His face was long, eyes sad and apologetic. "I'm sorry, Elliot. You're right. It's none of my business. I think … I think I just wanted to know that you had fight in you, and that if you wanted to use it, you could."
"Thank you." My heart hammered against my ribs at the confrontation. We started walking again, and I felt strange, better, stronger for having spoken up.
I wondered over why I'd said it, a brash rush of emotion that I'd normally have felt and let pass through me. Was it because he wasn't one of the alleged oppressors? He was unaffiliated, safe. I wasn't blind to his points — in fact, they were completely valid, things I'd considered myself so many times over the course of my life.
Did my family weaken me? Possibly. Did they take advantage of me? Definitely. But I imagined arguing with Mary, and the thought held no promise. She would never change — none of them would. It was one thing to defend my own choices to someone sort of unaffiliated, like Jack. It was another thing entirely to convince Mary she'd done something to hurt me — she'd only blame me, tell me I was wrong for feeling the way I did. It was pointless, a waste of energy for an affirmation I didn't need.
The thought crossed my mind to leave, to remove myself from the situation entirely, because I knew it was toxic, whether I let it get to me or not. But imagining walking away from the kids set my heart on fire. Who would they turn to? Who would tuck them in and sing songs in the bathtub with them? I couldn't leave them with Mary alone to show them love, and Charlie would try, but he couldn't devote the time to them that I could. That was, if I even had somewhere to go, which I didn't.
And just like that, I was reminded of the corner I'd painted myself into.
Jack and I chatted a little before reaching the school, and we parted ways with my promise to text him to let him know how the camp-in went. And once the kids were safely in school, I was alone with my thoughts once again as I walked the blocks to the bookstore.
I smiled at the familiarity of the store when I walked through. An old Shins album played over the speakers, and I headed to the back to put my things away, stopping in the office for my register drawer. Cam smiled up at me from her desk.
"Hey, Elliot. How's everything going?"
"Good, thank you."
She handed me the plastic drawer full of money to count. "And your friend's dad?"
"He's well. We're throwing him a camping party tonight," I said with a smile, imagining the look on his face when he saw what we'd done. "Roasted marshmallows and stars and everything."
Cam smiled, propping her head on her hand. "That is a stellar idea."
I chuckled at the pun. "Thank you. It should be fun."
"Well, once things settle down, I'm going to hound you until you come to a singles night. The next one is an Austen party. We're having a costume contest and everything." She beamed, and I chuckled.
"I'm sure there will be hordes of men at this Jane Austen costume party."
"That's why it's also Viscount's Night — guys drink free before ten if they come in costume."
"That is genius."
"What can I say," she said theatrically, shaking her head like it was her burden. "This is my gift to the world. Well, this and getting people to tell me their secrets. Just yesterday I learned way more about Beau's foot fetish than I ever needed to know."
"Oh, my God," I said with a laugh.
"So, you're coming to the next one." She eyeballed me over the top of her glasses.
I sighed and turned my attention to the cash drawer. "We'll see."
She watched me for a second, assessing me. "Question."
"Answer."
"Who broke your heart?"
I blinked at her.
She waved a hand. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that. I'm also notorious for asking questions I don't need the answers to. It's just that I've been hurt too, and it took me a lot to get past it. I was … resistant to relationships for a long time, so … I get it. I mean, if that's what happened to you." Her hand waved again. "I'm rambling."
"It's okay. You're right," I said, surprising myself, still brave from finding my voice with Jack. "I was engaged a long time ago."
Her eyes widened. "I had no idea."
I nodded. "We were young, in high school, and my father didn't approve because of our age. We broke up when he left for the Army, and I didn't see him for a long time. Until just last week, actually. He's my best friend's brother. It's his father who's dying."
Her mouth popped open in surprise, and she covered it with her hand. "Oh, Elliot."
"And I think I'm still in love with him." The words were quiet, and I didn't know why I said them, the things I never said aloud. But she was safe in the sense that she was completely separate, unaffected, with only my best interest at heart. It hurt just as badly as I thought it would to speak the words, but I found comfort in the admission, an acknowledgement.
"Does he know?"
"I don't know. But it doesn't matter. There's just too much between us. Pain. Time. Change."
"Does he love you?"
I shook my head, my heart aching. "I can't know. Sometimes I think he does, and others …"
Her brows pinched together with sadness. "Elliot, that's …"
I tried to smile. "Honestly, it's all right. I wish things were different, but they're not."
She watched me for a beat. "You should talk to him."
A small laugh passed my lips. "I wrote him hundreds of letters when he left, and he never responded. That silence was my answer. And when we've tried to talk since he's been back, it's only devolved and dissolved into us hurting each other. It's over and done, years ago."