“Well I’m sorry that I can’t seem to do that! It hurt when he broke up with me, Mom. It hurt for a long time. I don’t want to go through that again.”
Mom’s voice softens. “I was there, Brittany. I remember all of this, too.”
“Then why does everyone think it should be so easy to just jump in head first?” I blurt out.
“Who thinks that?”
“You. Mrs. Potter. Trace.”
“I don’t think that’s the issue here.” I open my mouth, but she keeps talking. “You’re too focused on the past, Brittany. Everyone understands how the breakup did a number on you, but we all also see how much he loves you. You need to look at that more than what he did. He’s trying. You need to be trying too.”
The tears come from nowhere and it isn’t until I speak and I hear my voice break that I even realize they’re there at all. “If he loves me so much, why’d he leave me in the first place? Why did he make it sound like he never wants to live with me? Why did he make me so insecure?”
Mom sighs, and I can’t tell if it’s an annoyed, frustrated sigh, or one of sadness. “Again, you aren’t going to get over it quickly or easily. Maybe you should talk to Trace.”
Tired of talking, I say, “Maybe. I should go. I have to pack.” Wonder how many times I can use that line as a lie before I actually have to do it. Mom and I hang up. Something that started out so small has gone and blown up on me. I guess it’s my fault, too. One misstep from Trace and I’m transported back to when he broke up with me and focusing on that more than anything else. Impulsively, I text Trace.
Me: I’m sorry.
Trace: For what?
What, exactly, am I sorry for? For panicking? For not trusting him and us enough? For not talking to him?
Me: A bunch of things, I guess.
Trace: Are you okay?
Me: Yeah. It’s just a struggling kind of day.
Trace: Struggling with…?
Me: Everything.
Trace: Want to talk about it?
Me: I tried that with Mom. Didn’t make me feel better.
Trace: Maybe because you weren’t talking to me. ;)
Suddenly, I realize what I need. My fingers move fast.
Me: Reassure me, Trace.
I hold my breath as I wait. He’ll know what I mean, but will he say the right words and tell me what I need to hear? Is that possible when I don’t even know myself? How can he know if I don’t? A whoosh of air leaves me with the incoming text.
Trace: I love, want, cherish, need, and trust you. We’re in this for the long haul. You couldn’t get rid of me even if you wanted to. Believe it or not, but you make me sane when I’m going mad. I don’t care how many times I have to reassure you, remind you, or convince you, you are mine, and I am yours. When we fuck up, we’ll recover. We’ll come out on the other side stronger. Got it? Good. I love you.
Me: Thanks. I love you, too.
Trace: Any time, Britt. Take a nap or something.
Me: Nap might not be a good idea. I stopped by a bookstore the other day and bought a book. I’ll read that.
I literally walked in, wandered around until I found the romance section, and picked up the first book that caught my eye. I can’t ever remember reading for fun. It’s always been about reading because I had an assignment to do or a test to take. I don’t even know what genres I really like. Can’t go wrong with romance, though, right? At least, I hope so.
Every time I’ve woken up this morning, I’ve rolled over and fallen back to sleep. It’s like gut instinct. As if my body knows it needs to spend a day in bed. Or my mind is trying to convince itself that’s what I need. Actually feeling tired, I’ve given in and gone back to sleep. However, my phone is ringing. And ringing, and ringing, and ringing.
I blindly reach for it, keeping my eyes closed, and swipe at the bottom of the screen. “What?” My voice is groggy from sleeping.
“You’re still in bed.” Trace doesn’t ask; he can tell. Before I can say anything, he tells me, “Come open the door for me.”
“You’re here?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, give me a sec.” I hang up without waiting for a response, throw the covers off, and grab my robe since I slept naked last night. Hmm. That’ll definitely have to stop if I stay with Trace since sex is still off the table for the time being. Don’t want to tempt fate. I open the door, standing behind it with only my head poking around, to see Trace with a bunch of bins in his hands.
