Page 72 of I Choose You

I think back to my relationship with my father. He never slowed down enough to include me. That’s the problem. He continued on, married the woman he cheated with, and wasted no time getting her pregnant. They built a family of their own. And while he chose to give himself fully to them, he also failed to devote himself to the other big commitment in his life; me.

When he inhales and holds his breath for several beats, I know whatever he’s going to say will be a doozy. “You run away like he did. Not to the same extent, but similar enough to compare.”

I blink and remain quiet, my throat catching and holding my breaths hostage.

I’m not like him, am I?

I can’t be.

He continued to live when he should have stayed. I slow down and stop. I’m worried if I give someone my heart, they’ll break it. Just like he did, and I can’t let that happen again. My throat stings. My stomach turns wishy-washy, and there’s an intense pain near my diaphragm, making my breasts ache more. A sharp, throbbing pain shoots up the back of my neck, but I don’t dare let a tear fall.

My dad doesn’t deserve more of them.

Owen shouldn’t have been a lawyer. “You should have been a therapist.”

A sad smile covers his lips. “I don’t like making people feel a certain way. The look on your face isn’t a fun time for me.”

“You’re right, though. I am like him.”

How didn’t I notice this before?

Saying it aloud makes me dizzy. The pain and fatigue circulating in my body peaks, and I can’t take it anymore. I shove my laptop off my lap, causing it to shift back on the bed. My eyes water. My mouth does, too. I reach for the old mixing bowl I claimed from the kitchen yesterday when I felt sick to my stomach. A precaution I’m glad I took now. Bile moves up the back of my throat, and it burns horribly. I gag up the contents of my stomach. Tears drip from the pressure and harshness wracking my body.

“Mackenzie? Mackenzie, are you okay?”

Definitely not.

My mother raised me by herself from the time I was eight. All these years, I thought I was cut from the same cloth as her, but now I know the truth. I’m cut from the same weathered, shaggy material as my father.

33

Mackenzie

I try going to work. I drag myself out of bed, get dressed, hold down the urge to throw up in the middle of swiping blush across my cheeks and make it out to my car. I greet our high school volunteer as I make it into my office. My legs ache with every step, but I make it, then drop to my desk chair only to have Nelly enter a little too loud for my liking a few moments later.

She comments on how terrible I look. Though it isn’t really her place to do so, she sends me home, promising to reach out to Jessie for me. Getting ready for work took everything out of me, and I slump down into the driver’s seat in relief when I finally make it back home.

I don’t miss the space in front of mine where Mason’s car is supposed to be. He left for Austin three days ago without so much as a goodbye. I was in bed, sleeping away what I thought would be the last day of flu symptoms when he made his way to the airport, and a moving service came to collect his belongings.

Sadness wedges its way into my heart and mind, and I do my best to push my car door open. It takes on the weight of three burly men, but I push past my weakness and slip out to make it into the eerily quiet house. It’s worse since Mason left. My heart shatters at the notion of him being gone. It breaks more knowing he didn’t even knock on my door or wake me from my slumber to say goodbye properly.

No.

He just…left.

I have no one to blame but myself. I caused his need to flee and bypass saying farewell. It stings worse than hand sanitizer in a paper cut.

My conversation with Owen materializes in my head as I magically hold myself up to get a quick shower. Swallowing hard, I think about how oddly similar I am to my father, the man whose actions—or lack thereof—have shaped me into the person I am.

A person who pushed her best friend to the point of not saying goodbye.

If he made more of an effort to be in my life, maybe I would know how to deal with relationships differently. I hate thinking I’m anything like him. The thought is like a snake that just won’t stop slithering through me.

I wash the make-up from my face and lather shampoo in my hair. I don’t bother running a washcloth along my body; figuring the lathering from washing my hair does the trick. Plus, I don’t have the energy.

The past two weeks have hit me with a trifecta I wouldn’t wish on a single person. The flu hit me hard. Then my period made an appearance. Finally, my best friend moved to Texas without saying, see ya soon, Kenz.

My heart, mind, and soul are hammered down from one thing after another, affecting my ability to perform simple day-to-day tasks. I collapse on my bed the second I make it back to my room and doze off to the very thought.

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