Somewhere Along The Line

18. James

Dad and I are waiting on opposite sides of the driveway when the truck pulls up, a full-size U-Haul riddled with dents. It backs carefully toward the house with a shrill, consistent beep, and then a sturdy guy, looks to be mid-twenties, hops out of the driver’s seat and makes his way over to me.

“Are you Mr. Newhouse?” He glances down at a donation request form and then up to my face.

“Technically, but you’re looking for that Mr. Newhouse.” I point over to Dad whose smaller frame is obscured by the truck.

A second guy leaves the passenger seat and comes around to roll open the back panel, exposing the empty box minus a few moving blankets.

In an hour or two the truck will be full.

My mind launches a game of Tetris to figure out the most efficient way to maximize the space. I’ve never packed a truck like this, but it makes sense to start with the biggest items first. Maybe items that are of uniform shape. I turn to head inside, eager to move smaller items closer to the front door.

“James?” A small, soft voice echoes out of the truck. My head swivels to see Piper climbing down from the cab where she must have been squeezed between the movers.

Piper’s here.

At our house.

In the flesh.

My compartmentalized worlds collide and the dust from the crash clouds my brain, making me dizzy. I blink and blink and blink, expecting she’ll either disappear or I’ll come to my senses and be able to speak.

I can’t conceptualize what’s happening right now.

What is she doing here?

“James? Hey.” Piper gives her customary wave and there’s no denying she’s in my driveway, walking toward me with the same frayed jeans from the day of our errands, plus an oversized Hope First sweatshirt. Her hair is pulled back in a neat bun.

Why is she here?

Flashes of memory pummel my mind as I string together a series of events, each that felt unrelated:

The mailer from a non-profit seeking furniture donations with picture of a mom with a baby on the front.

Piper tells me she works for a non-profit that serves single-parent families. Did she tell me the organization’s name that day at the park? I don’t think so.

I pass the postcard to Dad and tell him to schedule a furniture pick-up when he’s ready.

I attend Piper’s fundraising gala and become acquainted with Hope First.

And now Piper’s here, with volunteers, to pick up the stuff my dad called to donate.

I am the densest person alive for not putting this together. Of course the flier belonged to Hope First.

Of course Piper is here for the donation pick-up.

“James?” She’s standing in front of me now, bobbing her head to try and catch my eyes. The heat from her hand, which she rests gently on mine, draws my attention back to reality.

Piper's here. At the house. Right now.

“Wow, Piper, hey.” Wouldn’t feel right without the ‘wow.’ “I… didn’t know I’d see you today.” Had I known, I wouldn’t be wearing a pair of sweatpants, an old T-shirt, and a jacket from Dad’s closet that is two sizes too small.

“Well, you are aware of where I work…” She tilts back on her heels and glances around. I can tell she’s nervous by the way she rubs her hands up and down on top of her legs.

“Oh, I… I didn’t set this up.” I clear my throat awkwardly, running a hand over my unkempt hair, hoping to tame it. “My dad scheduled the pick-up. I didn’t know it was with Hope First.”

Piper nods, and a wave of disappointment crosses her face before her expression turns neutral. She must’ve thought I set up this appointment to see her, that this was another one of our excuses to keep orbiting each other.

Damn it. I spent the last week pulling away so I wouldn’t hurt her and here she is, hurt regardless.

“Gotcha. I hope it’s not a problem that I’m here?” Piper’s voice is thready and her face flushed, like she’s one second away from running back to the truck to hide.

I want to scoop her up and steal her away to my childhood bedroom, to tell her—and show her—how not a problem this is.

But I don’t.

Because even though the image of her standing in my driveway makes me picture an entire life with her, and even though my heart is practically reaching out of my chest to grasp any future she’ll give me, I can’t do it. Not to her.

“I’m glad you came.”

I summon a tentative smile and pull her in for a hug. If she’s here, she’s here. Might as well make her feel okay about it. I can handle a hug.

Wrong.

Piper’s body folds into mine like every part of her was meant for every part of me. She’s warmth and comfort and desire, familiar and unexpected. Her hair brushes against my jaw, her hands climb up my back, and my body floods with heat.

It’s a mistake, letting myself touch her, but I can’t let go.

