Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 57043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Griffin watches me, but I keep my face turned toward the TV. After a few seconds of the old sitcom playing, Griffin scoots across the couch like I did, each of us moving a little toward the other until our legs are touching the blanket. He reaches for the remote in my hand and sets it aside. Then he takes my hand over the blanket and squeezes it gently in his. He waits for the theme song to end before he speaks.
“Why are you watching this?”
Another wave of tears comes to my eyes, but I blink them away quicker this time. It's the fact that he's here now that's making me emotional. It's how he asked me about the show with no judgment in his voice.
I want to tell him everything, but I can't, so I decide to tell him something. What if he judges my mom? What if…what if,,,what if…all those what ifs yell in the back of my head, telling me to shut up. Just part of the truth because he's here with me and he wants to know.
I clear my throat, and Griffin squeezes my hand again.
I squeeze his hand back. “I used to watch it when I was little, and it always made me feel better.”
He nods, still watching the TV. Griffin waits another minute or two before he leans over again, keeping his voice low so he doesn't talk over the show.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
I keep my hand in his because I don't want him to think I'm angry. Well—I am angry, and I'm sad, but I'm not angry at Griffin. None of this is his fault.
And I don’t want to lose him. I desperately don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want him to hurt like I do.
“No,” I tell him. “Is that okay?”
Griffin runs the pad of his thumb over the back of my hand. “For now,” he says.
Griffin
One episode of Renee's favorite show plays on the screen. A second one starts automatically, and Renee doesn't move to stop it. I'm sure as hell not going to leave her alone right now, but it's just so off. All the little things that have made her seem so unhappy circle around in my head. The last-minute appointment. Seeming sad at work.
What the hell happened and more importantly, why can’t she just tell me?
And when she opened the door to her apartment tonight, her eyes were red, like she'd been crying for a long time. She’s vulnerable and I don’t know what to do to make it better.
So I just wait, hoping any second she’ll say something. She’ll give me a clue or tell me what to say or do. All she does is scoot closer, hold my hand tighter, occasionally give my hand a kiss, and when she does I lean down and kiss the top of her head.
It’s heavy and deep and I know it’s been happening for a little while at least. Did someone die?
Another episode starts, and all I can think about is how we started.
She wanted to pretend. And I went along with it, but it's not all a lie.
I felt the way she kissed me.
It had to be real. When she said she wanted to come to my place, and the way she acted once we were there...I could have sworn it was real. I might have played it safe when I told Brody about it, but I didn't really think there was a chance it was all an act. I couldn't see the point in pretending something like that when we were so good together.
Now I'm starting to have my doubts.
But this right here…it has to be real. I almost tell her I don’t want to pretend, but I am scared to say the wrong damn thing.
I put my arm around Renee's shoulders and steal a glance at her to see how she is. But I can’t tell. Her eyes stay on the TV. Every so often they look shinier, like she might cry, but she just breathes deep, blinks, and never lets a tear fall.
That feels as wrong as when she let her sadness show on the way into her shift, and as wrong as it felt when she looked at me in the break room and told me everything was fine with that beautiful but fake smile.
“Renee,” I say, meaning to get her attention so I can ask her what's really going on. I don't know what the magic words are to get her to understand that she can trust me.
“Hmm?” she answers, and she sounds distant, but there’s a bit of warmth there that I needed. Something to just hold onto.
“You know whatever it is, you can walk away from it. You can—”
“There are some things I can't walk away from,” she says, not waiting for the rest of what I was going to say. “Things I won't be able to change no matter what I do.”