Page 80 of Those Two Words

“Johanna, please,” he pleads and takes a step closer as I take two steps back.

“I trusted you when you said leaving this town was best for me.” Hot tears fall down my cheeks, and I swipe at them angrily. “Because you were right. But now that I’m ready to have a life again, the life I put on hold to save myself, you don’t think I’m strong enough for that. If he’s such a great man, why isn’t he good enough for me?”

“That’s not what I meant, you know—” His words are cut off with the squealing of children. I use the interruption to flee the room and don’t stop until I reach the downstairs bathroom and lock myself in there.

Grabbing hold of the cold porcelain sink, I breathe in through my nose, ignoring the knocks on the other side of the door until I hear my dad walk away. I worry that my purse is in the kitchen where my medication is, but this doesn’t feel like panic. There’s no tightness in my chest or tingling in my fingers.

Tears still cling to my eyes, but what I’m feeling is anger.

Anger at how anxiety dictated so much of my life for so long, and now that I have a hold of it—learned to live with it—people still think I’m going to shatter with the tiniest amount of pressure. I love my dad, and while leaving Sutton Bay wasn’t my idea at first, I know it was the best thing for me. He was the one who saw me at my lowest, day after day, and I know it killed him to see me like that.

So he did the only thing he could do to help. He told me to leave.

It hurts to think that my dad has so little faith in what I can handle. I know it comes from a place of love, but I wish he didn’t still see me as that same lost girl from six years ago. I’m the same but not. I’m stronger, more resilient. I know my mind well, can pick up on the signs of a panic attack now, or know when I need to take a step back and listen to what my body is telling me.

I just wish he could see that.

It’s not that I want to hide the truth behind my anxieties from Patrick, because he’s one of the few people who doesn’t look at me like I’m broken and fragile. It’s more about finding the right time. We’ve barely seen each other the last couple of weeks, and we’re either in the company of others or end up getting lost in one another.

Patrick makes me feel brave, like there’s nothing to be ashamed about. Rationally, I know there isn’t, but I’ve spent years hearing judgmental comments. Questions as to why I don’t want to join people for drinks. People whispering behind my back after taking a few days off work following a panic attack or depressive episode.

The things that once had the ability to cripple me, now bring me comfort and joy. Small reminders of my mom. Overhearing people around town talk about Ted. Some are sad and some are happy, but it lets me know that they will always be with me.

Being back in town has also opened my eyes to something else.

My love for Patrick Sadler might have been tested by time and distance, but it never wavered.

The love I have for him has changed over time. From sweet childhood love to something new and scary, to a love I felt he was close to returning. All the different types of love I’ve had for him have built the foundations for the love I feel today.

A limitless type of love.

It’s not some big revelation that I love him, but during our time apart, it was too painful to admit it to myself. A bitter reminder of what could have been. As cliché as it sounds, distance does make the heart grow fonder.

We’ve said we would give this a go, take our time, but I’m done biding my time. He needs to know I’m all in, and I only hope he feels the same.

Once I’m calmer, the anger having sizzled out, I look up to check my reflection. My hair is mussed from Patrick’s hands, but my makeup is still intact, and my eyes aren’t as puffy as they feel. I smile at myself in the mirror, despite the whirl of emotions running riot in my mind. After a few more deep breaths, I step out into the hallway.

And run right into Carrie.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she rushes out, catching hold of me to stop me from tumbling backward.

“No, no. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” We stand there awkwardly, and while I have zero issues with her, we’ve never really spoken.

“You’re all good. I was coming to check on you, actually.”

Say what?

“Me?” I ask in surprise.

“Yeah, I was in the dining room when you and your dad were, umm, talking.” She must catch the grimace I try to hide, because of all the people to overhear, it had to be her. “I swear I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I was behind the gift table trying to hide some things, when you came in. I was going to make myself known, but it…I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m so sorry you had to hear all of that.” I sense this is just as embarrassing for her as it is for me. “That was not the sort of thing we should have been discussing at a kid’s birthday party.”

“Pfft, you should see the arguments my family has at gatherings,” she jokes with a flick of her wrist. Her smile softens and she gently pulls me toward the laundry room. “Listen, I have no idea what happened between you and Patrick, and I’m not trying to pry. I suspect he’s told you that there has never, and I mean never been anything romantic between us. Strictly co-parents and friends. He’s a great guy and the best dad for Lottie.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary. Me and him, we’re not—” Carrie raises her eyebrows at me, the way that moms do, and I stop talking.

“I didn’t know him before we got pregnant with Lottie. I know he loves being a dad and managing the restaurant, but from what his friends and family have told me, he’s not the same guy he once was. Like I said, I wouldn’t know what changed, but I think I do now. It’s like someone has flipped a switch and he’s finally letting himself be truly happy. I see what was missing now. The Patrick I knew last year, compared to today, is so different, but in the best way. In case I’m not being clear, it’s you, Jo. You being in his life again is what changed that.”

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