“Well, what. do. we. have. here?” Dad’s words match his footsteps as he plods in our direction, a distinct staccato as he emphasizes each syllable.

Startled, Piper pulls away, though I keep a hand loosely at her waist as we turn toward the voice. I take a deep breath in and give a noisy exhale as Dad looks us up and down, lingering on the point of contact between us.

Piper beats me to the punch in responding. “Hi, you must be Mr. Newhouse!” Her face lights up, a smile inching up so high on her cheeks it creates crinkles at the corners of her eyes.

She turns anyone into a friend with that face.

“I’m Piper Paulson, Program Director at Hope First. We are so thankful for your donation today; it’s going to change the lives of a few women we serve. Thank you for thinking of us!”

I interject before Dad can ask questions. “Dad, this is Piper. The woman I was telling you about, the one I met on the train.” A flush of pink creeps up her neck hearing I’ve talked about her with my dad.

“Ah, Piper! What a lovely surprise.” He sticks out a hand and she grabs it eagerly, giving it a firm shake. His other hand comes on top of hers and he keeps it there as he talks. “Jamie didn’t tell me you worked at Hope First. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Well Jamie here…” Piper glances over with a hint of evil in her eyes, relishing the fact that she knows this new nickname, “... isn’t the best at communicating.”

Her words sock me in the gut. She’s not wrong to say them, not after I went radio silent this week.

“... But we’ll forgive him for that.” She shoots me a wink, and the tension winding through my chest relaxes some.

“Sounds about right!” Dad says it with a laugh and Piper joins in as they drop their hands. They are like old pals, these two, sharing this chuckle together. I’m the third party at this moment.

Piper slides out of my grip to swing the tote bag from her shoulder. “Hope it’s okay that I brought you both something.” Her sweet smile deepens further as she pokes around in her bag. My nerves stand at attention because I know what she’s looking for.

“Aren’t we the ones who are giving things to you today?” I joke, trying to slow the rising tide of anxiety that’s crawling up my throat. My palms are getting sweaty. Neither she nor Dad laugh.

Her hand emerges from the tote with two bags, each tied with a ribbon at the top instead of the usual zipper seal. She put extra thought and care into this gift. Dad’s eyes go wide as he sees them before quickly getting misty.

“Are these…” He glances between Piper, the bags, and my expression. “Are these sausage balls?”

“Yep!” Piper nods, looking to me for reassurance I can’t give her. My gaze is trained on Dad whom she turns to next.

“James mentioned your wife used to make them. I figured today might be a hard day for you, donating things she likely picked out for your home. It’s not much, but I hoped these might make it a little bit easier. James’s mom sounded like an absolutely incredible woman.”

Piper shifts on her feet with a small shiver, and while it may be from the October chill, it’s likely because I’m gaping. The expression on her face asks whether this was a good idea. I’m not sure if she means the sausage balls or coming here in the first place.

Dad walks slowly toward her without a word and wraps her in the tightest hug I’ve ever seen. She tucks her head in the nook of his shoulder, a contrast to where she falls against my chest. She meets my eyes, and we linger there as Dad lingers in the hug, surrounded by a silence so full it may collapse under the weight of everything unsaid.

The movers return with the dining table, one of them walking backward until they come across the embrace and prompt its end. Piper and Dad scurry apart to make room as the men walk the table up the ramp of the truck to load it. It’s the table I used to sit at each morning eating mom’s sausage balls and talking about the day’s high school drama—often about a girl and my inability to believe I’m a person worth having.

It’s too much, the juxtaposition of these two women, one gone and one here, tied together only by their care for me (and, I suppose, an affinity for midwestern breakfast).

Grief crashes down my body, as visceral and startling as a cold bucket of water thrashed over my head. It’s the kind of sorrow I haven’t let myself feel in more than a year.

A stinging pain builds behind my eyes and claws at my throat as I consider how much my mom would’ve delighted in Piper. I let my mind consider, for just a moment, the kind of relationship they could’ve had. How much of a pain in my ass they would’ve been together.

How I would have pretended to hate it but would have secretly loved it.

