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He calls. “We need to talk, Charlize.” I hear his lack of sleep in his voice, and memories of him driving me home last night flood my mind. We didn’t speak on the drive, but there was so much noise. And the look of anguish in his eyes as I left his car. I will never forget that look.
“I agree,” I say, “but I need to process my thoughts first.”
“What thoughts? Talk to me.”
“All my thoughts over what we said last night.”
“We need to have a do-over of that conversation.”
I grip my phone harder. “I don’t know if that will achieve anything different.”
“I think it will.” Owen’s determination blazes fiercely, even through the phone.
“Owen—”
“I’m coming over.”
Shit.
No.
I’m not ready for that.
I need time.
“No, don’t come over.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
The call disconnects and I stare at my phone.
I am not ready for him.
Nothing good is going to come of this conversation.
I have a quick shower and get dressed.
I make the strongest coffee known to humankind.
And I send an SOS to Poppy.
Charlize: I think I’m about to break up with Owen. I need you.
She calls straight away. “Charles, what is going on over there? You know I don’t do well with distress calls like that.”
I burst into tears again and tell her everything.
“Okay,” she says, in her take-charge voice. “I’ve told Seth to stop giving me the eye. I’m coming over. Do not, I repeat,do not, break up with Owen. Tell him you need more time and that he’ll just have to give that to you. We need an intervention before you start running.”
“I’m not running, Pop.”
“Oh, my darling, that’s exactly what you’re preparing to do.”
We end the call and I burst into tears again.
I hate crying.
Like, why does it even have to be a thing?
