Page 64 of Dreaming of Dawson

“That was busier than I expected,” Macy says as I lock the door, having seen out the last of our customers.

“It was.” I turn to face her, noticing that she’s wiping down the bar. We’ve stayed on top of most of the clearing up, and I grab the last stray glasses as I make my way back to her. “Do you wanna stay for coffee?” I ask, unable to conceal my disappointment when she shakes her head.

“I can’t.”

For someone who agreed that she’d had a great time with me earlier, she seems really keen to leave, and I wonder if I read that all wrong… if being sober has other disadvantages. Like not understanding what people are saying, even when their meaning seems clear.

She puts down the cloth she’s been holding, and comes out from behind the bar, heading straight for the break room, and while I know I ought to let her go, I can’t.

“Macy?”

She stops, hesitates for a second, and then turns around. “Yes?”

It’s clear she’s not gonna re-trace her steps, so I walk over to her, looking down into her upturned face. It’s darker back here, but I can still make out that sparkle in her eyes, although I do my best not to read anything into it this time.

“I’m not looking to hold you up, but there are things I need to say.”

“There are?” She looks confused, and I step closer.

“Yeah. We didn’t finish our conversation this morning.”

Despite the dim lighting, I can see a blush forming on her cheeks. “Didn’t we? I thought we did. And we talked earlier, while we were eating.”

It sounds like she’s confused about why I didn’t conclude our conversation over our meal… and I guess she has a point. Except I didn’t want to talk about it then, and I need to now.

“I know we talked, Macy, but that wasn’t about anything important.”

“Maybe not, but I really should get home, and I don’t want to interrupt the rest of your evening.”

“If that’s a subtle way of saying you don’t want to stop me from drinking away the rest of the night, you don’t need to worry. My drinking days are over.”

She takes a half step back, tilting her head and studying my face. “Really?” she says, like she doesn’t believe me.

“Yes, really.”

“Okay.” She shrugs her shoulders and turns to walk away, but I grab her arm, pulling her back.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“I do,” she says, with so little conviction, it hurts. “And I’m pleased for you, if you mean it.”

“I mean it.” I stare into her eyes until she nods her head. “Why don’t you wanna stay, Macy? I—I thought you liked me.”

“I do,” she says, raising her voice a little, which takes me by surprise. “I do like you, Dawson. But I can’t stay.”

“You can’t?”

“No. It would be a really bad idea.”

“Why?”

“Because… because it would.”

That’s not even an answer, but before I can say anything, she pulls her arm free and runs for the break room, bolting through the door and letting it slam closed behind her.

I know being sober is doing weird things to me, but I’m not sure any of that made sense. Why would spending time with me be such a bad idea? She just admitted she likes me, and that’s good, not bad. It sure feels good to me. Except she ran away… again. She keeps doing that, and I don’t care how much of a bad idea it is, I want to know why.

Chapter Fifteen

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