The most gut-wrenching part of grief, I’ve learned, is that you don’t just grieve what you had. You also grieve the moments, the relationships, and the experiences that will never be. Death leaves a trail of present and future loss. There’s always a new moment that’s missing something, missing someone, and sometimes those moments, like this one, knock you straight to the ground.

My only consolation is that Mom must have met Piper, in some alternate dimension, because there’s no other way she’d be standing here with sausage balls. The universe isn’t that kind.

Mom is.

Blinking and squinting, I scrunch up my face to cage in the tears, but it’s futile. They come running, a herd of bulls set free after months in a pen. I wipe my face with my sleeve, or rather, the arm that’s sticking out of Dad’s too-small sleeve, and I duck toward the back of the house, not making eye contact with Piper or Dad who are still watching the movers.

I find the bench that sits at the base of the deck, the one facing the tree with the initials I carved before life got so hard. My head falls between my hands and my hands between my knees as I let gravity pull my tears onto the ground. They split apart at the impact.

I know how that feels.

A hand presses into my shoulder, and I feel the presence of Piper’s body as she approaches me, sits next to me, rubs her fingers back and forth over my neck.

“Hey,” she murmurs.

“Hey,” I return, refusing to look at her. She doesn’t try to catch my eye. She seems content to sit here with me, the same way she did in my car when our conversation turned heavy. Bearing witness, not fixing.

We sit like this for who knows how long, me heaving into my hands and her stroking my back, waiting for me to be ready to talk. A choked “sorry” is all I can muster.

“It’s okay to cry, you know.” She says it kindly, a soft permission I didn’t know I needed. It makes the tears fall faster. I want to rest my head in her lap and let her play with my hair.

I also want her to leave and let me navigate this embarrassing show of emotion alone.

“Thanks, I wasn’t aware,” I reply. My shoulders collapse and I give a tense laugh, but it doesn’t land right; it sounds snarky. It’s my brain’s attempt at pushing her away, at protecting my wildly exposed and tender heart. “Sorry, I just… this is a lot and I’m not sure how to manage it.”

“I can’t imagine. I haven’t lost a parent, but I’m sure it’s impossibly difficult, especially if you were close.” She’s being too sweet. Somehow it makes me feel worse.

“It’s that, obviously,” I peek at her face which is etched with compassion. She is turned toward me, attentive and filled with something like care, maybe love. It guts me. “But it’s…. it’s also you being here.”

Her eyes narrow with concern and she straightens a bit, her hand pausing on my shoulder as I turn my head to hers, my upper body still hunched over my knees. It’s ironic that this position is universal for vomit given the nausea that’s tearing through my core.

“What do you mean?” she whispers, her face falling as she waits for my response. A thread of anger weaves around my grief, and while it’s not justified, I’m mad she’s making me say this out loud.

“It’s too much.” My emotion turns volatile, the energy behind the tears finding a new outlet in my mouth. I sit up and turn toward her, the words barreling out and landing sharply in her lap.

“You can’t come here and give me that fucking smile that drives me fucking crazy and bring my dad breakfast like you’re the damn sunshine after the rain. I don’t need you to take care of me, Piper. You being the way you are—nothing but kindness and optimism—is making this morning harder, and I don’t need any more hard. As you can see, I’ve got plenty.”

“Sorry…I’m… I’m just trying to be helpful,” she says. “You showed up for me ten different ways these past few weeks and I’m trying to return the favor. That’s what friends do. Why is that a problem?”

Her escalation is starting to match my own as her words come faster, her hands gesturing wildly as she speaks.

“Because it makes me want to marry the shit out of you, Piper, and I can’t do that. Is that what you need to hear? That I can’t stand to be close to you anymore because I want you and know I can’t have you?”

I rise from the bench and turn my back to her, not daring to look at her face. My hands find my hair and tug roughly, the pain failing to distract from the ache in my chest.

“I don’t need you to marry me, James!” The location of her voice tells me she’s standing, but I don’t move. “I only need you to talk to me. We don’t have to be anything more than what we’ve been. Can we just be that again? We were good like that. I don’t know what happened that’s making you act like this.”

