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“Trace,” I sigh.
“Brittany,” he sighs right back. Neither of us say anything for a minute or so. “Please, Britt.” His voice is so soft, and I realize I’m not the only one having a rough day.
“I’ll meet you at your house in a few minutes.”
“Did I ever tell you that you’re my favorite person?”
I laugh. “No, you’ve never told me that.”
“Well, you are.”
Smiling, I tell him, “I’ll see you soon.”
Once we hang up, the smile fades as I realize I’m going to have to get out of my bed, brush my teeth, and then drive to his house. The idea of spending time with Trace is definitely appealing. It’s the small stupid things like having to leave my dorm while feeling like I do that sucks. However, I manage to get up and drive to his house.
I knock, and he calls for me to come in. The house is quiet because the TV is off. Trace is kicked back in his recliner, and I wonder if that’s his preferred place to sit when he feels like shit. I drop my purse on the couch and lie with him. His hand starts to rub my back.
“Hey,” he whispers.
“Hey,” I whisper back.
“I got pizza delivered.”
“Not really hungry.”
“I figured as much.” His tone lacks sarcasm. He’s only stating a fact. “Pizza is good 24/7, so if you do get hungry, I thought that would be something you’d eat.”
I nod my head on his shoulder. He’s right. After a while, I snuggle a little closer, pulling my legs across his lap to sit sideways and be a little more comfortable. “I like this chair.”
“Me too.” Trace rests a large hand on my thigh. His hand has been moving constantly on my back, up and down, or his knuckles drawing lazy circles. If he keeps on, he’s going to lull me to sleep. His hand gradually slows. I lift my head to tell him I’m about to fall asleep, as if he needs to stop, as if I couldn’t actually use the sleep, but his eyelids are hooded. “What?” His voice is gravelly. I’m not the only one tempted to sleep.
“Are you okay?” I didn’t know I was going to ask that question until the words were out of my mouth. I know what I look like on bad days. I know what to expect. With Trace, I don’t. It worries me that I haven’t learned him as well as he knows me. It scares me that he sometimes has to be prodded to talk to me. He doesn’t look okay, but I’m not sure. I don’t know what to do with this Trace.
“As okay as you are.” He starts rubbing my back again.
I frown. “That’s not comforting to know.”
“But you do know.”
“Why is it hard for you?”
His answer is simple. “I’d rather listen than complain.”
“It’s not complaining. I mean, you don’t think I’m complaining when I talk to you, do you?” Oh, god. What if he does think it’s complaining?
He sits up in the recliner, pulling me with him, and pulls my hand away from my wrist to interlock our fingers. “No, I don’t think that.” He takes a deep breath. “It just feels that way to me when I do it, and I hate that.” He searches my eyes before adding, “I’ve never been able to tell my dad, Britt, because it would be me burdening him and weighing him down with it. That’s part of why I’d rather not do it.”
I want to ask so many questions about his dad, but I don’t. Something tells me I’m going to have to wait for Trace to bring it up on his own. Therefore, I focus on what I can say. “But it wouldn’t be like that with me.”
He shakes his head. “It would, but in a different way. Are you telling me you haven’t thought about holding something back because I’m not in the best of moods? Or that you wonder how your bad day will impact mine? Thoughts like that?”
“Well, yeah, but I still want to tell you. I do still tell you. Normal people talk about their bad days. Why would we be any different? I mean, didn’t you talk about it with your ex-wife?”
It’s only for a second, but his body tenses beneath me. Trace shakes his head and I’m shocked. I stare at him. How is that possible? How did they not talk about it? Or was Trace pretty much okay during those times? But still. This doesn’t make sense.
Trace cups my face. “Give me time.” I nod because I don’t know what else to do. “Let’s eat.”
“Okay.” I move to stand, but Trace holds me in place. He kisses me softly and then we get up for the kitchen. We both nibble on our slices, not really hungry. I glance toward the window and see snow falling heavily. “I’m going to have to break up with you.”
