut the door with a soft click. As she heard the locks slide into place, she realized that she had really fucked that up.
An hour later, she sat there, folding her first load of laundry when her phone rang. Cora again. She hit the button to dismiss the call to voicemail, then gave a start when she heard a knock on the door.
“C’mon, Taryn. I freaking know you’re in there. I heard the phone ring. Open the door,” her sister said.
On a deep sigh, she opened the door and said, “Hey. Sorry. It’s been a bad couple of days.”
“Can I come in?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” she said, backing off the door and letting Cora in.
“You’ve been avoiding my calls, honey. What’s going on?”
“I haven’t been feeling chatty,” she quipped.
Cora just gave her a long stare and said, “I got that. Stop deflecting.”
“Please don’t psych major me right now, Cora,” Taryn pleaded.
“Then tell me what the hell is going on. You’re dodging my calls. Evan looked like shit when he let me in a minute ago. Are you guys fighting?”
Taryn realized Cora wouldn’t let up. So she spilled the entire story from start to finish, leaving out some of the more gruesome details from Christmas Eve. She had no intention of sharing that story with her. Ever. She didn’t want to be pitied.
Cora leaned back and exhaled a slow breath when Taryn had finished. A look of infinite patience on her face, she said, “If you think that working through your childhood is the only thing that needs to happen here, then I think you missed the point.”
Before Taryn could respond, Cora barreled on, “I get that your childhood sucked. You’ve got markers and indicators for things I don’t even want to speculate about, they’re so awful. I’ve seen the positive steps that you’ve taken to overcome so much of that over the years. All of that is great. The biggest issue, the one you don’t see because you’re stuck right in the middle of it, is that you don’t let people love you.
“You hold people at arm’s length. You always have. A while back you talked about how you were waiting for Evan to essentially let you down. You do that with everyone. With me, too. I try to be patient because I know you’re working through shit, but enough is enough.
“You let your fear push away the few people that will love you unconditionally. When, eventually, you end up alone, it won’t be because of your fucked-up childhood, honey. It will be because you pushed everyone away. That’ll be entirely on you. Talk to him. Fix it. He’s a good man. He loves you. I know you love him. I can see it all over your face. You’re being an idiot.”
Taryn felt her eyes fill. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Cora stood, and said, “I need to go now. I’ve got a class tonight. By the way, Merry Christmas.”
She dug into her purse, tossed a card on the couch with disgust on her face, and then walked out.
As the door closed, Taryn stared at the card. Jesus. In all of this, she hadn’t even wished her sister a Merry Christmas. Cora was right. She was spot on about everything. Shit.
Taryn had no idea how to fix it. Or if she even could at this point.
Chapter 18
It had been a week since Taryn had given her notice to vacate. He’d been able to successfully avoid her except for one awkward encounter on the stairs. She hadn’t even spoken to him. Which was fine. He didn’t particularly have a lot to say to her right now, either.
He still couldn’t believe she’d just slipped a damn note under his door. It felt like a knife blade to the ribs, every time he replayed the conversation.
The thing that killed him about it all, is that he knew it was just fear. It practically radiated off of her in waves. It had from the very beginning. He should have listened to his instincts. He had been drawn to her though.
God, he missed her. His apartment seemed empty. He could still smell her shampoo. He’d returned the few things that she’d left at his apartment. He had put them into a box and set them by her front door.
When he’d gotten off work later, he’d seen the same box next to his door. It had been filled with his spare toothbrush, bath soap and shampoo, the book he had been reading, along with his Rolling Stones tee.
He’d never be able to look at that shirt without imagining her in it the morning after they’d slept together for the first time. She had even ruined his favorite shirt. He wanted to hate her for it, but he was finding it difficult.
Running his hand through his hair, he moved to clean the stray leaves from the counter top where he’d been putting together an arrangement.
Between the well-meaning phone calls and people stopping over to check in on him, he’d been able to keep busy. His mother had stopped over one night. Surprisingly, she had remained quiet on the subject. Instead she’d distracted him with stories from her stitch and bitch club, and old memories.