“I came to help you pack. I used these when I moved, so I figured you could put them to use now,” he says. “I also brought lunch.”
“Lunch?” I close the door after him.
“Yeah. Lunch.”
“I didn’t realize it was that late. I didn’t mean to sleep in.” I feel like I need to add more and defend myself.
Trace sets the bins on my coffee table and starts to say, “How are you fe—?” His words die as he turns to face me, catching sight of my attire. His gaze devours me. Heat flushes my cheeks, I shiver, and then quickly head to my room, muttering about getting dressed. I feel…almost embarrassed? Is that right? Whatever it is, it’s ridiculous. It’s not like we haven’t had sex since the breakup. Then again, we haven’t had sex since we’ve gotten back together. But still.
After finding a shirt, panties, and shorts, I leave my bedroom fully dressed and in the process of pulling my hair up in a ponytail. Based on Trace’s expression, I probably should’ve put on a bra, or a sports bra at the very least, but who wants to wear a bra when they don’t have to?
“Burgers?” I ask, seeing the logo on the fast food bag he pulls out of where it was sitting in the bins.
“Yeah. Are you hungry?”
I nod. We sit on the couch. He passes me my burger and fries, and then goes to grab drinks from the kitchen. He clears his throat and tries again.
“How are you feeling?”
I shrug. “Tired, but otherwise okay. You?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m fine,” I mock in a terrible imitation of his voice. “Maybe you’ll rub off on me then.”
“Maybe.” Trace looks around. “Where are we going to start? If we can get it all done, then you could start staying over tonight. This is really the only full day we’ll have to do it since your lease is up during the week.”
I think about it, cataloging in my mind all that needs to be packed. “You could start in the kitchen and I can do the living room and bathroom. Then we can both work through my room. We should be able to finish today as long as we stay focused.”
So after we eat, we get to work. I turn the TV to a music channel and leave it playing softly in the background. Trace and I work our way around my apartment until we get to my bedroom. It’s not too messy, which will help things. I start packing my clothes while Trace packs little things sitting around. We’ve been quietly packing. I’ve been gaining more and more anxiety about this, but I’ve done well with tamping it down and keeping it under control. I wonder if Trace is nervous too. Having some nerves is normal; so, correction: I wonder if he’s having anxiety over it.
“Um, Brittany?”
I turn to see Trace holding up my vibrator which is in a clear pouch; it seems he had moved on to my nightstand. A blush scorches my face. “What about it?” I force myself to ask. “I was boyfriendless for a long time.”
“I was, uh, just wondering if you wanted it to go in here with everything else.”
“Yeah. It’ll go into the next nightstand.” I turn back to my dresser. “Going to have to keep it nearby and handy.” Actually, I haven’t used it in a long time. Not since way before I started dating Quinn. Something about depression takes away your sex drive if you’re alone, go figure. I could count on one hand how many times it’s been used in the last year.
Trace doesn’t say anything. I wish he would. It’s left this awkward air hanging around us. I can’t keep my sigh to myself as I move to my disaster of a closet. I shouldn’t even be nervous. It’s no
t like I’m actually moving in. I’m crashing at his place until I can find another apartment. But what is to be expected during this time?
Does he want any rent money? Does he want help with the groceries? Cleaning the house? Should I stay out of his way and in my room for the most part? Is he going to give me a key that I’ll have to turn right around and return it? Is there a deadline on how long I can stay? I have a feeling we’ll just figure this stuff out as we go.
Though it shouldn’t be surprising based on how little I actually own, we finish before the night is through. We load up our vehicles and start transporting my stuff. The guest bedroom is quickly filled with bins. At least I’ll be able to unpack about half of it, which are necessities. I’ll drop off my key tomorrow.
“Want me to help you unpack?” Trace asks from the doorway of the guest bedroom.
“No, that’s okay. If I do it all, I’ll know where everything is.”
