Page 37 of Tell Me Again

“Honestly, Josh, I-I’m not really worried about all of that. I mean, yeah, I... kind of really like the apartment, and I don’t want to move. But I—” She stops and takes a breath that shudders on the exhale, and her eyes study mine as she reaches up and places her hand right on the middle of my chest. “I’m mostly worried about you, about whether you’ll be okay.”

There’s a sharp pain in my chest as her words hit me, and I shake my head.

“No, I don’t want—you shouldn’t—I mean—”

Her hand presses into me again, and her eyes soften even more. “You’re my best friend,” she says. “And you’ve just told me about this secret that you’ve been keeping for basically your whole life, and I’m guessing that’s pretty terrifying. And yeah, we’ve got to deal with everything now, and—oh, god, my mom’s gonna have a fit when I tell her the wedding’s off...”

“Brenna—”

She closes her eyes. “No. No, this isn’t about her,” she says, and her voice is a little unsteady now, like she’s struggling to put the words together without breaking down. “It’s about us—it’s about me and you, and even though this is really, really hard because I wanted... this life together with you, I want you to know that I still love you and I support you no matter what and I’ll be here for you, wh-whatever—whatever you need, Josh.”

God, I’m crying now, and she’s crying too, no longer able to hold her tears back. And I’m reminded just how amazing and wonderful she is and just how much I really don’t deserve her.

But this time, when I try to pull her to me for a hug, she shakes her head and pushes away from me to sit up.

“I-I’m sorry,” she says quickly, and she wipes her eyes and tries for another smile, but it doesn’t quite work. “I was hoping I could do this without crying and without—”

“No, don’t apologize, babe, I’m—”

“Can you—can you not c-call me that anymore, please? I’m sorry, I’m not mad. Really. It just... It just hurts too much.” She stands up and crosses her arms over her chest as she turns away from me.

I want to speak—to tell her how sorry I am and how none of this is her fault and how I’m an ass—but no words come. I push myself up and scoot to the edge of the bed, but when I stand up and take a step toward her, she shakes her head again.

“I-I just—I think I just need a few minutes. I need to be alone for a few minutes. Please.”

God, that hurts. A lot. It’s like my chest is tight and something is stabbing my gut, and all the breath is knocked out of me. And yet, even with how rotten this feels—how rotten I feel—I know this is probably only a fraction of what she’s feeling.

Somehow I manage to nod, and I back up again. “Yeah. Of course. I’m sorry. I’ll just...” I’m not sure what to suggest, so I just motion awkwardly toward the door. Then I turn and grab my coat to head outside. Give her some space.

I’m about halfway to the door, still wiping the tears off my cheeks, when I hear her clear her throat.

“W-wait, Josh, um . . .”

There’s a pause as I turn back around, and our eyes meet as this heaviness seems to settle over the room. Everything suddenly feels so real, so final.

She bites her lip, and a tear slips down her cheek. “Actually, um, what if you just take me to my parents’ house? I’ll stay there for a few days, until we’re ready to go back to Omaha. And you can keep the car for now. I mean, in case you, uh, need to pick up Coop again, or—or anything.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I nod numbly.

“I’m not mad,” she repeats quietly. “I just need some time. Okay?”

“Y-yeah, of course.”

Her eyes linger on me for another moment before she looks away. “Just give me a few minutes to pack.”

Chapter Fifteen

Coop

The only redeeming thing about Wednesday mornings is that I usually come away with pretty decent tips since we host two separate groups every Wednesday.

The first is the five-member city council, who meet every week way too fucking early so the meeting doesn’t interfere with their day jobs. At six thirty, they arrive, take their usual spot at a large table near the front of the diner, and start their meeting. They don’t even have to put in an order; it’s the same every week. And always lots of coffee all around. Randy likes his iced, even on days like today when it’s fucking negative fifty degrees outside.

Then, at exactly eight fifteen, the board of directors of White Hills Community Hospital shows up. There are seven of them—and that’s both a blessing and a curse. We never know how much they’re going to order or who’s going to order what, so Mel and I both have to be on our toes. And if I fuck up anything—anything at all—I can pretty much kiss my tips goodbye. Well, not entirely, but given that this is one of the biggest hauls of any normal weekday, anything less than a generous twenty percent is gonna hurt. Especially today, when I really need the money.

Mel’s all over the place—hot and cold—and I’m not sure how to deal with it today, when half my brain is still off somewhere else. And by the time the city council members leave and the hospital board shows up, I think I’ve heard every single fucking curse word she knows at least a dozen times already.

The group is loud and boisterous today, and fuck if I don’t manage to delight the hell out of every single one of them. I really, really need those tips—my truck battery isn’t gonna replace itself.

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