He might try and fight me. Although he hasn't tried to change my feelings again, he made it pretty clear that he thinks I need to give Ian another shot. There is no way I can do that, however.
I'll text Ian. He won't try and get me to change my mind. He'll accept my resignation without a fight; I'd put money on it.
I pull out my phone and open my messaging app. My hands shake as I go to start a new message to Ian, for even though I won't be speaking to him or seeing him, I will be communicating with him and the thought overwhelms me. A part of me wants so badly to reach out to him, to hear his voice, feel his touch, look into his beautiful eyes. But another part of me is terrified of him, is terrified of who he is and what he's done.
Taking a few deep breaths, I finally muster the courage to do it.
Ian, I quit.
He doesn't respond right away, and I wonder what he's doing at this moment. Does he even have his phone on him? He often forgets it on his desk in the office. I can't count the times he got pissed about a vendor or someone not getting back to him in a timely manner only to realize his phone was in the office and that they had, in fact, returned his call. I smile briefly at the memory, before my face falls as my phone chimes.
I understand. Good luck Kelli. I'll mail your last check to you.
I stare at the phone. That's it. That's the end of it. No more Ian. No more McGregors. No more Pappy, or Hal or Abby or Tom or Wilson. Hell, I may even come to miss Sean and Ben. Desolation takes hold of me and I curl up on my couch, my phone cradled against my stomach, and wait for sleep to claim me.
******
I get a job at the Coffee Bean down the street from my house. They posted a position the day after I quit McGregors. Seeing as how I was a regular, and had barista experience, the manager hired me on the spot. It is even less money than the pub, but I can't be bothered to actually try at anything right now. It takes all my energy to just make it through the day without crying in public. The thought of trying to impress people, to work hard at learning a new office or retail environment, is more than I can bear.
Instead, I spend my days making lattes and mochas and my nights crying myself to sleep and dreaming of Ian.
A strange switch has occurred. My head is now the one saying I need to stay away; I need to make a clean break. I'm seriously considering moving back to D.C. I've only been gone a couple months, but California isn't working out like I hoped it would. I signed a year lease though, and I certainly don't have enough money to forfeit the lease and then be able to get set up again in a new apartment.
Finances aside, I don't really want to leave. My heart has begun to forgive Ian, has begun yearning to see him again. I miss his eyes so much. I see them behind my eyelids whenever I close my eyes. If it is quiet, I can hear his low, rumbling voice, or a peal of his laughter. They come into my head unbidden and cause my heart to clench and throb painfully. Tears well up behind my eyes and I can think of nothing more than seeing him.
Yesterday I actually walked by McGregors. My heart was pounding in my chest and threatening to escape from my mouth. I was literally terrified, and yet I wasn't able to stop myself from doing it. The desire to see him, to hear him is becoming so strong I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to fight it.
******
I volunteer to work on Thanksgiving. I have nowhere to go or anyone to be with. I actually find my shift a welcomed distraction. However, the cafe closes all too quickly at 5pm, and I have to go home to an empty apartment.
I had spoken earlier to both my mom, sisters, and Rachel. They know something is wrong, but try as they might, I won't talk to them about it. Rachel knows it has to do with Ian, but since I've been steadfast in changing the subject, and threatening to hang up if they kept asking, they all gave up trying to get any information.
I grab a bottle of wine and a bag of Cheetos and hunker down for a Mindy Project marathon. A part of me thinks it is a waste; there's no way I can laugh, so why watch a funny show? But I know if I am to watch anything sad or somber that I'll dissolve into tears and I'm really, really tired of crying.
I make it through the bottle of wine and I lose my ability to focus on the TV. I'm thinking about Ian. The pub's open; we had talked about how the gang, except Jaye, gathers there after dinner every Thanksgiving to have a couple drinks before heading to bed. They all do their respective family things but come together for their own little tradition. Thinking of them all now causes my gut to twist. It's 10pm and I bet they are still there, swapping stories of burnt pies and disgusting side dishes. Of family outbursts and insane relatives.
Suddenly, I am painfully lonely. I have a physical need to see them, to be near them. All of them, even Ian.
Most especially Ian.
The wine has weakened my resolve and I pull on my Uggs and grabbing a jacket, set off to the pub.
I can't decide if I should go through the front, or the back. I stand before the front doors for a good five minutes before I force myself to grab the handle and yank it open.
I step in, but not far enough, and the door hits me as it closes, causing me to stumble forward. Regaining my balance, I take in the scene before me.
Sean is standing in front of the gang, spinning a yarn, no doubt. Sean does like to exaggerate for effect. Tom, Wilson, Abby and Ben are all on their stools, indulging Sean. And Ian … Ian is at the end of the bar polishing glasses. He looks up slowly to see who has entered his pub.
Our eyes meet and I stop breathing; I am overcome by emotion. He looks like shit. He looks rumpled and even though it has only been two weeks, he looks thinner. His eyes are dulled by dark circles and he hasn't shaved so a dark, poorly kept beard covers his jaw.
The moment he sees me he stills. His face looks haunted and uncertain. To the astonishment of everyone present, he lets out a low wail before pushing past Sean and rushing into the kitchen.
With wide eyes, the crew turns to look at me. I don't move or speak. I just stand there with my eyes trained on the kitchen door. I hear them begin to murmur to each other, but no one greets me; they stay quiet. Waiting. I wonder briefly what they've been told. How was my sudden departure explained?
These thoughts rush quickly through the back of my mind, as my attention is still focused on Ian. Without conscious thought, I head into the kitchen. He's bent over the sink heaving; I think I may have just missed him throwing up. Before I can stop myself, I go flying to him and thrown my arms around him, pressing myself against his back. He tries to wrestle free but I won't let him go. It's a wordless struggle: him trying to create a physical distance to match the emotional rift that exists between us, and me trying to bridge that gap by adhering my body to his.
"Get the fuck off, Kelli," he yells at me finally. I can't do it. I feel as though my life depends on maintaining contact with him. Being behind him, I have a slight advantage; there is no way I'd be able to keep him from shoving me off if I were in front of him. He's twisting, his arms behind his back, trying to push me away. When that doesn't work, he focuses his attention on my arms, prying them open and away from his stomach. But that's all he can do. He tries to use my arms to press me back but because of the awkward position, I have enough strength to resist him.
"Get the fuck off!" he bellows even louder than before. The hostility in his voice reaches me and I allow my arms to go slack. He quickly walks across the kitchen, heading for the door to the alley.
"Ian!" I cry. He stops but doesn't turn around. His head hangs down and it looks as though he has begun to cry.
Without looking at me, he raises his head to the side, silently asking what I want. I cannot answer; I have no idea what I want.
No, that's not true. I know what I want; I want for him to never have committed those atrocious acts and for us to be a happy couple enjoying our magnetic chemistry and shared love of baseball and art.
When I don't answer, he silently pushes through the door and disappears.
His presence gone, I crumple to the floor. I had no idea it would be this hard to see him. I figured it would hurt, but this goes beyond hurting. Every cell in my body is in pain and I feel as if I'm contracting into a ball of agony.
I don't get it. How can I care for him this much in such a short amount of time? How can his past actions, actions he took long before he ever met me, shred my soul so completely?
I'm startled when a pair of gentle hands grip my shoulders, encouraging me to stand. I look up and see Pappy.