Page 64 of Finding Delaware

“So you wanted to marry him?”

“No, the other way around. He wanted to marry me.”

In all honesty, Greg was a sweet guy. He treated me well, all my friends loved him, and he wasn’t selfish in bed. Kind to everyone. But that was just the problem. He was...toonice. How fucked up is that? I’ve broken it off with every guy I’veever dated because they aren’t assholes, apparently. I won’t even get into what my therapist thinks about that.

Logan gives me an unreadable look. “You don’t want marriage and kids?”

“No.” Feeling uncomfortable with the subject, I shift in my seat. “Not really. Is that bad?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if it bothers him. Logan grew up religious like I did. Marriage and babies are pretty much pounded into our heads from the minute we’re baptized at eight years old.

“So, is not agreeing on marriage a valid reason to break up with someone, do you think?” He asks it softly, genuinely, and it’s my turn to gaze at him in surprise. His eyes are trained straight ahead, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“I mean, I think so. The whole point of dating is to create a life together, right? At least, that’s how I see it. Obviously, everyone sees relationships differently, but I’d rather he find someone who wants the same things as he does instead of wasting his time on me. Because I don’t think I’ll ever want marriage. You know?”

He nods but doesn’t respond; it seems like he’s lost in his thoughts for a while. I let him have his moment, turning up the radio as I watch snow-covered mountains pass by out the window. The Great Salt Lake looks even more dried up than it did four years ago.

“So, Berkeley’s gonna let you finish the year with online classes?” He breaks the silence, and I nod in response.

“Yep. What about you? Balancing everything ok?”

Logan’s taking business management courses and working at his dad’s company, processing mortgage loans. Sounds boring to me, but he seems to like it well enough.

He gives me a non-committal reply, and then we’re taking exit 99 toward home. The closer we draw toward Gville, the worse my anxiety gets. It always starts in the pit of my stomach, squeezing my muscles until it spreads into my chest, shoulders, and neck. I can feel my back stiffening against the seat when we pull into town. My fingers itch to pull my anxiety meds out of my pocket, but I don’t. Not only because I don’t want to freak Logan out, but...well, I don’t want to freak him out.

It’s not the same as it was before. Honestly, living in a place where I feel safe to be myself has done wonders for my mental health, but years of pretending and hiding growing up did their damage. ‘General Anxiety Disorder’ is what my psychiatrist calls it. Triggered by thoughts or feelings of helplessness. But I’m doing better. We found a great care plan and a fantastic therapist, and I’ve hardly had any anxiety attacks in the last year. Though, I also had the vastness of the ocean and a large city with plenty of space and freedom. Gville is small. Tiny. Claustrophobic.

When we’re pulling into the driveway, it feels like ants are crawling under my skin.

Fuck.

Just breathe, Huck. Breathe.

But it’s so fucking hard.

“You alright, man?”

Glancing sideways, I notice Logan turned fully in his seat toward me, a deep frown of concern pullingat his mouth.

“Yeah. It’s just...” Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. “I haven’t been back here since, well, you know.”

Since I OD’d on my prescription meds that nobody knew about and apparently almost bled out from slicing my arm open on a shard of glass when I collapsed.

Crazy, right?

My fingers brush along the scar near the crook of my arm, now covered by a script of black ink. Coincidentally, it’s the same arm that Taylor broke in high school–

Nope. Not thinking about anything to do with him or that.

Logan nods in understanding as he chews on his cheek. “Do you need me to come inside with you?”

Yes.“No, but thank you. I appreciate it. And thanks for the ride.”

Getting out, I pull my luggage from his trunk and stop at the driver’s side window to give him a fist bump. “Drive safe. Still want to do lunch in the city tomorrow?”

He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes as he nods. “Yep. I’ll text you the address.” A pause. “Good luck, man. Give your dad my best.”

“You know I will.”

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