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My parents are both workaholics who are highly driven by career, so we’ve never hung out as much as other families I’ve known, but they love me and do their best to be a part of my life. They ask me all about my trip over dinner, and then we get to the church a half hour early so we can claim their favorite pew in the back.
We chat with folks we know as they come in. Chase and his grandmother usually come, and he indicated at the grocery store they’d be here, so I watch for them.
They finally arrive a few minutes before eight. The only empty rows are near the front, so that’s where they go. His grandmother is smiling as she always is. Chase isn’t. He glances around once until he catches my eye.
I smile. He nods to acknowledge it but doesn’t smile back.
He’s too far away for me to see if he’s smiling with his eyes the way he sometimes does, but I don’t really think he is.
The clench in my gut gets tighter, heavier. Sinks even lower.
I force myself to focus on the service, but my mind keeps drifting to everything I want to say to Chase when I see him.
I’m determined not to mess this thing up because of my normal issues. So I’m going to be honest with him even if it’s hard. I can’t live with this tension much longer. I need to know what’s going on with him, even if it’s bad.
When the service ends, my parents and I are the first ones out the door. They like to hurry to the car to get out of there before the parking lot is swarmed, so I tell them I’m going to get a ride back with a friend so they can head home.
I’m planning to sleep at my own house anyway and go back over to my parents’ first thing in the morning.
I find Chase’s truck in the parking lot and wait near it as the church empties. So many cheerfully chatting adults and happy, running kids. It’s Christmas. I should be happy too.
I still have no clear idea why I’m not.
But I can’t live in this limbo. I’ve accepted less than what’s best for me too often in relationships, assuming that’s what they’re supposed to feel like. They’re not. I’m supposed to be happy and secure, like I’ve always been with Chase in the past.
I’m not going to accept any less.
Chase and his grandmother finally appear, talking with an older couple I know by sight but not by name. His grandmother is chatting and smiling. Chase isn’t. He looks withdrawn. Unusually subdued.
He sees me waiting by the truck, leans down to say something to his grandmother, and then comes over to where I’m standing.
“Hey,” he says, dropping his eyes and then lifting them in a quick glance at my face.
“Hey.” I clear my throat, so nervous I can barely get the words out. “Can we talk?”
His mouth twists. He takes a weird breath. “Sure. You want to ride back with us, and then I’ll walk you home?”
“That would be great. Thanks.” The few minutes it will take to drive home with his grandmother feel like an eternity, so I blurt out, “Are we... are we okay?”
He gives me another quick glance. It’s odd. Almost needy. Not like him at all. “I... don’t know.”
So that answer doesn’t help at all.
CHASE’S GRANDMOTHER is delighted to see me. I get in between them on the bench seat of the pickup, and she sustains a lively conversation about the service and our plans for Christmas and how glad she is we had a wonderful trip.
I do my best to respond appropriately, but I’m intensely relieved when we reach her house. We all get out. His grandmother goes to the door to let herself in while Chase and I start walking toward my place.
It’s just a few blocks away.
The silence is heavy between us. Filled with a bleak kind of tension.
After a few minutes, I make myself say something. “I thought... I thought things were good between us.”
“I know,” he says hoarsely. “They were.”
“So what happened? Why are we like this now? I don’t...” I choke on a little sob. “I don’t understand what happened.”
“I know. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
