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I love him, but do I love him enough to change for him?
Does he love me enough to change for me?
As he sets down his coffee cup, I can practically feel the concern radiating from him as he stares at me.
“Peaches, look at me.”
Leaning back in my booth, I gaze across the table at him.
When he sees tears well up in my eyes, his jaw clenches and his nostrils flare. It’s still so incredible to me to be with another person whose emotions are so easily affected by my own. When I cry, he hurts. When I’m happy, he smiles.
It’s romantic but also…overwhelming. I’ve never been so responsible for another person’s state of mind before.
“One day at a time,” he says, touching my hand again. And I let those words calm me. Silencing the thoughts of the future or of the past, I try to just focus on his presence here right now.
When his phone rings, he doesn’t even budge. His eyes are on me.
“Answer it,” I whisper, glancing at the screen to see his mother’s face.
Reluctantly, he picks up the phone and I hear Melanie’s voice on the other end after he swipes to answer the call.
The press has been all over her since Truett’s arrest. The minute the news went public, Adam had security increased at their residence and canceled service at the church on Sunday, the day after the attack.
People are angry, confused, and want answers. I hate that so much has fallen on Adam’s shoulders, even though he claims to be taking it all in stride. He said there are some other guys at the church whose job entails cleaning up after Truett’s mess, but he still has his mother to worry about.
“Yeah, she’s feeling better,” he says to his mother, his eyes on me.
I smile when I think about how compassionate she’s been through all of this. She visited me in the hospital before I was discharged, and she’s been sending food to my apartment every day since.
One of Truett’s employees posted his bail less than two days after the attack, but as far as we know, he’s been staying in a hotel somewhere since. I don’t know the details of what happened between him and Melanie, but from what Adam said, she wouldn’t let him back in the house.
In my head, I picture her standing by that front door, shotgun in hand, defending her home and forcing him away. While I’m not exactly sure that’s how it went down, I love the image.
When Adam’s face takes on an expression of worry, I lean forward.
“What’s going on?” I mouth.
“He does?” Adam asks his mother.
“Who?” I whisper.
“I’m not ready,” he replies.
I bounce anxiously as I wait for him to finish the conversation so he can catch me up on what they’re talking about.
Finally, he tells his mother he loves her and hangs up the call. I’m staring at him with anticipation before he finally takes a deep breath. The worry line is still positioned in the middle of his forehead, which means whatever this is, it isn’t good.
“He wants to meet with me.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Who do you think?” he replies. “My dad.”
“Fuck that,” I rasp, and Adam gives me a scornful expression for trying to speak.
“I’m not ready,” he says, chewing his bottom lip. “I’m just…afraid of what I might do if I see him.”
This time it’s my turn to reach across the table to touch his hand. “You’re not a bad guy for wanting to kick his ass,” I whisper. “Good people sometimes do bad things for the people they love. Bad people do bad things for themselves.”
