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“She’s not in there. Not working today. She quit.” Jess drags the words out like she’s confused why I wouldn’t know that.
I spin fast on the ice, nearly slipping in the process. “What?”
“You didn’t know?” Jess’s frown deepens, and my jaw clenches. “She told me she quit early so she could have time to spend at home with you guys—mostly with Nova.”
She plays with the edge of her coat as I process the various layers of this in my head. My gut churns at the idea that Tabby doesn’t work here anymore. That she’s done. It’s official.
And she didn’t tell me.
“I just saw her not too long ago. I think she was talking to Nova on the phone. Did you guys have a fight?”
I suddenly feel like there’s no earth beneath my feet, like in cartoons, where they only fall if they look down. So, I look up instead.
“I’m sorry,” Jess continues, her cheeks blazing red. “That’s absolutely none of my business. I should never have asked.”
I shake my head, words bubbling up my throat and over my tongue before I can stop them. “I have no idea what to do. I’m trying. I try so fucking hard.”
“Do you, though?” Her voice is barely a mouse squeak, but I react like she shouted at me. “Or are you just performing?”
“I’m…” I start but can’t finish.
“There’s a difference between listening and understanding, Zeke. You’re a get-it-done kind of guy, but when it comes to feelings, you’re just not practiced.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jess glances around and crosses her arms against the cold. “So, if you popped the hood of that car right there to check the oil, let’s say. How fast could you do that?”
“Seconds,” I shrug, not sure where she’s going.
“How many times have you done it before today?” She shuffles to the side to let people pass us.
“Thousands.” I bounce lightly, trying to keep warm because my dumbass doesn’t wear proper coats when I storm angrily from my house.
“And if I did it, it would take me minutes to do it. Why? Because I’ve only done it a few dozen times.” She gestures as if I were a child. “If it needed oil, what would you do?”
“Put oil in it,” I say slowly. Like, fucking hell. What is this even about?
“You’d know what kind?” Her posture is defensive and rigid like I’m not getting it, and she’s tired of explaining.
“Of course,” I’m starting to get frustrated. “What does this have to do with Nova and feelings and the fact that my entire life is falling apart?”
“Well, I’d have no clue what kind of oil to put in a car without looking it up first or asking for help. And I bet when you first started, you needed help, too.” She jams her gloved hands in her pockets and huffs out a foggy breath. “My point is, Zeke, how many times have you truly opened up to someone and connected with them on an emotional level?”
Everything drains from my mind and body as the reality of her words sinks in. Well, shit.
“Um, never.”
She nods like she’s won an argument. “Ugh, you suck at feeling things, Zeke.”
I laugh at her honesty, and after the months of wishing she’d fight back, here we are. “Finally, she speaks her mind.”
She joins me in a small, light laugh, but the way she stares me down says she’s not done yet. This brutal epiphany is about to get painful. “You have a good heart, Zeke. But I’ve gotten the impression that you perform feelings. I don’t think you actually let yourself feel them.”
My entire body is paralyzed at the truth of her words. Each one sinks in, and the icy sting of realization slips painfully through my chest. She’s right. I did what I knew was the right thing from the very start. I acted like I was supposed to. Listening, being a good guy, being there for Nova with the baby, all of it is just what I think it should be. But our fight this morning and the things I said and the things she said are the hard evidence staring me right in the face. It’s performative.
I do what I need to do. But everything else is out of reach. The closer we get, the harder we mess it up. I want to do the right thing. I want to care for her and feel a sense of connection to this baby.
The slow way I tilt my head as the haze clears elicits a softening of Jess’ triumphant expression. Under it all, I catch just a glimpse of my true feelings for just a fraction of a second, like lifting the lid off a boiling pot. Fear billows out, and I slam the lid back down before it burns me.