“All right. I’ll cook dinner then.”
He leaves me to my own devices, and I get started. By the time I’m finished, so is he.
“You’ve been quiet all day,” he says once we’re seated at the table.
I shrug. “Haven’t had anything to say. You’ve been quiet, too,” I point out.
“You seemed to be lost in your head.”
“Noticed that, huh?”
“All I did was pay attention.”
I roll my eyes; why, I don’t know. “Can we just eat, lay in the recliner, and then call it a night?”
“Of course.”
And let me just say, I didn’t realize how much I missed lying in this chair with him. Even Trace releases a little happy sigh. This is probably the first time we’re lying here and it’s not because we’ve had shit days or feel crummy. Trace is trailing his knuckles up and down my back. He’ll lull me to sleep here shortly if he keeps on.
His voice rumbles, rousing me from my light doze. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Thanks for helping me out.”
He hums in response. Moments like these are what keeps me calm. What makes me trust him again. It’s just so easy when it’s like this. Same thing when he set it up for us to have a massage and then finish date night here outside under the stars. It’s these perfect moments. These are the moments I need to cling to during the times of panic and hesitation. I need to remind myself that I do want this to work. Trace wants that too, and he’s said he’s not going anywhere.
“Let’s go to bed.”
Based on his voice and how his hand had all but stopped moving along my back, I know he was dozing off, too. He tells Lily to go out and starts his nightly routine of locking the doors and turning off the lights as I head to the guest bedroom. It feels weird to get ready for bed in here and in the guest bathroom. When Lily trots by, she stops and sits at the threshold of the guest bedroom. She seems confused as to why I’m in here and not in there with Trace. I hear his footsteps, so I hurry to turn off the light and climb into bed.
I want to avoid the awkward goodnight. And it will be awkward. I’ve never slept in here. I need to find a place soon, so we can get back to normal. I stop breathing when the footsteps stop because they didn’t pass by my room.
“Go on,” I hear him say quietly and two seconds later, Lily jumps onto my bed. That’s when I hear him walking away to his room. My eyes flutter closed, and soon, I’m asleep.
Brittany texted me that she was working late tonight, so I hung out with Ben some after work. He’s still as smitten with Melissa as he was when he met her. I probably would’ve taunted and poked fun at him more, but ever since my therapy appointment, where Mrs. Kirk seemed mildly pessimistic and optimistic at the same time about my current living situations, my mood has been dropping steadily like the ball in New York on New Year’s Eve.
It’s odd to see Brittany’s car in my driveway when I get home. Looks like out of the two of us, I stayed out later than she did. I grab the to-go box from the restaurant. I figured it would be nice if I brought home some dinner for her since she seemed to have a crazy day at work. I could feel the stress seeping from her message.
When I walk into the house, movement in the living room catches my attention. Lily is standing on the couch, looking at me, wagging her tail. I walk over to see that she was lying with Brittany, who is knocked out on the couch, still in her work clothes. She startles awake when Lily jumps off the couch to come around to see me.
“Hey,” I say when she rolls onto her back and sees me. “Have you eaten yet?” She shakes her head. “Hungry?” Another shake of the head. I walk around, set her plate on the end table, and motion for her to sit up. She does, I sit, and she rests her head in my lap. “How was work?”
“Busy. We’re in the final stages of a project for the company, so it’ll be insane this week. I don’t know how I could’ve forgotten about it.”
My fingers dive into her hair, running through it and playing with it. “You feeling okay, Britt?”
“Yeah.” It’s a half-hearted yeah. “I just needed a little nap after rushing over to drop off my key with the landlord. I was hoping to be out of here by the weekend, but with work being insane, I don’t know how much time I’ll have to look for a place.”
“Don’t stress over it; you can take your time. You stress too much, Britt. I mean, with good reason usually, but still too much.”
