Ghosted

What’s ridiculous, I think, is how much my chest aches when I look at him. How much my insides coil when I hear his laughter. How much his smile sets my soul on fire. What’s ridiculous is how lost I feel when I think about the future.

Jonathan always was a dreamer, walking around with stars in his eyes. Seeing that light dim as the drugs took over was one of the worst feelings in the world. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I tried and failed every single time.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from it all, it’s that we have to be our own heroes. No guy in a costume is coming to save us. We have to save ourselves.

“I forgive you,” I tell him, not sure if he knows that, but I think he needs to hear it. “And I know you came here to make amends, but you don’t owe me anything. The only person you owe anything to is that little girl in her bedroom. She deserves a father, and you leaving is going to scare her, because she’s gotten used to having you around.”

“Then come with me,” he says. “Both of you.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not? We can be together.”

“I gave up everything to follow you once. I can’t do that again.”

Groaning, he runs his hands down his face. “I don’t know what you want from me, Kennedy.”

“I want you to be the man she needs you to be,” I say. “Because when you tell her you’re coming back, she’s going to believe you.”

He stares at me for a moment before asking, “What about you? Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

He looks surprised by that.

“That’s not the question, though,” I say. “I don’t doubt you’ll be back. The question is whether you’ll still want to be here.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because the real world could never compete with what awaited you out there. And maybe you love me—”

“I do.”

“But love doesn’t give you a free pass to come and go. I can’t live somewhere with a revolving door.”

He sits down on the couch, his shoulders slumping as he covers his face with his hands. “Do you want me to quit acting? Is that what you want?”

“Of course not,” I say. “I’m not asking you to give up your dream. I’m asking you to share it. Your work, it’s important, I know, but she’s important, too. You can’t get caught up and forget she’s sitting at home waiting for you. Because you live in a big, big world now, but hers is very small. A day without you is going to be like a day without the sun. Don’t let her days go dark.”

I get up, because I don’t want to do this right now.

“Is that how I made you feel?” he asks.

“It is.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I say. “It taught me something important.”

“What’s that?”

“Never make someone else the main character in your own story.”

“I’m gonna go to work.”

Jonathan eyes me peculiarly when I say that, stalling in the doorway of the bedroom as he slips on his jacket. “Work.”

“Well, I mean, what used to be my work,” I mumble as I fold the freshly washed uniforms. I woke up this morning to a brand new washer and dryer installed in the apartment, courtesy of the guy currently looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I told him he didn't need to do that, but they were fancy, with their buttons and sounds and settings, so naturally, I spent all day playing with my new toys. Ugh, I’m getting old. “I need to turn these uniforms back in.”

“I can drop them off for you,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got some time before getting Maddie from school.”

He comes toward me and tries to grab the uniforms, but I yank them away, clutching them protectively. “No.”

He laughs, holding up his hands. “Fine, I won’t.”

“It’s just… ugh, I haven’t seen the outside world in a long time. I’m starting to forget what sunshine feels like.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Am not.”

“It’s been two days.”

He’s right. It’s only been about forty-eight hours, but I’m antsy doing nothing. “Still, I can take them myself.”

Jonathan is trying not to laugh. “Kennedy, baby, I think you might be a workaholic.”

“Am not.”

“There are meetings for that, you know,” he says, ignoring my denial. “It helps to channel your energy into something else—reading, maybe writing.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Come here,” he says, reaching for me, pulling me toward the doorway. “Walk outside with me.”

I don’t resist, because that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Go outside. I carry the uniforms along, following him out the front door of the apartment. Just as I’m about to ask him where we’re going, he pulls a set of keys from his jacket pocket and presses a button, making something beep, lights flashing in the parking lot.