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“Miles.” “They left, Daphne.” “Left?”
“Who?”
“Your dad and Starfire. They got a last-minute invitation to meet some fr...
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I glance toward my phone. It’s on the desk, face up. No new messages. No explanation. Of course there isn’t. There never is. The explanation is implied: something better came along. There is no reason for me to feel surprised. There is ev...
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In the end, it was relatively easy to let go of Peter, to accept his actions as proof of the truth: that our relationship, our life together, his feelings for me were never quite what I’d thought they were. And I stopped longing for him when I accepted this, because how could I miss someone who didn’t exist? So why can’t I seem to do the same thing with my father? Why can’t I stop missing the dad I never had? Why is he this constant dull ache in my heart? I knew he wouldn’t change. But a part of me kept hoping I had changed enough that he couldn’t hurt me, or that this new iteration of me
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At least this time, I was the one to say goodbye first.
What is there to think about? My dad is exactly who he’s always been, and I’m who I’ve always been too. For just one night, I’d like to pretend. I’d like to be someone else. Not the uptight one, or the damaged one, or the one who gets left. Not the one waiting, or poring over Dad’s note like it’s an old treasure map and if I can just interpret the faded scribbles, everything will make sense.
“You always assume I’m being so selfless. Like it hasn’t occurred to you I might want to hang out with you. So when you turn me down, I have to figure out if you just don’t feel the same way, or if you think you’re doing me some kind of favor. And I never can.”
“This,”
“is my favorite beach.”
Like lying on a quilt in the yard of our old house, the one we shared with Dad, on a summer day, legs tickling as a roly-poly climbed over the back of my calf. Like being tucked back in the library stacks with no one around and a good selection.
Kissing him is so different now that I know him. Now I understand that the breezy, carefree Miles I first met is only his topmost layer, that his nonchalant way of moving through the world is a product of self-control, but beneath that surface, he wants. The last bite of cheesecake. The final sip of wine. The bracing cool of the lake. To be kissed. To be held. To be protected. He wants it all, even the things he’d never let himself ask for, or won’t let himself have.
“Because you saw it. And it makes me feel pathetic. Even more so because the truth is, if he turned around and came right back here, I’d be thrilled. I’d forgive him again and again, just hoping that eventually I’d actually mean something to him. I’d call and beg him to come back, if I thought there was a chance he’d say yes. But I can’t, because I know he won’t. And I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want him to prove that I’m . . .” I’m trying to find alternate words. Because just saying these feels like codifying the truth into existence.
“That I’m not worth it.”
“A part of me is just waiting,”
“for the moment when you see whatever it is that drives people away. And I don’t want that. I don’t want you to stop wanting me around. I think it might break my heart to be someone you don’t like.”
“Because you see him,”
“And he can’t stand it. And Peter’s the same shit with a different outfit, so bored with himself he convinced himself that being with someone like Petra would turn him into someone else, without, like, having to be brave enough to try acid.” “He was bored with me, Miles,” I say. “If it was about you,” he says, “he could’ve ended it. Instead he blew up his life. That’s about him. I’ve been that guy, a dozen times, with a dozen people I didn’t deserve. It’s easy to be loved by the ones who’ve never seen you fuck up. The ones you’ve never had to apologize to, and who still think all your ‘quirks’
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“You’re worth it, Daphne,”
“I do want all those parts of you.”
“Good,”
“They want yo...
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I knew being with him like this would be good, and fun, and maybe even funny, but I’m surprised how my chest keeps twinging like my feelings have too much weight, and my rib cage might crack under them. I keep catching myself just before the words can tip over my lips: I love you. It’s too soon. It’s too complicated. For once, I don’t want to be anywhere but in this moment, not thinking about what it all means or where it might go, and he makes that easy, this sunlit man.
Things come up. We don’t owe each other anything, I tell myself. We made no promises. But the truth is, Miles made me feel so safe, and now I feel completely discarded. This is what you get, a voice taunts in my mind. When you make all the same mistakes again and again.
When you choose the wrong people to trust and let down the right ones. When you let someone in who’s told you in every conceivable way not to rely on them. Trust people’s actions, not their words. Don’t love anyone who isn’t ready to love you back. Let go of the people who don’t hold on to you. Don’t wait on people who don’t hurry for you.
not. I told myself I didn’t want to get her hopes up, but the truth is, I don’t want to get mine any higher than they already are.
