Page 6 of Without You

Josie is clearly hoping for a different reaction out of me. Wanting me to maybe hulk out and drag my woman back to my cave and claim her. To remind her of what we were and fuck her so she lives her whole life comparing every other man to me.

Maybe, a long time ago I would’ve done that. But not today. Not this Deacon.

“Look, Josie,” I sigh in defeat. “I think we need to accept it’s over.”

“Deacon, please,” she begs. She blocks my pacing, her water filled eyes locked on mine. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

I cradle her head in my hands, my thumbs wiping each falling tear. “That’s the problem, babe. You didn’t hurt me, I hurt you.”

“Somewhere along the way we got lost, and I just don’t think I can find my way back.”

Her shoulders shake and every part of me wants to shut down and run away. The guilt of what we’ve done to one another, the relief that we’re finally over; it’s a war of feelings inside of me, and I don’t know which of them I want to win.

This is more than I’ve let myself feel—because emotions are ugly and unforgiving—in such a long time, and it’s a reminder of why I packed all the hard stuff into a box I never planned on opening.

“Why don’t you let me get out of your hair for a couple of nights? You can have a bit of time to decide what you want to do next,” I offer. “In fact, you can take all the time you need and I can stay at the shop.”

Her hiccuped cries slow, her breaths becoming more stable. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hands and shakes her head at me. “I don’t want to stay here alone, especially if we’re not together. I think I’m just gonna go to my mom’s.”

I stop myself from asking if she needs any help, or telling her, again, how sorry I am, but they’re not the words that will make this right. No words will. So, I sit back down on my couch, tense and still, letting the silence fester between us.

Josie places a small travel-sized suitcase in the middle of the dining table. My eyes follow every move she makes. From room to room, and back to the suitcase, haphazardly throwing all that she might need in there.

She zips up the suitcase, and settles it on the floor, I start to rise, but she puts a hand up to stop me. “Don’t.”

Sitting back down, I lower my head and wait till I hear the lock on the front door click. The sound reverberates off the walls and the finality of it all hits me. There are many times in my life that I’ve felt alone. In my thoughts, in my experiences, in my feelings. But as another door closes, and another person leaves, I wonder, is this how it’s always going to be?

My phone chooses this moment to vibrate across the coffee table, the word ‘mom’ large on the screen. I’ve spoken to her a grand total of five times in the last twelve months, and she’s never been the one to reach out. That alone is enough for me to know I can’t ignore this phone call.

It’s the same battle I wage with myself every time there’s contact between me and my parents. Be the dutiful son and clear all our consciences by checking in as if nothing’s changed. To ignore the huge chasm in our family and add our strained relationship to the ever growing pile of fuck-ups I seem to be accumulating.

Left without a choice, I answer the phone but can’t find the strength to even say hello.

“Deacon?” Silence. “Deacon, honey, are you there? I won’t keep you long.”

I clear my throat. “Hey. Yeah, sorry. It’s a bad line,” I lie.

“I’m just calling to make sure you’re coming home next month.”

Shocked, my words come out as a garbled mess. “What. Why?”

“Are you really asking me why, Deacon? Have you forgotten what time of the year it is?”

I laugh humorlessly. “That’s why you called me yourself?”

“Of course it is. It would be disrespectful if you didn’t come back home to visit him and spend time remembering with us.”

I don’t know why it bothers me that he’s still on the forefront of their minds. He’s their son, he should be. It’s not like he’s ever far from my mind, but every now and then I would love it if my mom remembered that I was still here. Still her son and still alive.

“Well,” she probes. “It’s the anniversary of his death, Deacon, can you make it or not?”

Focusing on my hand, I open and close my fist, tighter and tighter, holding on to the anger surging inside me. “I didn’t know you guys were doing something. I’d have to check if I can get the time off work.”

“Geez, Deacon,” she spits out. “You practically own the damn garage. Of course you can get time off.”

My teeth grind against one another. “I said I’ll see what I can do.”

“Well, if you can make time in your busy schedule, it will just be us, your sister, Lia and Hayden, and Julian. Maybe your grandparents. You could bring Josie.”

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