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“It was like I said. I went to school and didn’t even make it to the lecture and—”
“No, I know what happened. But what was going through your head? When you didn’t go to your class?”
I shake my head. I don’t know what was going through my head. Everything just felt empty. So empty.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Babe,” he says, and I love the way he says it.
“No, really. Nothing was going through my head. Except that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go into that classroom and put myself through that again. And it wasn’t about the lecture today. It was about the one tomorrow and the two the day after and all the exams and all the work I have to put into a career that feels like it’s just another series of boxes to check.”
“Everyone has their breaking point,” he says.
I shake my head and let out a little laugh. But I can’t stop. My head shakes faster and my laughter gets louder and it’s like my body is completely taking over. I hear a click and then another and then his hands are gripping my shoulders and turning me and he’s holding me so tight.
So tight.
And I cry.
He rubs my back, grips the back of my neck, and rubs his thumb along the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. He lets me use his shirt as a tissue and shushes me and whispers the sweetest lies about how everything is going to be okay. And by the time I realize I’m sitting in his lap, and the embarrassment sinks in, he’s holding me so tight I can’t break away. And then I don’t even want to.
“It wasn’t your path, babe,” he whispers, his mouth so close to my ear that his stubble tickles.
“I don’t know.”
“You do know,” he says, his voice insistent. “It wasn’t your path. You can do anything you want in the world. Why would you do something that makes you this unhappy?”
I shake my head, keeping my forehead pressed against his chest.
“You’re brilliant and capable and you can literally do anything you set your mind to. Think of all the things you’ve become an expert on.”
“Are you suggesting that my memorizing the Kama sutra should lead to my next career path?”
He clears his throat uncomfortably. That was definitely the wrong thing to say while sitting on his lap in the cab of his truck. When I try to push away though, he doesn’t let me. If anything, he holds me closer.
“I’m suggesting that you can literally pursue anything you are passionate about. But you don’t have to know exactly what that is today. Or tomorrow. Your whole life has been mapped out. Take a breather. Take a gap year. Fuck, take a lost weekend.”
“What’s a lost weekend?”
“It’s a John Lennon thing. I’ll tell you about it later.”
“You’re comparing me to John Lennon?”
“Faye,” he says, leaning back and angling me so I have to look in his eyes. They’re so blue and his pupils are wide. He cups my cheek and tucks the hair that’s fallen into my eyes behind my ear. “If you want to be John Lennon, you could do it. You’re that incredible.”
I feel my cheeks flush. It’s too much. It’s all too much. Because right now, as my whole world has fallen off its axis, I realize that Zeke caught me. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. And that’s a dangerous thought.
“What do you need right now?”
“Need?”
“What do you want to do? We can do anything you want right now?”
What do I want to do? I want him to hold me tighter again and whisper more things into my ear. I want him to touch my cheek and my hair and not let me out of his lap.
But we can’t. I need to forget about it. And fast.
“I think I need a drink.”
