Page 47 of Unravel Me

“I miss you more. Now tell me all the things.”

“I don’t even know where to start. It’s been a long two days. How has it only been TWO days!?”

“I’ve got the time, so spill it all.”

I go into the details of the last forty-eight hours, my mental breakdown at the beach with Reid, finding out the hard way that Reid happens to be Sawyer’s best friend, Sawyer showing up at my parents’ house, the explosive conversations, breakfast, seeing some people from town. I verbally vomit all of it.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

“Yeaaaaaah.”

“K, first thing. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, honestly. It’s been emotionally draining and so much about it has been unexpected. Sawyer’s reaction to me? Zo, he’s never gotten over me. He’s not married, not in a relationship, which is fine, but the way he stormed over here, the way he holds me and looks at me. It’s not at all what I expected.”

“Damn, babe. But are you honestly that surprised? It’s not like you got over him either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Iv, you didn’t. You literally say his name in your sleep. And I know you have a lot of trauma from your parents, but I think he was a major reason you feared going back to that town. You were terrified of facing him. Plus, you’ve had like two hookups and one of those included Fuckface-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named.”

I sit on that for a moment. She’s not wrong. My parents have been gone for well over a year, going on two, and I had no real reason not to come up here and take care of the house. My own fears and insecurities came into play, and sure, some of those were related to how I would be welcomed back here, but a massive part was facing Sawyer. I had accepted the assumption that he hated me for ruining us, but knowing it for certain? I couldn’t bear it.

The fact that I was met with the opposite?

It’s a lot to process, but a part of my heart has healed from the compassion and love he’s shown me. It’s also confused me, forcing me to face things I’ve locked away, and has left me questioning everything.

The sun is setting by the time I hang up with Zoe. I go to the kitchen and pull out one of the wine bottles she packed for me as well as a bag of Chex Mix. Dinner of champions for someone who doesn’t have the guts to return to town for an actual meal. I pour a glass of my favorite red and grab my bagged dinner before snuggling up on top of the sleeping bag on the couch. I can’t bring myself to sleep in my old room. Or even go back upstairs again. The living room is bad enough. It never felt like a home here, and with both of my parents gone, it feels even moreempty. Not that their presence filled it with anything other than disappointment and grief.

When I was in elementary school, my mom still had hope. She would make a show of preparing dinner for my dad every night. She turned on music and would dance around the kitchen with me while she cooked a meal. One of two things would happen: my dad would either come home, grab his plate, and eat in his office, ignoring us completely, or he wouldn’t come home at all. My mom and I would eat together, just the two of us, and she would make it magical for me, a queen and her princess eating a lavish meal while the king handles his important work.

The music was the first thing to stop.

Shortly after, she stopped cooking altogether.

The house feels as though all the despair and heartbreak had bled into the very bones of it. It’s gloomy, cold, and I find myself craving the comfort and warmth of Sawyer’s space that I had last night.

“What are you looking at, butterfly?”

“Your parents. Look at them.”

I point to his parents in the kitchen. They host Sunday dinner and I look forward to it every week. His dad is swinging his mom around the room to a Fleetwood Mac song, “Leather and Lace”. One of my favorites. She throws her head back laughing at him. They are so in love and don’t care who knows it. When they’re together it’s just them.

“Your dad looks at your mom like she hung the moon.”

“And how do you think I look at you?”

I glance over to find him looking down at my face.

“I don’t know. How?”

He grabs my wrist, pulls me down the hallway to his bedroom, and lets the door click shut behind us.

“You don’t know? I must not be doing a very good job.”

“Then maybe you should practice in the mirror more often.”

He gives me a look that is all seriousness. A laugh bursts free from me and I clasp my hand over my mouth. My eyes widen as big as saucers. I hate my laugh. It’s loud and people have always made fun of me for it. Especially my dad on the off chance I laughed in front of him.

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