“I think you’re madder at me than I deserve,” she says crouching down in front of me. “Yell at me, Russ. Let’s fight about how angry you are at me and I can yell back that you kept this huge thing from me for months and we can scream at each other until you realize I’m not scared to carry your baggage. And we’ll make up. And I can support you the way you support me.”
I don’t want to yell at her. I don’t want this to be something she has to carry, especially knowing she has to face her own family today. “Just go,” I say. “You don’t want to miss your flight.”
“I won’t be able to stop overthinking until I know we’re okay.” Her hands shake as she rests them against my knees. “Please don’t burn me,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.
I feel like I’m burning everyone at this point. “Just go, Aurora. Please.”
She kisses my forehead as she stands and I feel her tears drop onto my skin. I want to reach out and hold her to me, but I don’t deserve that. She takes a sharp intake of breath, but I can’t look at her. “For the record, I really hope your dad gets better and you can heal from this. I’m sorry I found out before you were ready to tell me.”
It feels like she’s taking half of me with her as I finally lift my head to watch as she walks out and I finally get the answer that’s been plaguing me all summer.
It’s harder to watch her walk away than it is to wake up and she’s not there.
I know I’ve fucked up before I even head out of my cabin with my bags and I fucking hate myself.
I couldn’t get good enough service to call Ethan back in my room, so I’ve decided to do it from the road. I’ll call JJ too, let him know I’m not coming anymore. As much as I don’t want to, I know I need to head home and face whatever is waiting for me. I miss Aurora and that makes no sense, because I’m the reason she isn’t here and I fucking hate myself for that as well. I’ll call her from the road, beg for forgiveness, pray I haven’t hurt her too badly.
I’ve sent her to see her dad believing I’m mad at her and that she’s done something wrong, when it’s my fault because I don’t know how to process things without clamming up like an asshole. I can’t even enjoy the walk through camp back to my truck, despite the last ten weeks being the happiest I’ve been in my life.
I just keep thinking the same thing: of course she answered the phone. She’s my girlfriend and it wouldn’t be a problem for a normal fucking person. But I’m not normal. I’ve let the shame and embarrassment eat at me for years, scared that if I let someone in it’d ruin things. I didn’t let her in, not fully, and I’ve managed to ruin us anyway.
Keeping my head down as I pass the people I’ve worked alongside, hoping they don’t notice me or want to say goodbye. Thankfully nobody stops me, my keys are primed in my hand to get out of here as quickly as I can.
I’m watching my feet scrape against the dusty parking lot when I hear her clear her throat, forcing me to look up. Her bags are littering the floor around her, she’s biting her fingernails, anxiously tapping her foot.
“I’ve never begged a man before,” she says, and as confident as she sounds, she doesn’t look it. I know how big this is for her. I know what kind of courage this took. “But you’re the first of many things for me.”
“Rory . . .”
“I don’t want you to be my first heartbreak.” Another piece of me breaks off. “Either we get into the truck together and for the next four hours we talk, or we can sit in silence and when we get to Maple Hills we go our separate ways. You can tell me as little or as much about your dad as you want. You’re in control of what you’re ready to share with me.” She picks up her bags from the floor. “But you can tell me everything about how you’re feeling. You wanna be together? This is how we’re doing it. We’re not miscommunicators, Russ. We share our secrets.”
“I’m so sorry, Ror.” She drops her bags as I speed toward her, crushing her in a hug. I instantly feel better having her in my arms again. “I was going to call you and grovel as soon as I was on the road. I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes,” she says harshly. “You do. I don’t need you to grovel. You don’t need to punish yourself for being overwhelmed. I just need you to not push me away.”
Word by word, I feel her gluing me back together. “What about the wedding?”