“Yes.”
Felix exhaled a slow breath, as if he’d been holding it in. “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other for a while. So we can decide on our own what we want.”
Well, that sounded like the worst fucking idea ever. Which probably meant it was the correct one. “For how long?”
“As long as it takes,” he said. “Whoever is ready first will reach out. Then, with no rush, no expectations on timing, whenever the other person is ready, they’ll respond. And we’ll get together. And talk.” He spoke haltingly, as if he were making up the rules for this breakup or hiatus or whatever the hell it was on the spot. What he was saying made sense, though, and Jo didn’t have any better ideas.
“‘As long as it takes’ is kind of a scary thought.”
“It scares me too,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to rush this. For either of our sakes.”
“I know. I get it.” She wrapped her arms around Felix and buried her face in his chest, leaving tearstains on his shirt. “I’m really going to miss you, gorgeous.”
Felix embraced her, with his arms and his legs. “I’m going to miss you too, cariño.” He rocked them back and forth, balancing on his hips, which took the kind of core strength that Jo could only dream about. Jesus, thinking about Felix’s abs right now was making this a thousand times worse.
“Can we start tomorrow?” she asked, not bothering to keep the desperation out of her voice. “I don’t want to let go of you yet.”
She expected Felix to argue, maybe spout some bullshit about clean breaks, but all he said was, “Okay.”
They stayed on the floor until their muscles cramped up. Slowly, reluctantly, they unwound themselves and helped one another to their feet. Neither of them was in the mood to finish the dinner she’d made, so she shoved the leftovers in the fridge to deal with later. Without discussing it, they drifted into the bedroom. Jo changed into pajamas, and Felix stripped down to his boxer briefs and undershirt.
They climbed into bed together, despite the early hour, and wrapped themselves in each other’s arms again. They didn’t have sex. They didn’t let their hands wander. They didn’t even kiss. They only held each other close, silent and still. And slept.
In the morning, Felix put his pants on, and Jo saw him to the door. She didn’t make him coffee or blow him a kiss and wish him a good day at work. He didn’t say goodbye to Merry or sweep Jo off her feet just to hear her laugh. Instead, she held the door open for him as he wordlessly walked out. At the bottom of the stairs, he looked back, and they exchanged hollow smiles. She shut the door.
Jo managed to hold herself together until she walked into the kitchen. The tray of brownies she’d made sat there on the counter, untouched. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to cut them. She sank to the floor and stared at the wall, silent tears sliding down her face. Her alarm went off in the bedroom, and she let it chime until Merry complained. She went through the motions of feeding him and cleaning his box and then finally picked up her phone.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she tapped a couple of icons and held the phone to her ear. It rang a few times before the call was answered.
“Babe?” came the half-awake voice on the other end. “What’s up? You okay?”
“Aida.” Sobs finally overwhelmed her. She could barely get the words out. “I need you to get on a plane.”
24
Aida arrived around midnight. Jo ran out to her rental car and tackled her as soon as she was on her feet. She blubbered out a thank you and held tight to Aida’s neck. They clung to each other as if it had been years, not weeks, since they’d seen each other.
“Come on, babe, let’s go inside,” Aida finally said.
Jo buried herself in her nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, where she’d wallowed ever since she’d gotten home from the slowest, most painful workday of her life. Right there in the living room, Aida dropped her suitcase, took off her pantsuit, and changed from a flowy turquoise blouse into a ratty T-shirt of Trey’s bearing the faded words “Kidz Can Code 2013.” She didn’t bother with pants.
“Did you eat dinner?” she asked, hands on her hips atop her long, bronze legs. Jo listlessly shook her head, and Aida marched to the kitchen and started poking around.
“I don’t want the pasta,” Jo said.
“Can I eat the pasta?”
“Okay.”
Aida peered into the freezer. “I’m making you chicken nuggets.”
“Okay.”
When their food was heated, Aida brought over plates and glasses of water. She’d added some wilted leftover spinach salad to Jo’s plate. Jo ate that first so she didn’t have to look at it.
Aida wriggled her way under the blankets and propped up her plate on a throw pillow on her lap. “Start from the beginning.”
Jo had told her the basics on the phone, but now she went through everything from the last two days. Aida listened without commentary and scarfed down pasta primavera. Good. Aida could eat the whole damn pan for all Jo cared. She never wanted to eat pasta primavera again.
When Jo was done, Aida was silent for all of half a second. “I told you once that I wouldn’t bring this up again, but fuck that,” she said. “I want you to talk to someone about this.”
Jo grimaced. “I’m talking to you about it.”
“Come on, Jo,” Aida said, rolling her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
She groaned, pulled her comforter over her head, and shoved a chicken nugget into her mouth. “I don’t want someone to criticize me for the last decade of my life, Aida. I know how pathetic I am for putting up with the asshole for so long. I don’t need a professional to tell me that.”
“Babe, you’re not pathetic, and that’s not what therapy is for.” Jo felt Aida’s arms encircle her—blankets, nuggets, and all. “If a therapist does that to you, find a different one.”
She scoffed. “Sure, because quality therapists are growing on trees in Ashville, Kansas.”
“Online visits are a thing. You’re just making excuses. Which means you know I’m right.”
“When’s your flight home again?”
“Fuck you too, babe. Come here.” Aida scrabbled at the blankets until she revealed Jo’s head. She held Jo’s face between her hands, her hazel eyes earnest. “Just because Jeremy criticized you for years doesn’t mean that everyone else will. Not me, not Felix, and not a good therapist. That asshole robbed you of so much joy already. I don’t want the specter of him to haunt you forever.”
