Page 95 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

Apprehension is flooding my heart, and I want to be more like Adam right now—capable of sitting in silence until it forces the other person to reveal themself—but I’ve never been like that. I’m always yapping my every thought, giving the Adams of the world emotional ammunition.

“What’s going on? Please talk to me. Is this because he broke up with me?” My voice is quiet, as if it’s the volume and not the content that’s bothering him. “Is it making you second-guess—”

“What? No. I don’t care that he broke up with you. I care that your relationship with him is clearly unresolved.”

“What are you talking about? It’s resolved.”

“That’s not what it looks like.” He forces his words out like sawdust in his throat. “I spent hours lying to everyone, acting like I hardly knew you, and then I watched his parents give you a fucking family heirloom like their daughter-in-law. And I just stood there.”

“Are you mad at me about that?”

“I’m mad at myself for pretending this was even possible.”

My throat dries up. “This? You mean us? Of course this is possible.”

“No, it’s not. You and Sam? We’ll never be past it. Relationships shouldn’t be this complicated.”

“Everyone knows the truth now. We won’t need to pretend anymore.”

A breeze slices between us, and at his shiver, I tug the collar of his jacket closed to keep him warm like he’s done countless times for me.

His eyelids droop closed. “Why did you agree to go along with Rachel in the first place?”

I let my hands drift down to his chest. “I wanted to make things easier for them. What was I supposed to do?”

“What about Patagonia?” he asks, shaking my hands off and patting the envelope from Rachel in his pocket. “Why did you ever agree to that trip? Why are you still entertaining it now, even though Sam uninvited you? Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

I stuff my hands in my coat pockets. “Why would I tell you that Sam dumped me and switched my ticket because I wasn’t enough for him?”

“Because I thought you were enough. I thought you were more than enough.” His voice shakes, and my heart clambers up my throat at how we’ve already become past tense. “And for some reason you don’t. But I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you at his fucking funeral. That’s what I was thinking when I first saw you, Alison. I’d been so awful to him, assuming I’d have a chance to make it right. But he was gone, and I wasn’t sure I’d feel anything else again until I was at the front of the church. Until I saw you.”

He rubs his hand on his face and keeps going, barely pausing to breathe. “I’d never felt that way before. Then, a second later, I recognized you, and thought, That’s Sam’s girlfriend. I’m such an asshole. That’s what I was thinking. My best friend died, and the first thing I did was go after his girlfriend. What kind of person does that? What best friend does that? God, did you see the look on his mom’s face?” Guilt and heartache carve his face into tormented lines. “And now I can’t even think about him without feeling like trash over how I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

His words are a blow to my gut. I want to fix this, but a toxic combination of defeat and frustration drowns my system. Because despite his words on this porch, we didn’t fall apart today. He never gave us a real chance.

Guests spill out the door, and we turn away from each other like strangers. I sniff, pretending my heart isn’t breaking until the family backs out of the driveway.

I finally let out my breath. “You’ve been looking for a reason to bolt all day—since the moment you met me, really. If it hadn’t been this, you would’ve found some other excuse to give up. It’s what you’ve done this whole time. One step forward, two steps back.”

“How am I the problem here?” he says, dumbfounded.

“Are you ever going to leave construction? Move to Minneapolis? Start your own business? Choose one table leg? Finish my stupid shelf?” Tears stream down my face. When our eyes finally meet, his are red rimmed too.

“You want me to finish your shelf so you can stare at your climbing gear and your trekking poles and whatever other crap you never want to use? You spend all your time doing things you hate and hiding what you actually like under your bed. And you think I was looking for a reason to give up? How am I going to be with you if you’re so busy trying to be someone else?”

I wipe at my wet face, smudging my makeup. “I’m just trying to be a better person.”

His laugh doesn’t have a shred of humor in it. “Better how? What does that even mean? I don’t care what’s in those books. Going trail running won’t make you better or more deserving. You know what might? Being honest with yourself.”

My stomach bottoms out at his words. He rakes a hand through his hair. I want to touch it. I barely got a chance to touch it.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue with you,” he pleads. “It’s just that…do you know that I hardly let myself think about Sam? I felt so guilty over what I’d felt for you since his funeral that I’ve never let myself feel sad or angry about him.”

For the first time, possibly ever, I have no words. I don’t know what to say or how to fix this.

Minutes pass before Adam steps off the porch. On the last step, he turns back and reaches for me.

“It’s icy. Are you wearing good boots?”

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