“Painful, but I was expecting it. Just waiting to hear from the rector.”
“You think they’ll let you stay?” he asks. “Do you want to stay?”
“Staying would be hypocritical of me.”
“So, what will you do if they kick you out?”
“I don’t know.” I’ve asked myself the same question, but I’ve yet to come up with an answer.
I turn my head and glance out the window again. It’s almost five o’clock in the evening and it’s already dark outside. The blinds have already been drawn halfway down, so it’s difficult to see inside.
“Sol?” Ivan’s voice snaps me out of my mind’s wanderings.
“Did you say something?” I ask.
“Where are you?” he asks curiously.
“I’m, um, well . . .” I clear my throat nervously. Can he guess where I am? “Just driving home to Portland.”
“I can’t hear any driving sounds.” He pauses, then says, “The only time you sound like a nervous . . . wait, are you where I think you are?”
“Where is he?” I hear MJ ask, and Ivan quickly says, “Nowhere, beautiful.”
There’s movement on the other side of the line, followed by muffled voices. A few moments later, MJ comes on the phone.
“Sol, hey. You doing well?”
“Yeah—”
“Good. Now do me a favor. Remember that I respect you and like you a lot, but just leave Grace alone, okay? You two are like magnets that can’t stay away from each other. I know you’re hurting and she’s hurting too. But this back and forth doesn’t help either of you both move on. I was there the first time you two broke up, so, please, just let her go and walk away.”
I run my hand over my beanie and grip my neck to ease the tension there. Let her go. Those words send pain rippling all over my body. Evidently, MJ doesn’t understand the depth of my feelings for Grace.
“You still there?” she asks.
“Yeah. Okay,” I say. “I’ll walk away.” For now.
Clearly satisfied, she hands the phone back to Ivan.
“Go home, man, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure,” I mutter.
After the call, I glance one last time at the diner and reach for the key in the ignition. Grace is standing at the door, staring in my direction. I suck in a deep breath and hold it. Can she see me? I’m parked several feet away from the door, plus, it’s dark and my lights are off. I sit frozen, waiting to see what she’ll do.
In the light above the door, I watch her shoulders slump and she turns and shuffles back inside. Finally, I breathe out and wait until my heart rate returns to normal before restarting the truck.
I drive away, my heart telling me to stay and my mind yelling at me to go away. To let her go.
I can’t breathe. I’m locked in the bathroom at the diner, heaving and crying because I’m 95 percent sure Sol’s truck was parked outside.
Before that, I was wiping down the counter when awareness washed over me. The same kind of responsiveness I felt whenever Sol was in my vicinity. Unable to shake it off, I snuck out the door while my mom served a customer several booths away.
I had to grab the doorknob to stop my feet from running to him. I miss him so much. I want to know how he’s doing and if he got in trouble at the seminary. I just want to be with him. Period. And if that was him out there, then why isn’t he at the seminary?
Gosh. I don’t think I can do this. I can’t keep on wishing to see him and then bawling my eyes out when I do. We live in the same freaking town. There’s no way he and I won’t bump into each other.
I need distance. Maybe getting away from Portland will help me to heal and figure these things out.
Who am I without Sol? Who am I really? I mean, I’m my mother’s daughter, conceived from a rape. I don’t even have a father.
The thought slams into me harder and I wrap my arms around my midriff and bend at the waist. I’m not even sure how my thoughts have taken such an abrupt turn. All of a sudden, it’s too much. Mom and I have been going to therapy and I thought I’d accepted who I am. Did being with Sol make it less painful? The fact he accepted me and loved me in spite of how I came into this world makes me sob harder. He was my crutch, and I held onto him like my lifeline.
Who am I, now that Sol is not in the picture?
A knock on the door has me bolting upright and wiping my cheeks.
“Grace? Sweetheart, are you in there?” Mom asks. After telling her about Sol, she’s watched me closer than ever, keeping her worried gaze constantly on me.
I rush to the sink and turn on the tap to muffle my voice. “Yes, Mom. I’ll be out in a minute.”
I splash water on my face, then turn off the water and pat my skin dry with the paper towels. When I walk out, she’s waiting for me, arms crossed on her chest.
She studies me, then reaches out to me like she’s been doing lately. Wordlessly I go, willingly sinking into her embrace. When I catch my breath, I step back and swipe the sleeve of my blouse on my cheeks to dry the wetness there.
“Better?”
I nod, inhaling deeply. “I think I saw him outside, Mom.”
“Sol?” She looks over her shoulder like he’s standing close by. “Did you talk to him?”
I shake my head. “His truck was there. Gosh, I don’t think I can stand seeing him without breaking down. I—I need space. I need to find out who I am, you know?”
She smiles gently at me. “You’re who you’ve always been.”
I shake my head. “I’ve learned so much about myself, but I realize I haven’t processed most of it.”
She seems to catch where I’m going with this, and her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “I thought therapy was helping.”
“I thought so too. But I had Sol and he was like this rock. . . my rock. Anything bad could happen, but as long as I had him. . .”
Mom nods, her expression gentle. “Why didn’t you say something?”
I shrug, not even sure what to say.
“How can I help? Just say the word and I’ll make it work.”
I bite the inside of my lip, letting my mind wander. If I could go far, far away from here, even for a short while, then I’d have the space I need. And I won’t see Sol, as they say—out of sight, out of mind.
“Maybe I could leave Portland for a while? Somewhere far, like, I don’t know, Europe? I’ve never been to Europe. I think traveling would be good for me and it will get my mind off everything. I’ll have time to process my thoughts without pressure, you know?”
Mom’s already shaking her head. “You can do it here, no? Get in a car and go on a trip? I don’t know how I feel about you traveling halfway across the world especially in your current emotional state—” She stops talking and takes a deep breath. “You’re not old enough to travel that far alone.”
“I’m almost nineteen years old. Practically an adult. In some cultures, that’s old enough to be married with seven kids.” She glares at me, jaw clenched. “I need this, Mom. I need to start afresh. Plus, it will be a chance for me to learn about other cultures and meet new people.” I’m ready to beg her if it comes to that. “I have enough money from my savings to cover tickets and a couple of nights at a hostel. Then I’ll get a job or something. They have hundreds of jobs for students over there . . .” My words trail off as I watch her continue to shake her head.