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“I’ve shared everything, or tried to, and you’ve retreated. You don’t need me. You need someone to fill a compartment.”

“I do need you. I love you,” I say pleadingly. I’m on trial for crimes he’s invented. His voice gets bitter. He’s no longer keeping himself under wraps. He’s scaring me. I’ve seen him angry or annoyed, but this is entirely different.

“Hollow. It’s all hollow, Jillien. I get a tiny sliver of you when I’ve basically given you everything I am. I’m living a half-life with you, and that’s what I was doing in Philly. I didn’t take this leap with you to keep living this way. I jumped because I saw how different and full my life could be. But you keep stopping us from moving forward. I’ve waited far too long. Hell, I have a job in a city I don’t know. I don’t love it. I have a 3000 square foot home I don’t live in. And another home I desperately miss, and you’ve made every excuse not to visit. And you won’t even tell me when you skip town.”

“There were legitimate reasons I couldn’t go to the Vineyard.”

He’s ringing the dishtowel in his hands. How did this become about us?

“Invented. We had two days when we could have at least visited my house, but you made excuses for needing to stay near Philly. I accepted them and again compromised. And you didn’t actually share your reasons with me, just said I didn’t need to know. I do, Jill. I need to hear all of them. You tell me just enough so as not to cross some imaginary line that would open all of you to me. And the fucking irony is, I already know all of you. Our history took care of that, but still you keep me at arm’s length with all of your day-to-day. And the really fucking painful part is that you’ve invented a different Jillien. I’m not a sweeping romantic figure to be dusted off when you need me. I’m in this, are you?”

“I am.” He shakes his head. I’m stunned and nervous.

“Instead of living my old emotional half-life, I now live part-time in an 1100 square foot rental apartment with scratchy couches and a bed that’s seen too many people sleep on it. I don’t have my cats. My things. I don’t have my toothbrush holder or my local coffee shop. I have no support here. No friends, other than Jake, whose ultimate loyalty lies with you. I sit around and wait to be summoned. Because I keep thinking any day, you’ll let me in. You’ll let me unpack here.”

He throws his hands in the air, then slams them down on the island counter. I jump a little. His voice is loud. “I’ve been eternally optimistic you’ll let me be with all of you, share your life, your love, your bed, your ups and downs, and your burdens. And to share that kid of yours, who is going to turn out to be far better than all of us. Fuck. The more I talk about all of this, the more I realize how delusional I am. I’m again the fool in my own story.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not a fool.” I move across the counter from him, trying to understand what he’s saying. I need to get this all back on track and away from me. He’s being crazy. “Fletch, I care for you more than anything other than Ethan. I need you. I love you, but punishing my son was a step too far.” I want to get things back to the present.

He cocks his head sideways and groans. “You want to talk about this now, fine. I put him to bed. I took care of him. I scolded him for forging my name on the excuse. I admonished him for lying to everyone and stealing my Scotch. And I took all his devices to cut him off from the world, so he’d sober up and be able to talk to you. I didn’t punish him. I cared for him.”

“Those are all lines you shouldn’t have crossed. Dammit, Fletch. Things were fine.”

He unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves without reacting. Then he looks at me. “That’s bullshit. There shouldn’t be lines. We’re not fine. That’s your problem.”

“Well, Ethan’s my problem, and it’s probably best if you go home tonight.”

His voice shakes the glasses on the shelf. “Holy fucking shit. You just called my temporary piece of shit apartment a home. You won’t let me in. And your son—”

I cut him off and match his tone of voice. “What about my son?” I beat my fists on my chest for emphasis. He moves around the counter, and now there’s nothing between us but awkward, painful space.

His voice is flat and even. This is worse than his anger. “I’m going to say something that’s going to piss you off even more. And then I’ll take my perpetual overnight bag and slink back to my tiny box so you can get your world back in order, despite all of your attempts to stop life from happening. I love Ethan. I care very much about him. I care what happens to him, and who he’s going to turn out to be. I like being there for him. I like helping with science and math. He doesn’t hold me at arm’s length and lie to me. I’m in a deeper and more meaningful relationship with your kid than you, Jillybear.”

That was quite the direct hit. I start crying. I’m not sure what to do. I might have a full-blown panic attack. I grind out my words, biting back sobs. I control it, but he doesn’t move to comfort me. He stands his ground. He’s shut down, and I can handle it. “I don’t hold you at arm’s length.”

Then he steps to me. He’s in my face, and I’m frightened by what he’s going to say. He puts his hand on my face so gently.

“Where are you? Fall apart, I’ll catch you. Where’s the Jillien who leaps without looking? Where’s my Jillien? Where’s Christmas Jillien? She’s lost. I love her. I’m madly, forever, want to marry and die in her arms in love with that Jillien. I don’t know the Jillien in front of me. I keep trying to get to know her, the one who grew up, but she’s so closed off. It’s too painful to be in the same room and feel so much distance.”

Tears are streaming down my face. He’s saying scary things.

“Don’t leave me,” I sputter out.

“I don’t want to, but I think, perhaps, there’s too much history. I always thought it was a perfect foundation, but knowing who you were, and you knowing who I was growing up is too much responsibility, maybe.”

He lets my face go, and my knees buckle. I can feel him slipping away, and I have no clue how to stop him from walking out that door. I follow as he scoops up his computer bag and turns the knob.

“Are you coming back?”

“I am. But I’m also going to finish off that bottle of Scotch, sit on my lumpy rental couch, and think about what I want. What will make me happy.”

I blubber out, “I hope it’s me.”

He puts his hand over his heart. “I do too, Jilly.” He swipes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. And then he turns and leaves quickly. I’m a puddle on the floor. I know I’ll have to deal with Ethan in the morning. But tonight, I’m going to cry and try to understand what just happened. I drag myself upstairs and crawl into Ethan’s bed. I curl into him and cry. He doesn’t move as I pull some pillows out of the way to make room on the bed for me. He’s really passed out drunk.

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JILLIEN