Confess(43)

Because are you, Auburn? It sure feels that way, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt any semblance of hope.

“Where are you going?” she asks me.

Her voice could be used as a form of therapy. I’m convinced of that. She could walk into a room full of severely depressed people and all she would have to do to heal them is open a book and read out loud.

“Target.”

She shoves my shoulder and laughs, and I’m glad to see this side of her is back. She’s hardly laughed all day.

“I don’t mean right now, dummy. I mean Monday. Where are you going? Why are you moving?”

I glance across the street.

I look up at the sky.

I focus on my feet.

I look everywhere but into her eyes, because I don’t want to lie to her again. I’ve already lied to her once today, and I can’t do it again.

I reach out and take her hand in mine. She lets me, and the simple fact that I know she wouldn’t let me hold her hand if she knew the truth makes me regret ever having lied to her in the first place. But the longer I wait to admit the truth, the harder it becomes.

“Auburn, I don’t really want to answer that question, okay?”

I continue to stare at my feet, not wanting her to see in my face that I think she’s crazy for agreeing to spend the weekend with me, because she deserves so much better than what I can give her. I don’t, however, think she deserves better than me. I think she would be perfect for me and I would be perfect for her, but all the bad choices I’ve made in my life are what she doesn’t deserve to be a part of. So until I can figure out how to right all my wrongs, two days with her is all I’m really worthy of. And I know she said we would focus on today first before she decides to spend the entire weekend, but I think we both know that’s bullshit.

She squeezes my hand. “If you aren’t going to tell me why you’re moving away, then I’m not going to tell you why I ended up moving here.”

I was hoping to learn everything there is to know about her this weekend. I had questions lined up and ready to be fired, and now I have to withdraw, because there’s no way in hell I’m telling her about my life. Not right now, anyway.

“That’s fair,” I say, finally able to look at her again.

She smiles and squeezes my hand again, and I can’t f*cking take how beautiful you look right now, Auburn. Free of worry, free of anger, free of guilt. The wind blows a piece of her hair across her mouth and she pulls it away with her fingertips.

I’m going to paint this moment later.

But right now, I’m taking her to Target. For groceries.

Because she’s staying with me.

All weekend.



She’s modest in a lot of areas, but definitely not when it comes to her food. I know she understands that she’ll only be at my house for two days, but she’s grabbed enough food to last two weeks.

I let her, though, because I want this to be the best weekend she’s ever had, and frozen pizza and cereal will definitely help me make that happen.

“I think we’re good.” She’s looking down at the cart, digging through it, making sure she got everything she wanted. “We’ll have to take a cab back to your place, though. We can’t carry all this.”

I turn the cart around right before we hit the checkout line.

“We forgot something,” I say.

“How? We bought the entire store.”

I head in the opposite direction. “Your birthday present.”

I expect her to run up behind me and protest, like most girls would probably do. Instead, she starts clapping. I think she might have just squealed, too. She grabs my arm with both hands and says, “How much can I spend?”

Her excitement reminds me of one of the times my father took Carey and me to Toys “R” Us. Carey was two years older, but our birthdays were only a week apart. Our father used to do things like that, back when Callahan Gentry knew how to be a father. I remember one particular trip; he wanted to turn the present buying into a game. He told us to pick an aisle number and a shelf number, and said we could pick anything we wanted from that particular shelf. Carey went first, and we wound up on the Lego aisle, which was typical of Carey’s good luck. When it was my turn, I didn’t fare so well. My numbers put us on the Barbie aisle and to say I was upset is an understatement. Carey was the type of brother who, when he wasn’t beating me up, was fiercely protective of me. He looked at my father and said, “What if he reversed the numbers? Maybe instead of aisle four and shelf three, we’re supposed to be on shelf four and aisle three.”