Page 70 of This Might Hurt

JUDE

“It’s so pretty,” Lena offers in a subdued voice as she studies Ramona’s quiet house. I told the woman not to do anything extra for us, but all the windows are sparkling clean and I can see two new pots of marigolds and petunias on the porch planted so recently the soil hasn’t even settled.

“Give me a minute.” I reach through the open passenger window of our rental car and tug her silly tiny ponytail. “I’m gonna take the wheelchair up, then I’ll come get you.”

“Sounds good.” She keeps watching me like I’m about to spontaneously shatter into a million pieces.

It took two awful days to get Lena out of our house.

If Andrew had known how stressful it would be, I don’t think he would have left me there alone.

The boys who dropped her off at the diner went home with her and helped her pack the stuff she needed so I didn’t have to see my parents.

Then it took a whole day to make the five-hour drive here, because I felt so incredibly drained that I kept stopping for more energy drinks that didn’t really help.

I wrestle the folded wheelchair out of the trunk and drag it awkwardly up the steep porch steps.

By the time I get there, Ramona is holding the screen door open.

If I was worried that we were imposing on her, it’s blown away by the delight on her face as she waves at Lena, who offers a beaming smile in return.

I spent half the drive telling Lena everything about Ramona and Buck and the chickens, while she got more and more excited.

I lug the chair into the entry and struggle to catch my breath as I unfold it. When I look up, I realize Ramona moved all the plants and knick-knacks off the floor so the narrow halls and cramped rooms are as open as possible. “Thanks,” I offer.

The older woman studies me carefully, her deep brown eyes worried.

I’ve been in the house for forty-five seconds.

I haven’t even hugged her yet. And still, she can sense something’s wrong.

It makes me miss Andrew even more; he was so fucking dense about feelings, so unapologetically selfish sometimes.

It made me happy, both the bite and how much sweeter it felt when he tried.

“I made up the downstairs bedroom for her,” Ramona explains briskly, when I don’t say anything else.

“And I put bedding on the couch if you want to sleep near her, in case she needs help at night. I had Jim from the hardware store come up to measure the front and back steps and order some ramps. He laid down boards in between the garden beds, too, so Lena can help me out there. Oh, and I have supper ready as soon as you two get settled.” She has an apron over her purple t-shirt, splashed with some kind of soup.

I blink at her, trying to sort back through everything she said. “That sounds good.”

The concern in her eyes deepens. It makes me feel like one of those fish in a tank in a doctor’s waiting room, everyone shoving their faces right up to the glass and wondering if it’s happy or not.

I try to step past her to the front door, but she puts a hand on my arm.

“Andrew’s not here, is he?” she murmurs.

I start to say “It doesn’t matter”, but I barely get through “It—” before my eyes well up and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from losing it.

I’m so pathetic. She grabs me in a firm hug, and I squeeze her too tightly, desperate for warmth.

I haven’t had a warm body against me in three days and I’m already dying.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she murmurs against my chest as I rest my cheek on top of her head.

“Your sister and I are here for you, okay?”

I nod, even though the words don’t help me. They just bounce off my skin and disappear.

Finally, she lets go and gives me a push. “Go get Lena before she thinks we abandoned her.”

My sister is waiting patiently, watching the puffy white clouds scud across the sky.

“Prepare yourself to get smothered up there.” I unclip the harness straps that secure her torso against the passenger seat.

I was a little worried about being able to lift and carry her, but she’s always been small and now she’s even lighter.

“Want to place bets on how long it takes you to accidentally drop me?” she muses as I climb sideways, one step at a time, up to the porch.

“That’s not funny. I’m never gonna let you get hurt.”

She blows out a pensive breath. “Sorry, I know. I’m trying to cheer you up.”

Shaking my head, I carry her past Ramona and settle her in the chair.

I hate making her go back to a manual wheelchair, especially when she’s not ready to push it herself yet.

It seems cruel for her to stay in a place that makes her rely on people again, even for a few weeks.

But she insisted long and loud that she wants to be here until we can start looking for that apartment in Bozeman.

I guess that’s happening, too, even though I never officially said yes.

Andrew was my only hesitation; I didn’t want to choose a life that he might not want.

Then he informed me that he had his own fucking ten-year plan that has nothing to do with me and walked out.

The future used to be nothing, a concept I couldn’t bring myself to think about.

Now I have one, but it’s turning into something dull and mechanical, a list of one, two, three things I need to do in a certain order.

I can’t see past the gaping hole of what should have been to care about anything else.

When I come back to reality, Ramona and Lena are chattering away at a million miles an hour.

Somehow they already got past introductions and moved on to all the fun things they can do together.

“Let’s continue this over supper,” Ramona says, catching my eye.

“Your brother looks hungry. Go see your room while I plate up.”

Lena flashes me wide, hopeful eyes, so I push her toward the guest bedroom.

Ramona even took up the rugs so there’s nothing for the chair to catch on.

I’m so focused on squeezing through the narrow door frame that I look up in surprise when Lena squeals.

