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“Depends.” Rubbing the sore spot near my elbow, I inquire. “Are you leaving, or are we?”
Silence isn’t the answer I was hoping for.
“Were you gonna tell me?”
Still nothing.
“Did you consider telling me or taking me with you?” The guilty glance away is not only a gut punch, but the type that causes me to word vomit versus thinking before speaking. “You fucking coward!”
Given the way his body bumps into the nearby countertop I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised by my outburst.
“Is that what you do every time you leave someplace?! You just…up and go and don’t even bother with goodbye?! How have you not burned every fucking bridge you’ve ever crossed?”
“I-”
“Or am I some sort of exception?! You didn’t wanna look me in my face – the same face you said you loved-”
“I do love you!”
“-and cared about-”
“I do fucking care about you!”
“-couldn’t fucking live without-”
“I don’t wanna live without you, June.”
“Liar!” I screech on a step forward. “Because if you didn’t wanna live without me you wouldn’t be in here panic packing without so much as a second thought to me!”
“Who said I didn’t give you a second thought?!”
“Did you?!”
“Of course I fucking did!”
“Then how could you plan on leaving without saying something!?”
“Because this is what I do!”
It’s my turn to stumble slightly backwards.
“I leave.” The hardness in his tone is so foreign it almost feels like it isn’t even his. “I don’t wanna be somewhere anymore I stop being there. It’s that simple.”
“Okay, but life isn’t that simple, Tucker.”
“Maybe not for you and your lists and your anal organizing and your need to always fucking be there for someone else that isn’t you, but it is for me.”
Unlike his cruel pitch, his choice of subject matter is a bit more familiar.
Has recognizable overtones of a touchy topic.
One we don’t discuss enough.
One I feared might rear its head with us so close to another large family gathering.
Folding my arms across my chest, I broach the issue head on. “You talked to your mother today, didn’t you?”
A secondary guilty glance away is executed.
“What did she want?”
His eyes briefly shut inspiring me to dig deeper.
Search for more information.
Possibly find what’s scaring him away and soothe it before I lose him.
Us.
“What did she say?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he quietly grumbles on a shake of the head, gaze returning to mine.
“Obviously it does fucking matter, Tucker, if all of a sudden you’re not only willing to run away from this place again, but from me.”
“I’m not running away!” His voice booms knocking me backwards further. “I don’t run away! I’m not some scared little rich brat who can’t deal with shit like death and being abandoned and feeling fucking lost!”
“Yeah, except that sounds exactly like what’s happening here.”
“Fuck off, June,” Tucker grumbles prior to swooping up his half-packed bag up. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know everything about you!” I scream despite the tears clogging my throat. “I know the way you like your coffee sweetened and how you pick at the paint under your nails when you’re fucking frustrating about something! I know you prefer to sketch when something is on your mind and paint when you’re struggling to process your feelings! I know you cook because it lets you relive places you’ve been and that you always binge eat a bunch of gummy worms whenever we bring up your dad!”
Tears threaten to take over his eyes much like they do my own.
“I know what gives you night terrors. I know what calms you back down. And I know…I know Tucker Frost that the only person that blinds you to everyone and everything else in the world is the one person you blame for choosing to cope with your dad’s death differently than you.”
“Don’t do that,” he coldly growls as he creeps closer. “Don’t defend her. Don’t treat her like she’s a fucking victim.”
“Maybe you should stop treating her like she’s the fucking villain!” I brutally bite back. “Maybe you should stop treating everyone who gives a shit about you on more than a surface level like they’re thieves here to steal or destroy the work of art you call your life rather than simply preserve the pieces of you they love versus just the ones you’re willing to let be loved!”
“And here I thought I made you bad with words,” Tucker grumbles on his way past me.
Ugh.
This is basically what happens when you’ve forgotten to tighten the lid on a paint can.
One knock into it can cause it to spill and spread and keep going until the damn thing is completely empty.
Except I don’t know when I’m going to run out of words.
Or fuel.
Or anger.
I guess love gives you much more than just confidence if you let it.
“Tucker,” my voice strains to steady while following him out of the bedroom, “can you just stop moving for a minute?”
