Funny Feelings (30)

Except, it wasn’t the case when I was with Meyer, or with Hazel. Sometimes not even Marissa.

But especially, above all else, never with Meyer.

Sometimes when I was with him, I would get annoyed that I’d even have to write something down, because I was too busy enjoying myself otherwise. I’d do it anyway, of course, because I knew I’d forget later. But the material that would come to me when I was with Meyer was just stuff that would happen in our conversations, in whatever we were doing. I didn’t have to entirely fabricate anything, with him, ever.

Joe left without saying anything more, and I let him.

He’s only ever late-night texted me once, and he followed it up with an apology text the very next morning.

I never cried over it. At least, not until I realized that I didn’t even feel his absence from my life, which prompted me to truly open up to my therapist, Dr. Deb, for the first time. It was the first time I was sincerely worried about who I was becoming as a person. About my detachment.

I realized that I had been using another human being to meet a need, all while having my heart occupied by another.

“Fee. Did he—he didn’t do something, did he?” Meyer asks, pulling me back to the present, his voice dipping to that deadly tone as he stands up from the car. I shake my head to clear it.

“No. He didn’t. Do anything, I mean. We just grew apart. We broke up over two years ago, Meyer.”

“I knew you broke up. I just… had never asked.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning,” I shrug.

He nods, accepting the answer despite eyeing me strangely.

“Alright, then. You ready for this?”

“For apple picking? Of course. It’s every girl’s wet dream to go apple picking in Fall. The question is are you ready?” I laugh.

“What could go wrong?” he asks, and I can’t help the thought that emerges in response: Famous last words.





12





NOW





“Sometimes the road less traveled is less traveled for a reason.” - Jerry Seinfeld





MEYER


“Closed?!” I ask, and it’s the closest I’ve ever sounded to an appalled teen who’s just been told that there’s no WiFi. “How can you be closed? It’s the height of Fall!”

“Which is exactly why we are closed in the middle of the week on a Wednesday and not on a Saturday, sir. We’re closed for a private party.” The teen manning the gate says with a bored look.

“Meyer, it’s fine. Let’s just go,” Fee says to me soothingly.

I give the kid another frustrated glare-and-sigh before I turn and take Fee’s hand. We held hands for most of the two hour drive here, her sweeping her thumb across my skin occasionally, and while I wouldn’t say it felt natural, it sure as hell felt nice. To me, at least.

She’s silent as we get into the car, though, and as we pull out of the parking lot. I know she’s not disappointed in the loss of apple picking, exactly, but I also feel the weird, strained energy blanketing us.

When we’re together with Hazel, like we were multiple times this week while they practiced for her upcoming recital, things are smooth and easy and normal. Conversation is still fairly easy and normal even when we’re alone, but the air feels heavier, my pulse feels thicker in my veins. I feel like I’m holding my breath too much. I’ll start to catch myself filtering what comes out of my mouth or questioning it more because I want her to like me more. The admiration that I’ve always carried has heated to something that I can’t just veer away from now. It’s making me feel flustered and awkward. Like I’m made of teen angst and gurgling hormones. It’s not exactly unwelcome, I guess. It’s just… precarious. Unsteady.

In essence, this is already starting to feel like it was a bad idea.

Before I let those thoughts take over (and because I’m worried that something similar is rolling through her head too) I peel off the side of the road and onto a dirt path.

“Meyer, what are you doing?” she asks.

“We’re picking some fucking apples, Jones.”

The dust cloud settles around the car, and I turn to Fee’s bewildered face.

I can’t even define why I need this to work so badly, but I need this date to fucking happen. It’s like I can feel the sand sifting through the hourglass on this arrangement, and I want every grain to go un-wasted.

A few too many moments hover in my mind, reminding me of times when something could’ve happened and didn’t.

“It’s just that… we drove all this way and we can just walk into the orchard right here and go, right? Let’s make the best of it?” I offer.

The look on her face melts from bewildered into amused. “Sure. Screw it.”

I grab her hand when we meet in front of the car and we start walking…





“Jesus, Meyer,” she pants “It’s too big.”

“You can take it, Fee. Just one more.”

“I have nothing left. My legs are going to give out,” she keens out a whining sigh.

I halt and blink when the playback hits me. Fee stops short and stands up straight, still panting, and starts to laugh.