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All my life, I’ve been living up to someone else’s expectations. I walked the straight and narrow to avoid anyone’s judgment.
Even if just for a short time, I have this precious thing that no one can touch or tarnish, and I’m keeping it to myself.
25
LIAM
For a few months there, it felt as if I had the old me back.
The person I was before Gabrielle left the first time. That confident, joyful, content man I’d been developing into before my world view turned on its axis.
After our fight, I’m right back where I was all those years ago; slammed into some alternate universe where nothing feels right, happiness seems unachievable, and finding someone to spend my life with is not possible.
Gabrielle’s freak-out took me right back to this headspace where the world is against me; I do nothing but focus on the grind of my work and can’t bring myself to discover small moments of joy anywhere. Her insecurities about us when all I’ve done is reassure her and tell her I’m in love with her won out. Her doubts and fears were bound to destroy us, and they’ve done just that.
I’m not sure what to say to make things right. Or if I want to.
If she is still so unsure about our future, why should I be putting everything I have into making sure we have one? While I miss her like a limb I’ve lost, my ego and emotions are battered and bruised. Taking offense to what she said about me, how she judged me, isn’t irrational.
The last three days have slowed to a snail’s pace, the hours and minutes stretching so long without her.
Between that and still no development on who has been messing with our farm, I’m wound up so tight that I feel like one pinprick will send me spiraling. Since the night that the cops caught the trespasser on our land, nothing else has happened to put it or us in danger. Business has run as normal; nothing is out of the ordinary.
Still, the police have no answers as to why the man tried to ransack our field, and it left me just as uneasy as everything with Gabrielle has.
Alana swears that the cure to any ailment is a greasy cheeseburger and fries. Nothing else has worked to cure this debilitating heartache, so I might as well fall into a food coma if I can’t seem to do anything else.
It’s how I end up at the diner, a place I frequent for a weekend cup of coffee and a short stack. This monochromatic restaurant that looks like something out of a fifties sitcom is everything you want in a standard diner: simple, good food, small-town gossip, quick-witted but wise waiters and waitresses, and the guarantee of not much changing within its walls.
In a way, this place is comforting. It remains the same even through the turmoil of the town or its patrons’ personal lives and drama. Feeling the roots of my small town is the only thing keeping me upright at this point. When things inevitably go to shit with Gabrielle again, I’ll be left in Hope Crest without her.
The chasm that further opens in my chest is like a physical pain I could double over from.
Connie, the waitress who always seems to be working behind the counter with its pink-padded stools, gives me a head nod as if to say she’ll go grab my takeout order. The unspoken language of knowing each other from being lifetime residents of this town is one thing I’m thankful for right now; speaking as little as possible before I lock myself in my house with fried food for the night is the end goal here.
A chime over the door sounds, alerting the staff to another customer entering, and I turn out of habit.
The world, at this moment, stops.
It’s only been three days since I last saw Gabrielle, but with the way my chest is caving in, you’d think it has been a lifetime. My fingers ache to touch her, my lips crave hers, and my soul yearns to be held by hers.
She stops in her tracks, her head almost whipping back at the sight of me. Like my presence caused her whiplash.
Time seems to stop as we stand across the diner staring at each other, everyone else’s lives and conversations going mute with all the feelings swirling around us. It’s as if we’re swept up in this bubble that blocks everything else out.
It’s inevitable we’d run into each other. Hope Crest isn’t a big place, but I’ve been doing my best to be scarce in town. Staying on my land, working my crops, it’s a therapy of its own and means I don’t need to venture to places she might be. Especially so soon after our blowout fight.
Usually, one person in a relationship is more stubborn than the other, but in the case of Gabrielle and me, I fear we’re both too pigheaded for our own good. It’s why no one has broken down and contacted the other, or at least that’s what my thinking has been. I wouldn’t know what’s on her mind because, as I said, we haven’t uttered a word. There has been no white flag.
And as I stand here taking in her bloodshot eyes, pale complexion, and the uncomfortable set of her mouth, I think I know we won’t be reaching a resolution soon. She’s shifty, still beautiful beyond reason, but shifty as hell. Without having to say a word, I know she doesn’t want me to approach her here in this diner. It’ll only make things worse.
“Here you go, hun.” Connie interrupts our stare-off, setting my to-go bag on the counter.
Fishing out some bills from my wallet, I set an amount on the counter that is probably way over what I owe. Can’t seem to care about that right now, though. Gabrielle is still frozen to the stop, and I’m at a loss for what to do next.
With an imperceptible shake of her head, she gives me a direction; don’t do it here.
Again, another plea from her not to expose us in public. My gut roils with anger and sorrow.
