Page 21

My house smells like a restaurant. I’ve cooked a meal I think Judah will love.

It’s one of those meals that my mother claims is the way to a man’s heart.

Who can resist a well-seasoned pot roast?

I’ll tell you who – nobody! And I make mine just like my mama taught me – with homemade gravy and extra baby carrots.

I made cornbread from scratch. I even baked a lemon cake – don’t remember the last time I did that – and it came out beautifully.

I look at my watch. Judah was supposed to be here by now. It’s only ten after but he’s usually early rather than late. I call him but not before glancing outside to make sure he’s not still sitting in his car. He’s done that a few times, too.

Dialing his number, I listen intently, waiting for him to pick up, but he doesn’t answer. I call right back again. I’ll leave a voicemail this time, but when I hear, “Hello,” I smile, glad I don’t have to.

“Hey, Judah.”

“Hey, Autumn.”

Right away I can detect something is wrong by his tone. He sounds burdened, a little down and just not his usual upbeat self.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“Uhm…”

He pauses. No, everything is not okay. I feel it. I sense it in the uncomfortable silence of this phone.

“Judah—”

“I won’t be joining you for dinner this evening.”

“Why not? Is everything okay?”

“I want to apologize in advance for what I’m about to say, Autumn.”

“Judah—”

“Please, just listen. I’ve been doing some thinking over the last few days and the weeks I’ve spent with you have been some of the happiest times of my life. But, I’m having issues internally with myself, and I’ve concluded that you deserve better than what I have to offer you.”

“Judah, don’t say that. What are you talking about? We’re good together. We have fun together. I cooked a meal for us to enjoy this evening. Where is this coming from?”

“It’s not coming from anywhere,” he tells me. “It’s been this way all along. I told you from the beginning I couldn’t be with anyone—that all I had to offer you was friendship.”

“You did,” I say, feeling weak. “That’s exactly what you said. However, friends don’t kiss each other the way you kissed me. I spent nights at your house. We’ve spent a lot of time together, Judah. You just sent me flowers a few days ago—”

“That was a mistake. I should’ve stopped it. I shouldn’t have gone this far with you.”

“Judah, stop—”

“No, listen to me, Autumn. This is hard enough as it is, just…”

The line goes quiet again. After a few more seconds creep by, he says, “You are an amazing, phenomenal woman. I knew that from the moment I first laid eyes on you. And yes, I kissed you because I had a lapse in judgment, thinking we could’ve actually had something.

We did have something, but I was reminded of who I am.

Do you know who I am, Autumn? I am a man who’s living in limbo like my father said.

It’s not like I had a choice in the matter, but that’s what it is.

I do, however, have a choice not to drag you down with me. So, I’m letting you go.”

“No, you’re not,” I say in tears. “I’m packing up the food. I’ll be over to your place in twenty minutes.”

“Autumn—”

Click .

I hang up the phone before he can protest. I find a large, plastic Tupperware container for the pot roast, and cover the cornbread pan with aluminum foil.

The cake is in a cake saver. That makes it easy to place that in the car and once I get everything inside, I focus on making my way to his house as quickly as possible.

Turning into the driveway, I park behind his car and with a heavy heart and sustenance in my arms, I push the doorbell and wait.

He doesn’t answer immediately.

I push it again, and again, and again.

Still, he doesn’t answer. This isn’t the Judah I know to leave me hanging like this.

I set the pot and cornbread on the porch and knock loudly, but there’s no answer. He’s here, he’s not coming to the door and it’s intentional.

“Judah, can you please talk to me?” I say loud enough so he can hear me. “Judah, ple—”

Tears fall from my eyes. “Judah, please don’t do this to me. Please,” I say in full tears. I sniffle, wipe my eyes and nose with the back of my hand and reach for the doorbell for a final time. However, my index finger doesn’t connect with the button.

Defeated, I lower my arms to my side, inhale a deep breath, pick up the food and walk back to my car. Even then, with a drenched face and broken heart I just sit there, hoping and praying that he wouldn’t do me like this – treat me like a stranger. As if all of our time together meant nothing.

But he does.

He doesn’t come to the door.

He doesn’t respond to me.

Text me.

Call me.

He stays hidden behind the walls of his house like my feelings don’t matter. Is he really doing this to me?

The tears have since dried on my face. I start my car and drive back home angrier at myself than I am at him.

I knew this was a possibility. Yet, I put myself out there anyway, thinking that I would be the woman to change his mind about relationships, and I was for a hot minute, but in the end, I’m just like everybody else to him.

Temporary.