I’d been sleeping better and talking with the counselor about all the things I’d kept buried for years. It was so much harder than I’d anticipated, but every time I left her office, I could pick up one or two more pieces of myself, even if just to hold them for a few minutes.
As I neared the shore, the broad shoulders were easy to recognize. Jake sat on the sand, his back to a group of Adirondack chairs. He’d come early, too. I held my breath, admiring the way the wind blew his hair askew—it was a little long for him, like the night we’d met. His legs were stretched in front of his large frame, and he was reading something on his phone while he waited.
I closed my eyes and inhaled the fall air, and then slowly exhaled, willing myself to step forward, despite the urge to turn around. With the counselor, I’d figured out running and avoiding was a tactic I’d used to stay safe, but one that had become routine for me in every other facet of my life. With another slow inhale and exhale, I pulled my phone from my pocket. I’d thought a lot about how I would start this conversation, how I’d jump into everything that needed to be said to get us back. I missed him, but I missed me with him, too. When we were together, I didn’t worry I wasn’t measuring up or feel like I was always guessing what he wanted. I knew what he wanted, and it was me.
Now or never.
Naya: Knock-knock.
Still hiding along the tree line, I watched his body language carefully. I imagined two expressions on his face: the relaxed, playful grin I’d come to know so well and the pained, pinched grimace from our fight. Jake’s head remained dipped over his screen, but his posture relaxed.
Jake: Who’s there?
Naya: Doorbell repairman.
He laughed, the sound carrying to the tree line, where I bit my lip and smiled.
Jake: Do people still say LOL?
Naya: IDK
His chuckle was quieter, more subdued, and faded into silence before he checked his watch and my phone buzzed again.
Jake: I figured you’d be early. But I figured you’d get a little closer than those trees. Still coming over?
Naya: Do you still want me to?
Jake: That’s a silly question.
Jake pivoted to face me.
My breath caught in my throat as he looked up and smiled. It was a small, closed-mouth smile, but the expression was soft and kind. “Yes, I want you to come talk to me.”
He patted the ground next to him, tilting his head.
I’d accused him of hurting me, I’d ignored him, and I’d shown I didn’t trust him at the first bump in the road. Jake had been so gracious, more than I deserved, but he’d have every reason to write me off. Instead he was patting the sand and inviting me over, which said so much about why I needed him in my life. I lowered myself to sit, our elbows inches apart.
Slipping his phone into his pocket, Jake rested his forearms on his knees.
We sat in silence, both taking in the sight of the water, and I stole quick glances at his profile.
His voice broke the silence, the low rumble stirring something in me. “I liked the joke.”
“I thought you might.” I wrapped my arms around my knees and rocked, my feet sinking into the sand. The silence fell between us again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just unfinished. I toyed with the ring on my middle finger, deciding where to begin.
Jake spoke first. “You’re nervous?”
“A little,” I admitted.
“How did it go with the counselor?” he asked.
“Really good, actually.” During one of our brief texts, I’d shared I was going to see someone. “I should have done it years ago.”
“Good.”
“How was the cake tasting?”
“I can now tell you the pros and cons of fondant.”
I chuckled, and we fell back to silence; the breeze moving through the trees and the gentle lapping of the water were the only sounds. It was so strange to sit next to him again, next to the body with which I had become so familiar, but with so much distance between us. Can’t we skip ahead through this awkward part and be us again?
“Listen,” Jake said, his voice low. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”
I remembered how tightly I’d gripped his T-shirt in my entryway the night Davis had attacked me, how desperate I’d been for connection.
He ran his long fingers through his hair. “I know you can’t just flip a switch and trust people. I’ve been reading about what survivors go through, and I get it now, or I’m starting to, I think. I was asking too much of you and demanding more than you were ready to give.”