Page 84 of Present Tense

He leans back and puts his legs on the natural wood coffee table. The man loves his wood, plaid, and khaki.

“Bella, you’re only here because Ethan’s in California. You have time to devote to being totally mine again. But it’s fleeting. I want all your time. I’ll share with Ethan, but I can’t be put away until you have time to pull me out and play with me.”

“Did you just make, like, a toy reference?”

“I did. Did it land?”

“Felt forced. Like, overwritten.”

“Fair enough. I may have scripted it over the last month. But you get the point, right?” We both laugh a little. I shift my coffee cup between hands.

“I think so.” I sit forward, and we smile at each other. No matter what happens, the comfort of our friendship won’t fade.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you out of your box. And I didn’t let you into the other buckets. Good Lord, we’re into a lot of mixed-up metaphors. Here’s the crux of it. You gave me such a gift, and I want it back.”

He opens his mouth. I put my hands up like I’m trying to calm him down.

I see my argument, and I’m going to prove it to the lawyer love of my life. I’ve convinced myself I’m not leaving without an open door. Even if he can’t get on board yet. I don’t want to live my life making compromises or being everyone’s dependable one. I’m done being Michael Bluth.

“Eventually, you’ll get on board with the fact I’m yours forever.”

“There’s no doubt in that, but I can’t survive it. There’s no more point. We tried. It didn’t work, and now we need to recognize it’s time to move on. Moving on is the only thing that makes sense. Eventually, our lives can intertwine again; there’s too much history, but for now, no.”

I shake my head and purse my lips at him. Nope. “Look, I’m done with who the hell I was because not only did you remind me of who I want to be, you let me become her. I’m not going back. Genie out. I don’t want to hold anything together by myself anymore. I told my father to fuck off. I didn’t go to him when he called. He’s in the hospital again. The rehab thing is hanging over any hope of recovery from his heart stuff and from being a decent person.”

I continue laying my case out, “I was never really holding anything together. I thought I was. But I didn’t do such a great fucking job at that. I pretended I did, but my family is fractured. My father’s a fucking mess, no matter how hard I try to hold him together. No matter how many times I pick him up and get him stitched back together. My mom lives in a wild world of pretend perfection, plastic ideals, and dancing narwhals. She washes over everything terrible with a VSCO filter. My brother’s happy, yet I keep getting angry that he’s not doing more of the things I volunteered to do with estate planning or trying to keep our father from drinking himself to death. I never even asked him to help, yet I’m mad at him. My marriage or divorce couldn’t be saved simply because I was grasping it with all my might. All these things are like holding saltwater in my hand. It doesn’t matter how fast I keep scooping it up. It still slips away. Ethan and you, Liam—you’re the only ones who don’t care if I’m holding it together. You hold me up.”

“That’s nice to hear, but they’re words, Jillybear. It’s too much. I had a life before you, and I’ll have a life after you. I know how to do that. What we don’t know how to do is have one together.” He sips his coffee and waves to a neighbor as if we’re all perfectly fine out here on the fancy deck only steps from the ocean. It’s so fucking beautiful here; it’s pissing me off that he won’t just get over himself, and we can have a day at the beach. He’s going to make me leave. Damn him.

“I get that. See, I may have my whole life broken into buckets or boxes. Or lines and boundaries. Loving you made everything spill into everything else. Loving you reminded me of who I want to be, not who I’ve turned into. I thought I’d done the same for you.”

“In what way, Bella?”

“You seem to have only one box. One bucket. And you’re terrified to leave it. I pushed you to be the silly boy instead of the scared man.”

He recrosses his feet on the coffee table. He doesn’t look at me. I may have pushed him too far.

I say, “I don’t know if I can do it. I want to try. I want my life to be messy and unorganized. I think I might find joy in the chaos. But I need you with me. Leap with me again. Jump out of your safe zone and come back to me. I will never love anyone the way I love you.”

“Oh, Jillybear. That safe zone has kept me protected. I did leap, and you didn’t catch me. I will never love anyone the way I love you, but I have to try to find someone else that’s not as painfully perfect for me.”

I’m not going to cry in front of him again. But that was quite the harpoon to my entire plan and heart. Jesus. That was rough to hear. I’m a little woozy after taking that direct hit. I keep nodding as if I agree with him. Which I most certainly do not. But I’ll let him retreat. I’ve taken up enough of his time for the moment. I stand, walk to the edge of the deck, and inhale again. I sip my coffee and dream of a moment when this will be my everyday. There’s no fucking way I’m giving up. I saw the packed boxes. He’s thinking about Chicago. I know he is. I just need to let it be on his terms. He needs his pride.

There’s an annoying woman staring at us from her deck next door. Liam stares right back. The decks are super close to each other.

I whisper, “Who is that?”

Liam nods to her. “She can hear you. She hears everything.”

She says, “Florinda Johnson.” She cackles above the din of the ocean.

“Hello, Mrs. Johnson.”

Liam turns to me. “Don’t be nice to her. She’s a horrible old shrew that won’t die and won’t sell.”

She chortles.

I hiss at Liam, “Don’t be rude.”