Confess(73)
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Let’s get out of here.”
He opens the passenger door for me and shuts it after I climb inside. I exhale, relieved the moment is over but knowing full well that his reaction is a huge red flag.
As if my attention is being summoned, my eyes fall to a car across the parking lot. Owen is standing next to it, staring in my direction. The look on his face makes it apparent that he witnessed everything that just happened. However, from across the parking lot it could have very well looked like a tender moment rather than what it actually was. Which could also explain the pained look on Owen’s face.
He opens his car door just as Trey opens his. I keep my eyes focused on Owen long enough to see him lift a hand to his heart and clench it in a fist. The words he spoke to me about how much he missed his mother and brother replay in my head. “Sometimes I miss them so much, it hurts me right here. It feels like someone is squeezing my heart with the strength of the entire goddamn world.”
Trey pulls out of the parking lot and right before Owen is out of my view, I inconspicuously lift my fist to my own chest. Our eyes remain locked until they can’t anymore.
The incident at the grocery store yesterday wasn’t mentioned again. Trey and AJ spent the entire evening at my house, and Trey acted as if nothing was amiss while he cooked AJ chocolate chip pancakes. In fact, if anything, Trey was in an extra-good mood. I don’t know if it was a front to make up for the anger he expressed in the parking lot or if he really does enjoy spending the time he does with the two of us.
His sudden good mood could have also been because he knew he wouldn’t see me for four days and he didn’t want to leave on bad terms. He left for a conference in San Antonio this morning, and I could tell when he told me good-bye last night that he was uneasy about leaving me. He repeatedly asked me about my schedule and what plans I have for the weekend. Lydia is taking AJ to Pasadena for their weekend visit with her family. If I didn’t have to work today, I would have gone with them.
But I didn’t go, and now here I am with an entire weekend ahead of me and absolutely nothing to do; I think that makes Trey nervous. He obviously has trust issues when it comes to Owen.
Rightfully so. After all, here I am, two hours after Trey has left the city of Dallas, and I’m standing in front of Owen’s studio. Every day that I walk by his studio, I inconspicuously slip a piece of paper in the slot. I’ve left over twenty confessions in the last few weeks. I know he’s flooded with confessions, so there’s no way he would know which ones were mine. But it makes me feel better to leave them. Most of the confessions are trivial things that have nothing to do with him. They usually have to do with AJ, and I never write them in such a way that Owen would be able to tell it was me. I’m sure he would never even guess that I leave them. But it feels like a form of therapy, anyway.
I look down at the confession I just wrote.
I think about you every time he kisses me.
I fold it in two and slip it through the slot, not thinking twice about it. Since that moment between us in the grocery store yesterday, I can still feel him. I want to hear his voice again. I want to see his smile again. I keep telling myself that leaving this confession is just to get closure so I can move ahead with Trey, but I know it’s for purely selfish reasons.
I grab another piece of paper from my purse and quickly scribble words across it.
He’s out of town this weekend.
I slide the paper through the slot without even folding it. As soon as it’s out of my reach, my chest tightens, and I immediately regret what I just wrote. That wasn’t a confession; it was an invitation. One that I need to rescind. Right now. I’m not that girl.
Why did I just do that?
I attempt to slip my fingers through the slot, knowing the paper has fallen to the floor by now. I grab another piece from my purse and write something to follow up the last confession.
Ignore that confession. That wasn’t an invitation. I don’t know why I wrote it.
I slide that piece of paper through the slot and immediately regret that one even more. Now I just look like an idiot. Again, I tear off another piece of paper and write on it, knowing I should somehow get this paper and pen out of my own reach.
You really should have a way for people to retract their confessions, Owen. Like maybe a twenty-second return policy.
I slide that one through the door as well, and shove the paper and pen into my purse.
What have I just done?
I slide the strap of my purse up my shoulder and continue toward the salon. I swear this has to be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. Maybe he won’t read them until Monday, and the weekend will be over.