The huge, scraggly gray and white cat stands up from her bed and stretches, baring his teeth in a yawn.

“He’s so cute!”

“This is Buckley.” I pick him up, then hesitate. “Is it okay to put him in your lap? He’s kind of heavy.”

“Yes please!” She grins eagerly. “Just be ready to grab him if he starts squirming. We’re getting a cat for our apartment, right? I vote for a chubby orange one.”

I don’t think Andrew likes cats. The thought comes faster than words. Except it doesn’t matter, does it? “Whatever you want, stinker.”

Buckley seems to sense that this stranger is different, because he holds still and keeps his claws in, purring loudly as Lena runs her hands over his fur and baby talks to him.

I sit on the edge of the bed and watch her play with the cat until Ramona calls us for supper.

The house has always felt cozy to me, but now it’s cold and empty, even with three people and a cat bustling around.

I’m so tired. If I sleep for the whole ten years Andrew needs to destroy his company, maybe I’ll wake up and find him here.

I can feel it creeping toward me—that crushing, unending emptiness I can’t control any more than the days when my brain gets stuck on fast forward.

We sit down at the kitchen table for big, creamy bowls of chicken corn chowder.

Every time I take a bite, my subconscious panics that she didn’t make Andrew anything he can eat.

I end up just stirring it around, watching the corn swirl in lazy circles as the two of them talk about what job Buckley would have if he was a human.

When I point out that he would be retired, it kind of kills the mood.

While Lena concentrates on scooping up the last of her soup with the spoon strapped to her hand, Ramona eyes me with a look partway between serious, amused, fond, and frustrated. “I forgot to tell you that I closed on the old homestead property last week.”

“Oh, really?” I’m way too trashed to make my surprise sound convincing. “Old Man Miller decided not to buy?”

“In a manner of speaking.” She stares at me for a long time.

“What?” I snap, getting up to serve myself more soup even though I don’t want any.

“Well, I heard through the grapevine that the property was going back up for sale due to a septic failure. Which I’m sure is unrelated to the very crusty wheelbarrow someone left in the back of my garage.”

“Can you not?” I gesture at Lena, who is looking between us with wide-eyed curiosity.

Ramona’s fake stern face melts into a laugh and she shakes her head.

“I paid Edward’s inspection fee, so that he wasn’t out any money.

Then he told me he found an even better property on the other side of town.

So I have my land.” Her pointed tone softens.

“I’m very happy about it. Lena and I can draw up all the garden plans, and you can do the legwork for us. ”

“Uh-huh.” My eye roll doesn’t have any heat behind it.

I told Andrew I wasn’t guilty, but maybe that was a lie.

The relief flooding me feels more intense than I expected—not just because Ramona doesn’t hate me, but because she understands that the mixed-up synapses in my brain told me this was the best way to love her.

Once I see a doctor and get a job, I’m going to pay back every penny that she gave to Ed Miller for his inspection.

After supper, Lena and Ramona play Scrabble in the living room, with Ramona putting Lena’s tiles down for her. I lie on the couch and finish my book because I want to be sad. I want to be so devastatingly, crushingly sad that I’m obliterated from the face of the earth. That sounds perfect.

When I’m done with the last page, I swipe tears out of my eyes and roll over so my face is pressed against the back of the couch. Fishing my phone out of the cushions, I torture myself by opening my photos and flipping through the selfies we sent Ramona. He’s so close. He’s right there.

I open our text messages to tell him…I don’t know what. Lena wants a cat? I don’t like corn chowder? I’m worried he won’t take care of himself? No one gives a shit. I just want to talk to him.

You made me promise to come find you if you got lost. You said if we traded cum, we’d always be able to sense each other.

Can you sense me? I pause, studying the words I started typing without thinking.

They look weird and vulnerable written out on the screen.

I know I’m the one who’s supposed to chase you, but I can’t.

I’m sorry—I think I need you to come find me.

I hover my finger over send, but instead of tapping it I scroll back up to Andrew’s last text from two days ago, the one I ignored.

I landed safely in New York. I hope your trip with Lena goes well.

Text me when you arrive, if you want to.

The fucking bitchy asshole dick. What is If you want to supposed to mean?

He chooses his abusive family over me, then tries to make it sound like if I don’t text him back, I’m the one giving up on us.

Seeing it again makes me so mad that I delete our entire text history before I can think—three button presses, just like that.

Then I lie there trying to breathe, trying not to panic, because I wish to god I hadn’t done that.

The night in Montana when he begged me to run away with him keeps replaying over and over in my head.

Genius that I am, I chose the path that would lead him somewhere I couldn’t follow.

Sometimes I hate that life is a web of possibilities instead of a line, because you can see all the brighter futures stretching away into forever, taunting you with what could’ve been if you had just said yes.

I got one person back, and I lost the other. Like I can never live without a gaping hole in my heart. I wish I had asked him, before he went, which part of me wasn’t enough to stay for. I’ve asked myself so many times in my life, and maybe he could have told me.