to tell me when you get bad news so that you’re not going through it alone.”
“It’s like applying to universities all over again,” I confess. “I haven’t told you about that, but about two years after high school graduation I decided that I wanted to go to college, so I applied to a bunch of universities all over the country. I was so hopeful; I thought for sure at least one of them would pick me. Then I slowly watched all the rejection letters trickle in. My parents suggested I apply to community colleges instead, because they wouldn’t mind a lower grade point average, but by then I was … I don’t know. Jaded, I guess.”
He doesn’t respond the way I think he will. He doesn’t drill-sergeant me with a list of goals I need to set for myself and carry out, no matter what, no exceptions. He doesn’t tell me I should have tried harder in high school, and paid more attention, or that if I’d been more focused I could have a bachelor’s degree and a great-paying job by now. He doesn’t say I planned my life badly and spent my twenties achieving nothing.
Instead, he asks, “What did you want to study?”
“I don’t know, honestly. I thought I’d figure it out as I went along. Never had a specific major in mind—all I wanted was a workplace I looked forward to driving to every day. A small setting with friendly people, like having another family. Somewhere I fit in.”
His eyes are so warm with understanding that I melt. “Like the Junk Yard.”
“Yeah. I didn’t even care that the pay was crappy. Having fun makes all the difference. Melissa sucked, but I got to hang out with Brandy every day. I liked the atmosphere and … I was comfortable. It was familiar. We got to listen to whatever music we wanted. I loved arranging displays and making the store fun for nonexistent customers. Moving around Toby the raccoon. I’m never going to find a job like that again.”
He doesn’t say Yes, you will. He hugs me tight and lets me sniffle into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I never would’ve made all those cracks about work and college. Shouldn’t have made them, anyway. If there’s any way I can ever help, will you let me?”
“I don’t think there’s any way you can help.”
He heaves a deep breath. Wipes a tear away with his thumb. “I’m here, okay?” He grasps my shoulder and squeezes gently. “These aren’t platitudes. I’m right here. And I want to listen. Whenever you’re sad, I want to hear why. I want to know what you’re feeling, all the time, so I can share those feelings with you.”
I have to shy away from the emotions in his gaze, because my heart is a tight fist in my chest and Nicholas shattering my expectations by being kind and compassionate is constricting it so much that it’s like I’m wearing a corset. I can’t breathe under the heaviness of his gaze. I want to trust that he means this, but I can’t.
Right now he’s sweet and empathetic, but what about a week from now? What if I’m having a bad day and when I tell him about it, I’m not met with this sweet, empathetic variation of Nicholas but the other one? The one who turned distant when issues arose that he didn’t want to face? That Nicholas is going to come back, sooner or later, and he’s going to make me sorry for being this vulnerable with him.
I can’t forget what he’s said in the past. Naomi doesn’t need a job. Don’t punish me for being successful enough to buy a nice vehicle. His bitterness that I held him back from that job offer in Madison. He can apologize a thousand times, but I’ll always wonder if he meant what he said. If he believes in me.
“Whatever you want to do,” he tells me, “I’ll support you.”
My mind flashes to the diner in Tenmouth. The haunted house. I say nothing.
“I’m sorry about my mom.”
“Me, too.”
“And my dad.”
“I’m sorry for your dad and Beatrice.”
This gets a chuckle out of him. “Beatrice. Her favorite daughter, Mom used to call her. It’s a mystery why Heather never comes around.”
“Poor Heather.” Maybe she deserves the maid of honor role after all. I feed the errant thought into a wood chipper, because there won’t be a maid of honor. There won’t be a wedding. Nicholas and I can’t even