“ This is why I pulled back. Don’t you get it? This is the person I am—messy, detached, and broken. I’ve spent the last few weeks pretending to be someone I’m not—someone who’s helpful and attentive, someone who doesn’t lie, and who is selfless enough not to mess up your life. I know what you need. I’m never going to be that guy.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I need.” She must be crying now, the way her words are breaking on their way out. “I don’t need you to be someone else. I want you and your mess for me and mine. That’s why I came here—to tell you that. I don’t want to pretend anymore either. I can’t pretend not to care anymore.”

“That’s the problem, P.” I turn around, and the sight of her makes me want to collapse. She looks so small, like a wounded puppy pleading to be loved instead of kicked.

The threat of vomit rises precariously in my throat but I keep talking. “I care too. I care too damn much. I can’t control myself around you, and it puts you in situations that risk everything you’ve built.

“You worked so hard to climb out of the hole fucking Henry Sierra left you in; I won’t let myself throw you back down there. Fuck, even right now you’re supposed to be working and instead, I’ve got you back here dealing with my shit. You deserve someone who won’t lie to spend time with you, who will return your texts, who won’t ask you to cover up their fucking criminal behavior again, and who makes you better at your job, not worse. That’s not me. I can’t add the pain of hurting you on top of the pain I already have. I’m at capacity. I can’t take any more.”

“Damn it, James!” She’s crying hard, and I’m not sure how we got here, exchanging my tears for hers. “You’re hurting me now . Can you just listen to me, please?”

“There’s nothing you can say, Piper. This isn’t about you. It’s about me and how I know this will end if we let it begin. I can’t do that to either of us. That’s it.”

I am such an asshole. I want her to know this is for the best, that I’m being an asshole for her sake. There’s no way she can see it like that. Not right now.

Piper nods and pulls her mouth taut, both lips tucked under her teeth. She wipes the tears from her cheeks and takes a deep inhale, sniffing up the wetness from her nose that threatens to drip.

Without another look, she turns and heads back to the driveway where I pray the movers are finishing up. The thought of her sitting captive in the truck is agonizing. She needs to be beyond my reach before I change my mind.

I sit back down on the bench and the weight of the morning pins me lifeless. I knew better than to let myself develop feelings for her. Instead of heeding the warning, I followed my heart instead of my head. It never works.

This is exactly why I don’t engage—so I can avoid feeling like this and avoid hurting others in the process. This is why I stick to known outcomes, A+B=C, because it keeps everything in my control. Clearly, I make a mess of things when they’re not.

Dad comes around the corner and stops at the sight of me. He’s wearing a mask of empathy, but it doesn’t hide his frustration. Seems I’ve missed the whole load-up between my breakdown about Mom and my breakup with Piper.

My guess, though, is that’s not what he’s frustrated about. I steel myself for the conversation to come.

“What the hell, Jamie?” He’s imposing, standing in front of me, and it’s an interesting reversal, him looking down at me while I sit. Like I’m a kid who’s about to be punished. “Why did Piper just sprint across our yard and dive into the truck? She’s crying, James.”

“It’s not your problem, Dad. It’s fine. She’ll be fine.”

“It’s not fine.” He runs his hand through his hair just like I do when I’m stressed. It would be endearing in another circumstance.

“I don’t know what happened here,” he says, “but I can guess it’s more of the same—you pushing people away who try to get close, you believing they’re better off without you, you hurting them before they can hurt you, before they can leave you like Sydney did. Is that what you want for your life, James? To continue to be alone?”

“What if it is what I want, Dad? I’m not you. I never learned how to love someone and keep their heart safe. Turns out I can’t manage it for a few weeks, much less decades, and even if I could, I don’t want to invest the time and then lose them.

“That whole saying, ‘It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?’ Bullshit. It’s better to be alone by choice than to be abandoned without warning. It’s better to have a cold heart than a broken one. Piper deserves to have someone who can love her well. I can’t do that.”

“You’re not incapable, James, you’re scared. You’re pulling this ‘white knight’ act, pretending you’re saving her from yourself and believing it makes you the good guy. That’s what’s bullshit.”

Dad storms back to the front yard and the silence that’s left is suffocating.

Done. I’m done. The anvil on my chest cannot bear another ounce of anyone’s hurt or disappointment. Not today. Maybe not ever.