Don't Kiss the Bride

Her half of the money has given her exactly what she’s always wanted. What I was trying to give her from the beginning.

Freedom.

A safe place to live.

Medical care.

She doesn’t need my help anymore. She can have all that without me. But I’m still struggling big time. With the age difference. With not wanting her to go. With not knowing what to do or say. With being afraid of loving her—then losing her someday.

“So, you’re done with school?” I ask.

She sits on her reading chair in the corner to pull off her shoes, and looks up at me. “Yes. Today was my last day.”

I feel like this is my fault, too. I can see her grandfather looking down at us in disappointment, pointing a finger at me.

“I wish you’d talked to me before you went and did this.”

She sighs. “Jude, it’s done. I graduated. I get a diploma. It’s no big deal, lots of kids do it. I just couldn’t deal with the constant shit from Paige and her little yappy dogs bullying me all day long. You were cool and popular in high school; you have no idea what it’s like. The anxiety of it all was making me physically sicker.”

I’ve noticed her taking more of the antacids, supplements, and anxiety pills. There’s been extra visits to her therapist and dietician. She spends more time alone in her room.

It’s been ripping my heart out.

The whole “set the person you love free” thing has weighed heavily on my mind.

I don’t want her to stay here—in this town, in this relationship—for me. I want her to stay because everything here is what she wants. It can’t just be for me. I want her to feel fulfilled in every way—in love, in life, in whatever career she chooses.

I want her to have all the things a young girl should have, not just in life, but in a relationship. Magical dates, an engagement, a real wedding.

She didn’t get any of that with me.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

She throws her hands up. “Jump start my life, I guess? I’m going to take some online photography, marketing, and photojournalism classes. And I’ve decided to go visit my dad. I’m driving out to see him tomorrow. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying—a week, maybe a month. I’m taking Gus with me. Is it okay if I leave my things here until I get back? Then I’ll look for a studio apartment and decide what I want to do next. I’m still thinking about my RV.”

I feel like she just hit me with a freight train with all her plans.

And she’s leaving tomorrow.

I nod, despite the fact that the moving out and moving on part is shredding my guts. “That all sounds great. I’m proud of you. You can leave your stuff here as long as you need to. There’s no rush.”

She huffs and pushes her hair out of her face, clearly taking my response as a sign I want her to go.

“I’d rather just get everything taken care of as soon as I can,” she says.

I watch her pull two big suitcases out of her closet. She must have bought them in the past few days, because she didn’t have them when she moved in.

“Where does your dad live?”

“He’s in Connecticut.”

I assumed he lived nearby, not almost three hours away.

“Are you okay with driving that far by yourself?”

She raises her chin with confidence I’m not really sure she feels. “It’s not that far, I’ll be fine. I’m renting a car so I don’t put a bunch of miles on your car. When I get back to town, I want my Corvette back.”

Uh oh.

“Are you staying in a hotel, or with him?”

She takes some shirts out of her dresser and lays them in the open suitcase. “I’m going to stay at his house. They have four bedrooms.”

I swallow and try not to let my voice sound as worried as I feel. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“He’s my father, Jude. He’s remarried. I did a video chat with him and his new wife. They both seem really nice and surprisingly normal, which is what I need right now.”

I’m afraid she’s running away. A few weeks ago, she was leery of her father, and unsure if she even wanted to talk to him again. Now she’s going to stay with him for an indefinite amount of time, and she’s acting all nonchalant about it—like it’s no big deal—when I know damn well it is.

“Can Megan go with you? So you’re not alone?”

“She can’t, she has school. And I’m not afraid to go alone.”

“I didn’t say you were afraid, it’s a long drive, and you haven’t seen him in a long time. I want you to be careful.”

“I will.”

I look away as she bends over to empty out her bottom dresser drawer.