She watches Lily jump into the recliner before returning her gaze to me. “I kind of assumed when you said this would be temporary that you’d want me gone as soon as possible. That’s why I was giving you a heads-up that it might take longer than a week.”
I’m never going to get over repeatedly sticking my foot in my mouth when I made the offer for her to stay here. Slouching a little in my seat, I prop my legs up on the coffee table. “You can stay as long as you need to,” I tell her.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Her phone starts ringing from inside her purse on the coffee table, and she reaches over to grab it, settling her head in my lap once she’s rolled onto her side. I keep playing in her hair with one hand while using the other to drag my knuckles up and down her arm. I listen to the one-sided conversation as she talks to her mom, who seems to be recovering fine, and then her dad. Which reminds me that I haven’t talked to my own father lately.
“I’m going to change,” she tells me once she hangs up. I grab the remote to find a movie for us to watch on Netflix. A few minutes later, she reappears, still in her work clothes. “I need to run to the store. Do you need anything?”
I’m confused. Wasn’t she about to change out of her clothes? And now she’s running out of here to go to the store? “No. Do you want me to go for you?”
“Nope,” she quickly answers.
“Want me to ride with you?”
“Nope. I’ll be back.” She starts rushing toward the door.
“Wait a second. What’s going on?”
She huffs and turns to blurt out, “My period started and I can’t find my box of tampons!”
“Oh.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, oh. Are you done questioning me?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
Without another word, she swivels on her heels and leaves, letting the door slam shut behind her. Now, how was I supposed to know that’s what she was being cagey about? I get up and change into some pajama shorts, forgoing my T-shirt. Then, I call my dad.
“Hey, son,” he answers.
“Hey. How are you and Amy?”
“Good. Good. She has me going to salsa classes.” That makes me laugh. “You know as well as I do that Lexington men can’t dance, but I’m going anyway. I’m no good, but she loves it, so…”
“That’s good. She ought to get you out of the house.”
“She does. Every chance she gets. How are things with you?”
“Fine.” I sigh. “It’s been a day. Brittany’s staying here for a bit because she needed to find a new place before her lease was set to renew, but she didn’t find
one in time.”
“How’s that going?”
“Good.”
“But?” he prompts.
Do I need to say this twice in one day? First to my therapist and now to my dad. Maybe I need another opinion. “It’s only been two days and it’s already tempting to ask her to stay forever. It was hard to go to bed last night with her in a different room instead of mine.” I tell him about my issues when I told her she could stay here, which causes Dad to laugh ridiculously at me. “I don’t think we’re quite ready for it, but that doesn’t mean I want it any less.”
Dad clears his throat. “I don’t think you should make any decisions yet. It’s only been two days and y’all are still working things through. She might freak out on you if you ask her now. You don’t want to rush her.”
“Have you been talking to my therapist?”
Dad barks out a laugh. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”
We talk for a little bit longer, and we hang up just as Brittany returns from the store. She gives me a small smile and heads down the hall. Minutes later, she returns in her pjs, grabbing her plate of food and heating it up before coming to sit next to me, throwing her legs into my lap. She nods toward the TV. “What movie are we watching?”
“I haven’t decided. What are you in the mood for?”
“I don’t care. Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.” I scroll and scroll before coming across one that sounds good to me: Black Hawk Down. Brittany doesn’t protest, so I take that as a sign that she’s okay with it. We don’t talk as she eats and then curls into me after setting the empty takeout plate on the coffee table. Lily even comes over to sit with us, resting her head in my lap.
“How was your day?” she asks. “I just realized I never asked. Sorry for being crummy tonight.”
“My day was okay. Work was fine and then I had dinner with Ben. Therapy was good. Mood has been shit half the time, but feeling all right since I came home.” The words all flow with ease, and almost without a second thought. Part of my sessions with Mrs. Kirk has been geared to me talking to my dad about my issues as well. I’m completely confused when Brittany stills. “What?”
Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2) Page 13
