Page 55 of Sunset Catchers

I wish my joy was more potent than my other feelings.

The cloud grows heavier. I hug myself tighter.

“If I did something to upset you, I’m sorry,” Levi suddenly says, breaking the tense silence.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I snap, mooting the reassurance I’d meant to infuse in my reply. I’m just so consumed by my feelings right now, I don’t have the capacity to be mindful of Levi’s. Junie knows exactly which wire to disconnect in my brain to prevent an imminent implosion. I should’ve asked her to print an instructions sheet to bring along.

“Why are you upset?” he asks plainly.

His tone is full of consideration; his eyes searching yet understanding. I wish he would tell me rudely to get a fucking grip. It would be easier if he were annoyed with me. It’s a response I know how to navigate. This carefulness is nauseating.

“Who says I’m upset?” I argue.

“I can take a hint, Win.”

“Cool. Can you also take a freaking hike while you’re at it?”

A muscle in his jaw thicks. My eyeballs sting.

“I need some fresh air.”

Once outside, I drop on the stairs leading down my porch, crossing my arms over my bent knees to rest my forehead on my forearms. I close my lids tightly, trapping moisture.

With every breath, I try and force this heaviness away, but it’s settled on my chest like a heavy, unmovable boulder.

A little while later, the stairs whine under Levi’s weight as he comes to sit beside me, far enough that none of our limbs are touching but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the scent of fresh paint clinging to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” My voice is muffled from leaning against my knees. After a few minutes of silence, a long, heavy sigh slips out of me. My eyes pop open. I turn my head sideways to look at Levi.

“I’m sorry I was rude. I’m a shitty person.”

“You’re not a shitty person, Winnie. You’ve done a shitty thing; it’s not the same. Friends do that sometimes.”

“It’s a mess inside my head right now,” I confess, figuring I owe him that much in the face of his graciousness.

“Maybe I can help you clean it up?”

I straighten up so he can see the full extent of my scowl. I’ve been standoffish with him all morning, and he wants to help me? What kind of species of man is he? Where can I find one for my best friend?

“I’m a pro at cleaning my own mess. I just pull the rug up and sweep everything under.”

“It’s not a very healthy thing to do,” he points out.

“I’m not accepting any feedback on my coping mechanism at this time,” I reply with a sarcastic lift of cheeks.

“Okay, Win.”

I swallowed with difficulty the lump of shame stuck in my throat. Levi genuinely wants to help me. The problem is; I don’t know how to let him do that. I have never been good at accepting a helping hand even if it smoothed down my cheek with empathy and understanding. Especially then.

This burgeoning friendship with Levi is disconcerting. Since Junie is already well versed in my past, I only need to say the words my mother, for her to understand, well, everything.

Levi and I are starting from ground zero.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Ask away.” I am suddenly so exhausted; he could ask me to tell him my whole life story, and I think I would. Just sit here for hours and spill my guts out.