Layers(92)

“I can’t endure this pain anymore, Tash,” I exhale with a sob.

“It doesn’t look as though you can,” she says, as she sits next to me on the floor. “It seems that neither of you can, Hales,” she adds, her voice small and cautious. “You need to let me in so I can know how I can help.”

She listens carefully as I tell her in detail about Daniel’s visit.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do because I can’t. It’s not my place. It’s not anybody’s, Hales, but yours.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “What was the main reason you let him go?” she asks, seeking my eyes.

I ponder her question. “Anger and fear,” I answer and elaborate for the benefit of explaining myself, to both of us … “Anger at the way he treated me in that cold and detached way, anger about the fact that he didn’t trust me enough to even confront me, anger because he assumed the worst, though I should be the one person he should trust the most.” My voice cracks as I say it. I take a moment to compose myself, then continue. “Fear at the strong emotions I have for him, and how easily he could hurt me like he did.”

“With what you’ve just said in mind, you need to think hard about what’s more painful. Being hurt by him, since you know he’s not exactly predictable, and no one can guarantee he won’t hurt you again, or plainly being without him.” She rubs her hands against her stretched legs.

“Numb?” I question, noticing her.

“Numb and hurting.”

“Suffering for me. How noble of you, Missy.” I contort my lips trying to smile at her through my immense suffering. She reciprocates with a hug.

“I need to pack for tomorrow,” I say after a while.

“Do you need any help?”

“No thanks, not much to pack anyway; it’s for a short visit.”

“You know, Hales, I think we should have done all this talking at the airport.” She regards me with a faint smile as she gives me her hand to help me stand up.

~~~

Flossing, I think about Tasha’s last comment regarding the airport. There’s something about airports that always calms me down. Over the years we’ve been friends I’ve managed to pass it on to Tasha, to have her embrace my refuge as her own. We’ve sat together for countless hours at terminal arrival halls spilling our guts, talking for hours and mostly watching people reunite.

~~~

Later at night, under the shield of my comforter, I turn to think about the evening’s events and Tasha’s words. There is a raging debate between my heart, which wants Daniel at any cost and my mind, which knows exactly the level of agony he can put me through. The debate ends in a deadlock.





Chapter 39: Home Sweet Home


On the plane to my childhood home I think about the fact that I should pull myself together and act poised for my parents’ sake. I don’t want to them all about being wrecked by heartache. What they don’t know won’t upset them.

They have enough worries with Steven being away. I don’t need to add my sorrow, because I carelessly fell in love with someone my own intuitions warned me to stay away from. They don’t need to know that I’m embracing sorrow as it consumes me.

That is it, Hayley. That’s the last of it. No more obsessing about him. You made up your mind, and now you should go ahead and live with it. You’re going to be home soon.

At the sight of my two loving parents waiting for me, my heart thuds with sheer excitement. I take the final steps toward the arrivals hall.

“Hayley, baby.” My mom’s teary eyes run over me head to toe in adoration right before she pulls me into a warm embrace. Her chubby arms enfold me, surrounding me with her comforting and familiar scent of vanilla and home. As she lets go of me, my father seizes the chance to lift me up for a firm hug.

“You’ve lost weight, baby girl.”

That’s what happens when you live on about ten spoons of Dr. Ian’s miracle medicine and caffeine for almost a week.

“Let me look at you.” He carefully puts me back on the ground. “Everything ok, baby girl?” he asks, looking fairly concerned.

“Of course it is,” I radiate a fake reassuring smile, trying to add a cheerful note to my tone.

“Let her be, Derek.” My mom protects me; I look at her fondly, appreciative.

“Have you heard anything from Steven lately?” I ask, watching them both from the back seat. My mom in a flowery sundress, her soft, golden curls in a half-do, a smile never leaving her face. My dad focuses on the road ahead, serious in a green polo shirt and short cargo khakis, firm hands on the wheel.

My mom turns back to look at me. “There was a short note a couple of weeks ago. Just same ol’ Steven. The minimal amount of words needed to say ‘I’m still alive, please don’t worry’.”

A thin curve takes place on my lips. Yes, that’s a lot like Steven. Expressing his feelings and writing were never his strong suits. Thinking about it I realize I haven’t seen him for far too long and can’t wait to again. It’s nearly a year since he embarked on the military aircraft that took him to a foreign, hostile, country, far away from us.

“Lely, anything special you would like to do while at home?”

“I guess surf and maybe meet up with some people?”