Page 108 of Hot Mess Express
ExceptI’mwhat’s here. It’sme.I’mthe thing. Ain’t that enough of a reason for him to stay here?
I didn’t even say goodbye. I told him let’s not do goodbyes, not hug it out, not give a kiss that’ll feel like the last kiss I’ll ever give to anyone, ever. Let’s just part ways like we’ve done a couple times over the last few weeks, like it’s no big deal, like we’ll see each other again soon. Denial, denial, denial.
On his way out of town, he swung by and dropped a box off at the front of Juni’s apartment.
This box.
“Fuck it,” I mumble to myself, then tear open the box. It takes more effort than I care to admit. The tape is tight and I just cut my nails a day or two ago. My arms feel like noodles as I give up on removing the tape properly and start yanking randomly at the box from all angles with all my might.
Then it opens at last.
Inside is a single item: his denim jacket.
Is it funny the first thing I notice is how neatly it’s folded? It’s like a bit of Bridger himself is in this box, just in the meticulous, careful way in which this denim jacket sits in here for me.
For me.
I return to my phone to find him having left a text:Keep it safe for me until I’m back, alright?
I’m gnawing on the inside of my lip. Then I text back to him, asking if this is his way of protecting me while he’s gone.
“It’s a totally shitty morning, right?”
I look up, surprised to find Juni at the hallway, her hair a total mess, in nothing but one of her oversized t-shirts, barely covering her thighs. “What’re you doin’ up?” I ask back.
She yawns, picks something out of her eye, and says, “I have no idea. Divine intervention, probably.”
I smile. At least I’ve got Juni.
She didn’t take Pete’s parting as hard as I took Bridger’s. In fact, she hasn’t changed a bit, as if Pete was never here. She’s thesame. Even ordered a dress to try out for this coming weekend when we “totally, definitely will be going back to the Saloon”.
But the idea of going back there.
Without Bridger.
What’s the point?
“Wanna go on a mornin’ jog with me?” I ask her.
She wrinkles up her face like I just fed her a sock. “Uh, no. The heck kinda demented question is that?”
Half an hour later, we’re powerwalking down Main Street.
It’s a decent compromise between full-on jogging and doing fuck-all back at the apartment.
“This isn’t so bad,” she decides.
“Helps clear your head,” I insist, parroting what Bridger said to me the first time I jogged with him without complaining. “Gets the day started on the right foot, know what I mean?”
“My butt is gonna be so tight in a week.”
“We can stop when the smoothie place opens and, like, get us some smoothies to take back,” I suggest. “How’s that sound?”
“Ooh, I want a banana strawberry one.”
“We’ll get you all the smoothies, whatever you want.”
“Do you have any jobs lined up today? I think for lunch, we should have ice cream. T&S is open during the day, too, right? I’m craving one of those sprinkly sundaes with the banana on top.”
