“My turn.” I answered his question; he knows the rules. He can only ask for clarification on his next turn. “Tell me about this morning’s phone call.”
His annoyance makes me regret the question—but only a little bit. As concerned as he is about me, I’m just as worried about him. “She . . .” He clears his throat. “Becca somehow got ahold of a phone again and rang me to see why I hadn’t been over today.”
Gods. I try to hold back the slam of pity that crashes into me, but it’s impossible. “Will—”
But he gives as good as he gets. “Tell me why you’re so upset about Tibet. Be honest.”
I sigh and set my fork down. I practically have to tear the words out of my throat. “Tibet reminds me of Nepal, since they’re neighboring regions.” Confusion fills his eyes, so I quickly counter with, “Tell me how you felt when you talked to her.”
“How do you think I felt? Like I was fucking living through all of that shite once more.” He doesn’t have to clarify, but miraculously, he does. “The Becca I was talking to this morning was the one I stupidly planned on spending my life with. She was lucid. Confused, unsure of what happened over the last year, but she . . .” He shakes his head. “I very nearly bought a ticket to Glasgow on the spot.”
I reclaim my fork back up and try to pretend that Will isn’t baring his soul to me, because I know that’s the only way he’ll get through the next hour, let alone night. But I’m worried about him, so I gently press on. “Why didn’t you?”
“Tell me why Nepal, via Tibet, upsets you.”
I cut my pancakes into neat little triangles. “Nepal reminds me of somebody.”
His eyebrows lift and then drop lower into a vee. “Somebody.”
“Tell me what stopped you from flying to Glasgow.”
He yanks the griddle off the burner. “Other than the money it would cost? Because, no matter how lucid Becca was this morning, it will never be permanent. The girl I loved is gone forever. Was gone even before . . .” He turns away from me and busies himself with piling pancakes on his plate. And then he laughs, so very bitterly. “Jesus. You think after a year and a half I’d be able to let it all go, right? She fucking shagged my best mate behind my back, even as she was planning on moving out here to be with me. Was going to have his baby, possibly even pass it off as mine. And then they got in that bloody car crash, and I had to learn about everything they’ve done afterward from his and her parents, when apologies and explanations mean shite.” He tosses his spatula on the counter.
I get up and go over to where he is, laying a hand against his shoulder. His breath is shallow as he continues softly, tugging on his ear, “That wanker got off easy when he died.”
But Becca didn’t. Becca has severe brain damage and is confined to a wheelchair and a ventilator for the rest of her life back in Scotland. Most days she doesn’t know who she is or where she is, and others . . . others she remembers Will and what they had, and always finds ways to bring that ghost home to him. He struggles so hard to forgive her, to let go of what could have been, but even for somebody as strong as him, it’s asking a lot.
Although my natural inclination is to clam up, I know it must have been tough for Will to just let that all out. So I lean my head against his back and admit to him something I haven’t done before. “Nepal reminds me of somebody I love.” I swallow the growing lump in my throat. Even now, four months in, it’s incredibly difficult to talk about Jonah. “I was sad today because when I heard some people talking in the diner about Tibet, I thought of this person, and of what Nepal means to him.” I take a deep breath and count to ten, because saying this next part is like stabbing myself in the gut. “I miss him so much it makes it hard to breathe. Sometimes it’s hard to move on, when memories refuse to let you go.”
Will’s voice reverberates through me when he quietly asks, “Did he die?”
I tell Will a lot—but I cannot talk anymore about Jonah with him. With anyone, really. All he knows is that love has broken me, too, and that I’m in no place to even contemplate a relationship. So much of me wants to open the floodgates, though, let Will into the dark parts of my heart like he’s slowly been letting me in, and someday I will do just that. It’s just . . . I need more time.
I shake my head against his back. There is no more Tell Me for the rest of the night.
Over the last five months, I’ve learned to live in constant pain. It’s similar to a perpetual migraine, only it affects my entire body. My chest aches, my lungs are tight, my joints throb, and I’m continuously light-headed. It has nothing to do with my workload, which, in the beginning kicked my ass but now only leaves my feet tired at the end of a shift.