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“But my countdown!” Granny is indignant, and she casts a doubtful look at me.
“I’m truly going,” I assure her. “It’s not an empty promise. I can’t…I can’t let Nina drive all the way home. I just can’t. Are you happy now?”
At my words, her eyes get all sparkly. “Yes, Thaddius.” She looks at me like, finally…I’vefinallyfigured out the meaning of life. Or at least how not to be an enormous ignoramus. “I’m absolutelyecstatic.”
CHAPTER 19
Nina
How is a person supposed to get past the fact that they fell for the one man they were never supposed to fall for, but he didn’t fall back? I’m not sure there’s a recipe for fixing that kind of pain. Thaddius was never going to want me, but I still hoped. I hoped the chemistry I felt between us, not just physical, but the way the room buzzed with emotion whenever we were in the same space, and the way we worked together and helped each other, could have been the basis of something good.
He could have asked me to stay.
But he didn’t.
He always said he wouldn’t, and he followed through. There are so many reasons why he didn’t change his mind. I don’t hold it against him. I’d just hoped we’d have more time together, even a few more days. He was starting to open up and show me that he could be funny, sensitive, and kind. That he’d risk his life for a chicken. He was caring and smart.
And then, my sporty, uncomfortable, low-to-the-ground ridiculous car had to go and wreck it all by being done too fast. I appreciate the mechanics and all they did for me, but this is the one time where if the parts were delayed, I would have been happy.
I’m one of those people who just can’t believe there’s only ever a negative side to things. I’m more of a coin-toss girl. Unless the coin is rigged, there’s always a head or tail. Don’t talk to me about how the odds in life aren’t a coin toss, or if it is, then it’s most definitely rigged. In my head, we’re the coin toss. The heads and the tails. The two sides to everything.
Thaddius tried to hide how sad he looked yesterday at the garage when he paid for my car and gave me a wad of bills to get home okay. His face was too neutral, and I could tell there was a lot going on behind the curtain. A play that hadn’t played out yet.
Or maybe that was him just hiding his glee at finally seeing me off. He’s free again and can do whatever he wants with his life now. We didn’t come to a final decision about what to do about our families, but that’s for each of us to figure out, I guess. He did tell me to be safe and well, and when he said it and passed those bills over to me, there was a hitch in his voice, an extra bit of raw rasp I’d never heard before.
I wanted to hug him, but I didn’t. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and tell him I’d never had a kiss that made me feel anything like what his kiss made me feel. I wanted to say I’d miss him, even his surliness, and I wanted to tell him that I suck at goodbyes. But I thought maybe if I didn’t say the word, then it wouldn’t be a goodbye. I also wanted to tell him that I thought I needed him, but I was afraid if I admitted it, he’d tell me that I didn’t or that he didn’t want to be needed. Because that would hurt worse than anything I could move on from.
Maybe I read the situation all wrong.
Maybe there’s no hope, no coin toss, no other side.
Even though his grandma came this morning and talked to me and promised she’d go talk sense into Thaddius, she didn’t sound overly hopeful, and she didn’t make any promises. I didn’t admit how I felt, but I didn’t think I had to. She could see how wrecked I was the second she stepped into the small motel room.
I slept for about eighteen minutes last night, so after Thaddius’ grandma left, I hopped in the shower, hoping it would wake me up. I’m done with pacing the room. There’s no coffee maker in here, but I don’t want to leave because I don’t want to risk missing Thaddius.
Part of me keeps telling myself that he’s coming. The flip side of that emotion is that I start arguing with myself, telling myself not to get hopeful about it because I read things wrong, and yesterday was it. I’ve already had my time, and there isn’t going to be more. Thaddius isn’t going to listen to his grandma. He’s going to make up his own mind. He never wanted to get married or be with anyone anyway. The other day, I stood in his kitchen and told him that we could be adults and kiss each other and be with each other because we were lonely, and it felt right, and there didn’t have to be anything after, but deep down, I wanted an after. I didn’t tell him what I needed to tell him yesterday because I was sad and scared, so that’s on me.
If he comes, he has to come because he wants to. He has his own free will, and I won’t take it away from him. I know how horrible it is to find out that it was taken from me for years, and I didn’t even know it. That’s what started this whole thing.
Life is so clucking ironic, isn’t it?
I’m tired of walking around the room to keep myself awake. Maybe I’m even a little tired of trying to hope and keep the sparks of happiness burning. That fire is a hard one to maintain. It’s hard to try to be the sunshine like Thaddius always called me.
And right now, I’m just so tired.
I walk over to the bed and flop down on it, snow angel style.
It figures that as soon as I hit the covers, someone knocks at the door.
My heart is in my throat, and I scramble up from the bed. There’s one of those big round nineties-style lamps on the nightstand with a pleated shade, and in my scrambling hurry, I nearly send it flying.
“Clucking hell!” My hands are trembling, but I grab it just before it totters its way off the side. The lamp rattles against the wooden top, but it stays.
I back away carefully and tell myself to take things slow. It might not even be Thaddius. It might be his grandma coming back to tell me that I’d have better luck finding my own farm and adopting my own chickens than ever seeing Thaddius’ place again.
I almost don’t want to open the door, as stupid as that sounds. The only thing worse than being an optimistic, hopeful person and believing that life sometimes works miracles with the lemon tree it has growing strong and steady at all times is that hope sometimes stings. Like lemon juice in the cuts that life also throws your way.
My hand hovers over the handle. The doors here are heavy metal, but not the music. Just heavy and metal. Ha. I amuse myself sometimes. The handles are bronzed and shiny, but they feel flimsy. I’m not sure where the logic is in that.
