Page 135 of How To Not Need You

Technically, I’ve completed the purpose of my visit. Jake has not fallen off the verandah. His head remains intact. Both legs appear operational. I could get back in my car, drive home and return to the very successful strategy of ignoring all my problems until my friends inevitably break into my apartment again.

Instead, I follow him outside.

Apparently Tilly isn't the only one making questionable decisions today.

Jake sits on the verandah steps. The step creaks beneath him. I stop. He looks up at me.

“You know, considering the elaborate lie that got me here involved you falling off that thing, you might want to stop tempting fate.”

He looks down at the step. “Good point.”

“Imagine the satisfaction on Tilly’s face if you actually broke your ankle now.”

“She’d never let me forget it.”

“She’d put it on her résumé.”

His mouth twitches. I sit beside him.

Not beside beside him. There’s enough room between us for another person, possibly two if they’re friendly, because apparently my subconscious has decided physical distancing is an appropriate response to emotional distress.

Jake notices but he doesn’t move closer. Which somehow makes it worse. I stare out at the yard instead. The sun is dropping behind the houses and his neighbour’s cat is sitting on the fence watching us.

Great. An audience.

“Don’t judge me,” I mutter.

Jake looks over. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Not you. The cat.”

He follows my gesturing hand to see the cat staring us down from the fence. “That’s Gary.”

I turn slowly. “The cat’s name is Gary?”

“Yup.”

“Of course it is.”

Silence settles again. And there it is. The conversation. Sitting between us like an unpaid bill neither of us wants to open. I wait for Jake to start. He doesn’t for a long time.

Bastard.

He just sits there, elbows on his knees, looking out at his front yard like he’s trying to memorise it. His wet hair is starting to dry in weird directions. The cut on his hand has a small bandage on it now that I didn’t notice before. His shoulders are relaxed in a way that suggests either complete exhaustion or the calm of a man who has decided that whatever happens next, he’s going to let it happen.

I hate how much I’ve missed him.

I hate that sitting next to him on this stupid creaking step feels like coming home to a place I never meant to call home.

The space between us doesn’t change. But I don’t move away from it. Jake still doesn’t say anything.

I wait. Still nothing.

“Are you planning on starting this conversation at some point?”

He looks over at me. “What did you think happened?”

Well.