It doesn’t feel good to hurt him. Because truthfully, I don’t feel hurt by him right now. Wronged? Sure. Hurt? No. He’s not capable of that anymore.
The life he’s describing—it isn’t one I want. It’s right in a general sense, and all wrong in the particulars. A steady partner. A family. Good friends to take trips and share boozy brunches and throw Halloween parties with. A home. But I don’t want Peter’s too-big house, whose mortgage doesn’t have my name on it. And I don’t want Peter’s friends, who don’t care about me.
And as much as I’d dreamed of being a part of Peter’s tight-knit family, I realize now I’d also never cried in front of them, never complained about work or opened up about how hard I found it to trust new people. I’d never even used a curse word in front of them. Their perfection hadn’t drawn me in—it had intimidated me. I spent our whole relationship auditioning, the same way I always feel when I’m with Dad, praying I’m doing enough to make the cut. And I’m not sure why I wasted all that time and energy, because when I think about family—that thing I’d always longed for—it’s never been a
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My life, five months ago, was picture perfect, but it wasn’t the picture I wanted. And I don’t want him. I’m totally over him.
Then he starts toward the door. My hosting gene kicks in and I follow, walk him out of my home and life.
I don’t want to be a part of the wrong we. I’d rather be on my own, even if it hurts right now. Someday I’ll be okay, someday.
“I panicked,” he says. There it is. I’m still the woman with too many expectations, and Miles is the guy who panics when they’re set on him.
Something came up. A friend. Something better. Someone better.
And it shouldn’t matter, the same way whatever Dad wrote in that note doesn’t make a difference. Miles telling me he ditched me for Petra won’t change anything. But I want him to say it. I want to push as hard as possible against all the bruises in my heart, until it changes me. Until I learn to stop fucking everything up.
Caught up. There will always be a Petra. Someone more interesting, someone more fun, someone who needs less, or offers more.
“And you did panic. Even though you didn’t want to. And I did expect something, even though I tried not to.” “Good!” he half shouts. “Expect something! You want to put me on a hook? Put me on the hook. I freaked out, Daphne, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
“How is that a response to what I just said? I just told you I love you, Daphne.” “And I’m telling you no.” I undo my seat belt with trembling hands. “You don’t get to say that to me. You don’t get to disappear, and then show up and buy me fucking fudge and pick me up from work, and tell me you love me—” “I do love you,”
“You can’t just throw that out there like it makes everything better. I didn’t need an I love you or a box of fudge or whatever big plan you had to make it up to me. I don’t even like surprises!
None of that stuff matters when you don’t show up for the little things, and if you l...
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“You know the worst part?”
“I wasn’t even worried when I walked out of work and you weren’t there. I didn’t worry for the first hour. And when I did, it was for you. That’s how much I trusted you.”
A Realtor selling a couple on the life they could have there. The late nights binge-watching The X-Files on the couch they picked out together, the early mornings making toast while they’re still too tired to speak, the kids who will earn their first scars in the backyard and badly practice instruments at inconvenient times, and the way their favorite candle’s scent will gradually infuse the walls so that every time they come back from a trip, exhausted, and dump their bags inside the door, they’ll smell that they’re where they belong. All those moments throughout the days, weeks, months that
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“It does.” Tears well in my eyes. “It sucks so much.”
“You deserve a better dad. I wish I could give that to you.” “You did.” I wipe my eyes dry, but my voice is tearier than ever. “You’ve always been my mom and my dad. And my best friend. You’ve always been absolutely everything for me.”
“I was just so scared I couldn’t really do it on my own,” she goes on.
“And so many decisions I made were based on the fear of what could go wrong, instead of my hopes for what might go right. Every time that fear got tripped, I picked you up and moved you away, rather than facing the possibility of discomfort. I never took any chances.”
“Honey.” She laughs. “I’m a cynic. And a cynic is a romantic who’s too scared to hope.”
“You, my girl, are whoever you decide to be. But I hope you always keep some piece of that girl who sat by the window, hoping for the best. Life’s short enough without us talking ourselves out of hope and trying to dodge every bad feeling. Sometimes you have to push through the discomfort, instead of running.”
There’s a sadness to this space that I didn’t expect. It feels like a place that used to be home. I hope it can be again. Ashleigh deserves that.
