She wrapped her arms around herself. After Gregory left, I tried to move on too fast. Lawrence was charming, confident. He made me feel wanted at first. At first, I pressed. He liked control, she admitted. He liked knowing where I was, who I talked to. When I started pulling away, he didn’t handle it well. The neighborhood noticed. There were rumors, ugly ones.
I felt anger rise, not at her, but at him, and he still thinks he has a say? I asked. She looked at me then, eyes wet, but steady. That’s what scares me. Not him, the noise, the attention. I just got my life quiet again. I stepped closer. You think I care what they say? I care, she whispered.
I barely survived the first time. Her words hit harder than Lawrence’s smirk. I need time, she said to make sure I’m not rushing into something because I’m lonely or because you’re kind to me. You deserve more than that. Every part of me wanted to argue, to tell her what I felt was real. But I saw fear in her eyes, not fear of me.
fear of losing control again. “Okay,” I said finally. “Take the time you need.” She nodded, relief and sadness mixing on her face. The next few days were quiet, too quiet. We still saw each other through our windows sometimes. Our eyes would meet for a second, then both of us would look away like teenagers caught staring.
I missed our morning coffee more than I expected. I missed her laugh. The way she would tilt her head when she was thinking. Friday evening, my friend Chris came over with a six-pack of beer. “You look terrible,” he said, dropping into the chair beside me on the porch. “Let me guess, woman.” I told him everything. “The kiss, Lawrence, the space.
” He listened and then shook his head. “Jake, you just got out of something messy. Maybe she’s still in the middle of hers. You can’t fix that.” I stared at the yard between our houses. “I’m not trying to fix her,” I said quietly. “I just don’t want to walk away.” Across the grass, Diane was struggling with a heavy planter in her garden.
She tried lifting it and nearly dropped it. I stood up without thinking. “Where are you going?” Chris asked to help my neighbor. I crossed the yard. She looked up when she heard my steps. For a second, I thought she might tell me to leave. Instead, she exhaled slowly. “Need help?” I asked. “Yes,” she admitted. We lifted the planter together. It was heavier than it looked.
Our hands brushed as we adjusted our grip. The tension between us felt thick, but not broken. When we set it down, she kept her hands on it a moment longer than necessary. “I called Lawrence,” she said suddenly. My heart skipped. “I told him not to come back, not to contact me, not to act like he owns any part of my life.
I searched her face, and he didn’t like it.” she said honestly. But I’m done being scared. I felt pride swell in my chest. You didn’t have to do that because of me, I said. I didn’t, she replied. I did it because I’m tired of letting fear make my choices. She stepped closer. I almost pushed you away, she admitted. Because it felt safer. And now, I asked.
She looked up at me, eyes steady. Now I think I’m tired of safe. My heart pounded. I don’t need perfect. I said, “I just need honest.” She nodded slowly. “I can do honest.” For the first time since that morning by the mailbox, she smiled the way she used to. “Not small, not forced, real. Coffee tomorrow?” I asked. She hesitated just long enough to make my pulse race. “Tomorrow?” she agreed.
