I ate all of his pancakes, pinched him, and he still paid for them. I almost felt bad for behaving like a teenager. Almost.

I hoped his arm didn’t bruise, only because I didn’t want to see it as a reminder of being an asshole, of course. Not that he didn’t deserve it. He did. I knew he was getting ready to give some type of speech when he called me a “smart girl”. I didn’t feel like listening to one, so I took his food…silverware…and coffee. He didn’t want them anyway.

“Girl, you really ate that poor man’s food, didn’t you?” Sam said, loading dirty dishes into the rack as he shook his head in disbelief, and a small laugh left his otherwise composed body. He wasn’t asking; he knew very well I had. Before sliding the plate into the washer, he laughed again and then pulled the silver lever down to start the cycle. Steam and hot water shot out from around the sides as the washer went to work.

“I did. But, Sam, he’s a dick,” I added, breaking the lettuce apart and starting to cut cucumbers, needing something to keep my hands busy. Talking out loud about what happened made me question my actions.

“Might be, but you spend a good deal of your time treating him the same, Sug.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “One might question why you are putting so much effort into someone you think is a dick.”

I opened my mouth to argue with him, but he was right and I knew it, so I didn’t argue.

“The truth’s the truth,” he sang and swayed his hips as he held his broad hands out for me.

“Just because it’s the truth doesn’t mean I like it,” I whispered and danced to the song he hummed. All the frustration I felt today melted as I closed my eyelids and laid my head on Sam’s shoulder.

“I know, Sug. I know.”

Sam always knew when I was approaching my breaking point, sometimes even before I did. He usually danced with me, or at the very least gave me a hug and sang or hummed. He had a beautiful voice. Pursuing music to make a living instead of owning a diner could have come easily to him, and it almost did. In fact, he told me sometime ago music had been the one thing that brought Lorene to him. He was touring the U.S. singing the blues, and she was at one of his shows. When I asked him what happened, he simply said, “Love won. It pulled me from the road and brought us to Blackwell.”

I was glad it did.

* * *

Warming up the plate of leftovers of today’s gumbo, I couldn’t stop my curiosity from wandering to him when I pulled a fork out of the drawer and held onto it with my lips. My first instinct was to be annoyed, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t keep from smiling. Thinking of his frustration as he swatted the fork of pancakes away from my mouth made me giggle. Even if I was pissed off at the time, after Sam pointed out I was being as much of a dick as the man who’d become the bane of my existence was, my feelings of hate seemed to diminish…some.

I still hated him.

He was still an awful person.

I just didn’t hate him as much.

For three peaceful days he hadn’t returned to the diner. It was a good thing I didn’t miss people. It was an even better thing I didn’t miss him.

Perhaps reality finally smacked him in the face and he finally figured out he shouldn’t keep being a dick to people, leaving him no choice but to move on with his life. It was a good thing, too. Playing his games were getting exhausting.

Curling up on the couch with my bowl of food, I flipped on the TV and turned the volume down, after taking a few bites, not interested in what was on the screen. The only reason I turned it on was for background noise. Getting lost in my thoughts, the events of the day replayed in my head, reminding me of the energy and time I’d wasted on him alone. I blew out an exasperated breath and picked my phone up to check Mom’s messages.

Mom: I wish you would answer. Just once. I really needed you today.

Mom: Today was hard.

Mom: I miss them, too, ya know?

Me: I’m sorry. I miss you, too.

I typed my response, but never hit the send button. Instead, I erased each letter and didn’t reply. Mom and Jaxson hurt, too. One of my biggest regrets would always be the pain I knew I caused them by leaving.

Each inch of tape spread across the top of a box took away my breath, until eventually I found myself fighting for air. It was as if sealing them meant I was giving up on Noah. On the life we’d built together.

As Jaxson loaded the last of the boxes marked “Noah” into the back of Dad’s pickup, my palm flattened against my chest as reality suffocated me and became more than I could handle. I loved Mom and Jaxson so much, but moving back in with them felt as though I was betraying Noah. This was our home. I didn’t want to store his things in the attic for safekeeping. Instead, I wanted to rip open every damn box and string his toys throughout the apartment as he had them. All of this felt wrong. I didn’t know how to deal with it. Any time I touched a box or a doorknob, memories of Noah flooded my mind and I got lost in the past again.

I was lost. Although Mom and Jaxson, people I loved, were here moving around me, I didn’t feel like I even existed. As if my body was present, but my mind had fled. I was going through the motions, but not giving into the emotions required in this particular situation.

Mom’s fingers tightened around my side as she pulled me to her. “It’s time,” she whispered in a soft tone and forced a smile. “We’ll be right back.”

“I love you all,” I admitted to them as I closed the door after setting a box onto Jaxson’s lap.

Tears of regret stung my eyes as they trickled from my ducts and down my face. I wasn’t ready to forget us. I missed him so much it hurt to breathe. Each breath I took was a reminder of how I failed Noah. Every day of our lives I’d promised him forever and always, on some days multiple times. I’d promised to protect him. Both were now lies. I didn’t protect him any more than I had my dad, and our forever was much shorter than I had ever imagined.

Running my finger up the doorframe, I carefully let my fingertip rise and fall over the grooves I’d carved into the molding to mark Noah’s growth over the years. When I made the first indention into the wood, I knew I wouldn’t get my security deposit back, but I didn’t care then, and I sure as hell didn’t care now.

I wasn’t ready to let go. Pulling my keys from my pocket, I rammed the end of the car key behind the molding and pried it away from the wall, paneling nails and all. I wasn’t going to take anything else, other than this and enough clothes for a week. As fast as possible, I shoved an armful of clothes into a duffle bag and slipped the pair of flip-flops by the door onto my feet, knowing I didn’t have time to look for something more suitable for running.

“Forever and always,” I cried and shook my head, hating how stupidly naïve I was to believe that statement. I locked the door, slipped the apartment key off the ring, and dropped it into the mailbox beside the door. I knew Mom and Jaxson would hate me for leaving, but I couldn’t stay. I didn’t know how to.