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For some reason, the image of kids with their parents makes my heart ache. Like I'm grieving a life I won't ever have. One with brown-eyed children who have Matt's wild, tawny hair. One where he's actually in love with me.
After our impromptu basketball game a few days ago, which Matt won because I let him, Audra raced towards him and flung herself at his sweaty body. She kissed him right in front of me. Like he'd won the NBA Championship or something.
I wanted to look away, erase the image of her throwing herself at him, but I made myself watch. Watch the way her bare legs wrapped around his waist. Her arms wound around his neck. The way her lips pressed into his. And, as I watched, I noticed Matt never once moved his arms from his sides. He didn't touch her back. Didn't move his lips against hers. He just stood there, statuesque, like he was frozen in place.
I'm sure his reluctance to touch her had everything to do with the fact that I was standing right there. We'd just made up after our first real fight and he didn't want to rub anything in my face.
Doesn't matter though.
But what if that wasn't it?
What if he didn't like her touching him?
Ugh.
Stop it, Jenny!
I run my hands through my newly shorn hair. I had my roots touched up and the few inches of dead ends snipped off while Mom lightened hers to a golden honey with angled layers.
Mom grabs a handful of baked, lightly salted kale chips and pushes the basket towards me. "Eat, baby," she almost begs. "You haven't touched food in days."
I really hadn't thought she noticed. But I had no desire to eat, couldn't even stomach cereal this morning.
Honestly, I'm just trying to breathe without everything hurting. But with every breath, the sharp pain in my chest throbs relentlessly.
The unfairness of this whole situation sucks.
Big time.
I do pretty good in front of Mom and Dad. But when I'm alone in bed at night, that's when everything falls apart. When I wonder if I'll ever love someone the way I love Matt. Be willing to give my heart away again knowing it might break. What if he was it for me, you know? What if I don't find anyone else I want to be around all the time, tell everything to, give my whole self to?
It scares me, feeling so hopeless like this.
I keep telling myself I have lots of time to get over him, find someone else. Maybe even find myself in the process. Who knows? But everything seems bleak and dark right now. Like I'm on the precipice of falling into a deep nothingness.
"I'm just not hungry," I tell Mom as our food arrives. She ordered us her favorite, Mediterranean quinoa bowls.
"Let's talk about Kyle," Mom narrows her hazel eyes as she picks up her fork and digs into the bowl of grilled chicken, feta cheese, olives, cherry tomatoes and quinoa.
"What about him?" I groan as I push the bowl of food away.
"How are the driving lessons going?" she asks as she takes the first bite.
"He's actually a really good teacher," I tell her. "He's patient and doesn't yell at me. Unlike other people."
Mom rolls her eyes. "You almost hit the concrete pole at the bank. I didn't want a dent in my car." She pauses, takes a sip of water before continuing. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with what I saw on Sunday."
"What did you see on Sunday?" I swallow nervously. Did she see me running my hand up his thigh? It wasn't supposed to look, or be, intimate. But from the way Kyle was eyeing me, his pearly whites sinking into his plush lower lip, it kind of felt that way.
Mom grabs a napkin and lightly dabs her mouth. "I saw him bring you hot chocolate."
That's what she saw?
"And?" I raise my eyebrows. "He's not allowed to get me a drink?"
"No," Mom shakes her head, "that's not it. The two of you don't...take care of each other like that."
"He has been a little nicer lately, but I think it has to do with the whole Matt thing," I explain. "He kind of witnessed a full-blown meltdown and took pity on me."
